Here's a thought: If writing could be described as a human body - a journalist would be the brain, a novelist would be the mind, a playwight would be the soul, and a poet would be the heart. What would be the blood? Would it be inspiration?...Just a thought.
Musings and mind leaks...
» Listings for October 2017
For those who might have missed it: I have managed to not win the Nobel Prize for Literature this year. Some geezer won it for the book of the film about Anthony Hopkins' early life as a butler. (I liked it.) I can now add this accolaid to three others that I've also managed to swerve this year, namely: The Essex Playwrighting competition, The Verity Bargate Award and, I am pleased to announce, I have just discovered that I'm also not longlisted for this year's Bruntwood Prize. After this exceptionally successful run, I am now free to continue working on my second novel. As an added bonus, I will no longer have to spend so much time writing lists of things to spend the various prize moneys on. Shame. I was looking forward to bidding for that inflatable sofa I saw on ebay. It was orange. Still, you can't have everything. Where would you put it?