Seen in a field, beautiful daffodils are all pretty much indistinguishable from each other. Yet up close every daffodil is different. As is every reader.
Writing is, in some ways, I have learned, like an addiction.
Bridge Street started to go into “night mode” during our meal, as people, particularly women, dressed up for a Saturday night out began to saunter by.
At least Alexa had not laughed at me as all of this was going on.
Blogging regularly is good “practice” for an author. I have always tried to post here at least twice a week, which I think is reasonable.
Otherwise religiously indifferent British would likely go to battle stations if some government bureaucrat dared to inform them, “Look, attendance is so small, we will pull that church down and put up a brand new shopping centre.”
Have we forgotten a “dystopia” is a “not-good place”?
Writing a book is a solitary effort, whereas sharing to social media is, well, social (hopefully)…
From the outside, often it looked cool and glamorous (I remember sitting star-struck at him once telling me about meeting Sean Connery)…
Ah, but just mention MARMITE and that gets you Great Britain’s full attention!