It has taken me a week to write a chapter of this book I am working on. I had shied away from it preferring to write the 'action' filled chapters. Then I decided to plunge in. I've just finished it. One of the lessons I've learned as a writer is that however long you've been doing it there is always this ...not fear, exactly, but sense of plunging in and not knowing if you can swim. That blank page stares back at you and you know what you want to say but how are you going to communicate it to anyone who reads it?
This chapter is an attempt to get into the sensations of Claude Monet ageing painter, depressed by the fact he is losing his sight. I wanted to show his world as he sees it now more from sensation and memory than clear concrete images. To make it more immediate I chose to write in the present tense. I've written it. I can only hope that I've found the right words to say what I want to say about art and life.
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