Today I am determined to write... words will flow from my pen, I will not get distracted by cats, humans, the need to cook dinner or go to ASDA. That's the theory anyway. There is the small matter of having to be at work all day however... And by the way, has anyone ever suffered from 'reader's block'? I think I have it. I cannot seem to finish any book I pick up; even old favourites are letting me down. Walter Hartwright and Marian Halcombe can usually enthrall me, the poetic suffering of Jude can usually grip me until the bitter end, and Elizabeth Bennet's witty banter can leave me smiling for hours. But not any more. Perhaps I have Madame Bovary's ennui? Who knows? Poetry, I can manage, and I spent a few pleasant hours with the Romantics on Sunday. However, not to admit defeat I have just started James Lee Burke's The Neon Rain and also Lucy Hughes-Hallett's Cleopatra: Queen, Lover, Legend, so we shall see if either gets finished.
