CHRISTMAS

Whether we like it or not, Christmas is well and truly on its way. Every year I say I am not sending cards, not decorating the house, I wish I could stay on my own and just read and write. But there is a child like part of me that sneakily starts to get into the spirit of Christmas. I am enchanted by the lights in Brighton strung like an enormous blue spider's web above the clock tower, and I'll be checking out the London lights next week in Regent street. I'll send cards, I like to receive them, I love having post. I suppose all those with a creative mind retain this child within so that we keep on observing, questioning, being surprised. And never grow old.

LET IT SNOW

I have been lost on my novel writing these last few days, I couldn;t go outside, the roads were too slippery.  I've been wandering again with Monet in his garden, sifting laundry with Blanche while she remembers how once she was a painter and now must be a full time carer. I can empathise very much with Blanche. I lived with my mother for the lst years of her life and experienced the mixed emotions of love, sympathy frustration and sometimes anger. It is a hard task for a single woman but it is still mainly women who carry out this role. I wrote a non fiction book called THE CARING TRAP and interviewed many people who had been in the same situation as myself. But of course life's experiences is what shapes us and shapes our artistic work. They are our raw materials which over time compost down to create the fertile soil for new blossoms. I do find it hard though to keep to this rule sometimes. It would be rather nice if one just had glorious experiences to draw on. I am not convinced that suffering is good for you!