seen from Kuwait
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Israel
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Ireland
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Japan
seen from Türkiye
This be a pretty home
without heating -
A house, no heat -
pretty as shape without form,
Shade without colour.
It knows a narrow place -
that nothing can be born,
but the pretty home without heating -
is but the myth, the house,
the heat.
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Lately, sitting down to write has been arduous. Distracted, cloistered in a draughty kitchen I eat fruit bowls and have my fingers on my face. I’ve flittered between books, jot down arresting images, neat turns of phrase, unusual details, and these have formed, Unwillingly, a loose conglomeration of pieces.
Seeking respite and focus from the brain ache I’ve decided to work through Andrew Cowan’s writing exercises from ‘The Art Of Writing Fiction’. I’ll post the exercises alongside my feeble stabs. If any one of you gregarious species could stray from foraging this cyberspace, from your flocks, colonies or roosts, to have a dip or dabble, I would like that.
Poke out my eyes.
