Monday, November 28, 2011

Gathering idea isn't always abandoned because it fails some quality control test. The imagination doesn't crop annually like a reliable fruit tree. The writer has to gather whatever's there: sometimes too much, sometimes too little, sometimes nothing at all. And in the years of glut there is always a slatted wooden tray in some cool, dark attic, which the writer nervously visits from time to time; and yes, oh, dear, while he's been hard at work downstairs, up in the attic there are puckering skins, warning spots, a sudden brown collapse and the sprouting of snowflakes. What can he do about it?
Julian Barnes, Flaubert's Parrot


Flaubert's Parrot
The Idiot
Vicki Viidikas, New and Rediscovered 


the first french beans
a few yellow baby tomatoes
images and connotations for my novel


about making a christmas cake

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