Reading and Writing

At the moment I'm reading a Bukowski short story collection (The Most Beautiful Woman in Town and other stories). The writing reminds me very much of Henry Miller in Tropic of Cancer - it's vigorous, bawdy, honest and funny. But as both books are memoirs (of sorts) and therefore about writing as much as what happens in their day to day lives, it's making me think about how much (or how little) I write. And read.
There are simply not enough hours in the day for me to plough through my waiting list of books to read. So much information and tales that I want to gorge myself on yet time slips through my hands like sand.

I need to work out some sort of system for myself whereby I read a book that I class as Literature and then something purely for pleasure. Sometimes these might overlap, but generally the Literature requires me to engage my brain whereas the stuff I look at purely for pleasure doesn't. I suppose it's a bit like food - Literature is a good meal at a top restaurant, pleasure books are the literary equivalent of MacDonalds and Burger King. That said, there are the rare occasions when I pick up what I consider to be a MacBook and it turns out to be a real feast.

Stephen King said somewhere that anyone wishing to pursue writing as a career should read for at least four hours every day. Some days I can probably do that - although most of that will be made up of reading on a pc screen - not what I think he meant at all. I certainly used to read for a good four hours each day and in all honesty it's not a huge amount out of 24 hours. But in our busy 21st century lives it's a massive hole. Audio books I suppose could help - at least for those of us for whom driving is unavoidable.

Hmm…I should be reading now and not writing aimless musings to myself.

Running Away

Firstly, apologies to those of you who have been waiting with baited breath for my next blog post….I know it’s been some days….but there has been a very good reason for this…

I was very kindly offered the opportunity to take some time out and go to spend a few days in beautiful Cornwall…a sort of retreat if you like….the chance to write, recharge and just Be. Not generally being the type of person given to spontaneity this was quite an offer being presented to me….so screwing up all my courage in both my sweaty little mitts I said yes and the following day found me sitting on a train from Paddington station en route to the West Country. If ever you have the chance to do this journey, take it; particularly the stretch between Exeter and Plymouth that takes in Dawlish is just quite stunning – the train tracks are almost on the beach and it seems as if you are travelling across the open sea. I have always enjoyed long train journeys – one other favourite of mine is in India – the Dusty Pink Express – the journey to Jaipur from Delhi – it’s around four to six hours in a simply carriage (no aircon), no windows, instead just bars and the train races across flat open land that seems to go on for ever. I did that journey with a cassette walkman (except it wasn’t a walkman, but you get the idea) and tapes of Simon and Garfunkel (I had a hippy music teacher who insisted we sing S&G a cappella - leaving an entire generation of convent school girls suckers for S&G and Gregorian Chant….) anyway, even now listening to them slips me back to sitting cross legged on the deep red leather train seat (it was a sleeper, so rather like sitting on a single divan), opposite me sat a family who sadly I didn’t talk to – I was too shy and too taken with the beautiful journey.
And the London to Cornwall journey is very similar in many ways – similar length, beautiful countryside again and this time an MP3 player plugged in and listening to The Cocteau Twins (highly recommended, particularly if you like ambient or chill out music). The feeling of total calm that washes over you as you watch the miles disappear and for those few precious hours you have no control, no responsibilities and instead, peace.
Cornwall itself was, as ever, stunning. I walked in the rain, got lost, wandered in towns I didn’t know, spoke to people I didn’t know, drank coffee in little cafes, went on boats…..I started reading Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer – wonderful writing; I highly recommend it – many people will pick it up just because it was banned for thirty years in the UK, the blurb says “this is a classic of erotic literature, shattering every taboo in its frank, unapologetic portrait of desire….and extravagant and rhapsodic hymn to a world of unrivalled sexuality and freedom.” So yes, there is a great deal of explicit material in it, but it’s also written with such eloquence and style and bags and bags of passion.
I will probably post more here about some of the things I thought about and wrote about while I was in Cornwall, it was quite an important adventure for me in many ways and it has certainly given me plenty of material to draw upon.