Apparently reading novels is very good for your memory because you have to remember the people on the connections between them,

I recommend The Mandarins by Simone de Beauvoir. It’s partly based on her own life and it’s very complicated. Nearly all novels make demands on our minds.

https://www.newyorker.com/culture/the-new-yorker-interview/joyce-carol-oates-doesnt-prefer-blondes

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2005/sep/17/fiction.features

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56201/beautiful-poetry

I see you are wondering what this is all about. Don’t mind

me, I’m talking to myself again. Yes, poetry is nice and often beautiful,

yet it doesn’t beget much attention, money, or even a simple thanks

for placing the best words in the best order. That’s when I forget all about your

incessant demands, and the restless subject leaps the stream in Technicolor—

until the Remembrancer appears and says, Stop this wasteful life.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/sestina

Thanks for all those calls and letters
Thanks for caring that I’m here.
In my darkest, lonesome moments
These replies will keep you near.

Thanks for answering all my emails
Thank you for the hours you give.
Thanks for sharing heartfelt thoughts
And being so generous with your love.

Thank you for your wit and grace,
Thank for your funny face.
Thank you for your deep blue gaze and
Thank you for your warm embrace.

Thank you,thank you,thank you,thank.
Love you,love you,love you,Love.
Thank you,thank you,thanks to you,
Because,because,because,Because

I am a gleaming aubergine
in an oval dish
My purple skin is polished
Like BBC English.

I await my fate for I am ripe
My seeds fulfil my wish
Soon,soon the knife will cut me up
As corn in fields is threshed.

I’d rather lie in Egypt’s soil
By birds and insects bit
But here I am in England
Where irony is wit.

After cutting comes the salt
As in a bowl I sit
For I am moist like lady’s parts
As poets have much writ.

Moussaka is my destiny
And as you bite and chew
I shall be what Jesus was
And give my grace to you

I am fried in olive oil
To give me flavour ripe.
Dried in cloth and placed in pot
Atop the meat I ride.

My colour brings all eyes to me
As I lie in a heap.
Some like carrot heads so bright
Royal purple is my state.

So better than a lamb I am
For a sacrifice.
I am proud and gleam like gold
As Caesar-like I’m knifed.

My seeds through sewers deep shall pass
And somewhere come to grief.
I shall grow again and be
Portrayed by a leaf.

Between the world and how we represent
The nameless by a name and even place,
There is a space or void in our intent.

What mother saw, what father really meant
How love and hate might intertwine in space?
In our own world, what can we represent?

In writing, there is lack and letters bent
Ancient writing often was erased
There is a space or void in our intent.

Today the sun is golden, gods descend.
With love, for moments, we are all embraced
Of the felt, what can we represent?

Our willingness unblinds the heart so rent
And then we see the face within his face
The space or void is in our interest.

I cross my face with fingers interlaced:
The crucifix, the love, the death of Christ
Between the world and what we may attempt
There is a space or void where he was sent.

Poor Annie had fallen out of the apple tree where she saw Emile chewing some smoked haddock stolen from her basket.

Emile looked down from the highest branch

Are you alright he mewed.

I don’t know she muttered.I am in shock.

I’d better ring 999 and get Dave.

Without waiting he ran down the apple tree into the hall.

He phoned 999 and soon the ambulance will arrive.

Where will Annie be taken?

Who will look after her?

And where is Mary her best friend

Will she get better?

Find out in the next chapter if you pay £50 to The Red Cross by the time the next part is written.

Can’t wait

Chapter 2. Was their voice too loud?

Chapter 3. Are other people real or mere servants of your fantasies?

What to wear when you are dumb

.A new book by your favourite author

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/dec/16/observer-obituaries-2018-ursula-k-le-guin-remembered-by-theo-downes-le-guin

https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2018/jan/24/essential-novels-ursula-k-le-guin?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

More free time doesn’t mean you’ll use the time to write—you’ll do everything but write.

http://nybookeditors.com/2016/06/balance-day-job-writing-passion/?inf_contact_key=2622d7e642f193a3873be454e6be59b94821257d9a9d7bf272b507f4e5d7d949

Instead, you must make writing one of your top to-do’s, wedged right between your weekly grocery trip and your dry cleaning drop off.

You may think, that doesn’t sound very romantic. And it’s not. But most of writing isn’t romantic at all. It’s you staring at a screen and willing words to materialize. Or you staring at a notebook and doing the same thing. Or you just staring, full stop.

Here’s the good news: Writing requires just as much discipline as it does creativity. This means you can learn how to make writing a daily habit. It doesn’t have to compete with your day job. Below, let’s discuss the top tips for balancing what you have to do with what you want to do—and that’s write.

But First, Remember You’re in Good Company

Be encouraged. You don’t have to quit your day job to contribute a wonderful work of art to humanity. Many writers, from Bram Stoker to Lewis Carroll, managed to write unforgettable pieces of literature while working full time. Here’s a partial list to inspire you:

Anne Rice

Anton Chekhov

Frank McCourt

Franz Kafka

Harper Lee

Herman Melville

J.K. Rowling

Jorge Luis Borges

Philip Larkin

Toni Morrison

T. S. Eliot

Wallace Stevens

William Carlos Williams

Virginia Woolf

FINAL THOUGHTS

Remember that all the time you have is right now. Don’t wait for someday when the conditions are just right to write. They’ll never be just right. They’ll always be another distraction—if not work, it’ll be something else. Make writing a priority and tell the story that only you can tell. Good luck!

 Like children’s   gleaming tears in a  bright sun
That can be dried respectful of the source
The points of light on holly leaves  each shone

The  pink horse chesnuts’ flowering  has begun
May flows on to June  as rivers  course
As children’s   gleaming tears drop in  the sun

Nothing human should be broken,shunned
Yet evil screams till its sharp voice is hoarse
The points of light on holly leaves  still shine

When we learn of genocide , it stuns
I was  unborn, did not know of  such force
As children’s   greying tears dropped  under sun

Each  child is God,  yet such vile acts are done
Anne Frank ‘s  haunting memories now cursed
The points of light on holly leaves  will wane

Where did   our evil start,what makes it worse?
Unheld and hungry   baby needing breast?
Like children’s   golden tears in a   black sun
The points of shame, the prickling leaves may win

When the windows shattered
And the splinters flew in
You just made for the back door
And left me
not knowing where to begin.

When the shards of glass hit me
And pierced my vulnerable skin
You were already going
Leaving me
feeling you were an inhuman being.

When I fell down covered in glass and bleeding,
And the storm raged on,
I didn’t look round because
I knew,I knew,I knew,
I knew you would be gone.
Gone.

Suddenly peace came,storm had quite
disappeared..
It was all over so quickly
Not as terrible as I feared.

My wounds were bad,I have to confess.
I had no bandage
Nothing with which to dress.
With an old towel I cleaned my blood
Then I lay me down
Just to have a rest.

Since that day,no storms come this way.
My wounds are healing
I have just one thing to say.
When the storm was so bad
You left me all alone…
but strangely since then
all is peace and calm.
Your absence has become
almost a balm.

But I hear stories of fierce storms rising up
In towns and villages
Not too far from here,where a strange man appears.

Seems like he’s running to get away
From some storm
But the storm’s inside him…
He gives it form.

So when the windows crashed in
And glass flew at my face
He left me all alone
In what, he thought,
was a very dangerous place.

Did he not pick me up
and carry me outside?
No,my daughter, he left me alone;
I might have died.

But since then
I lost a great burden…
And I lost a great feeling of shame.

Rise up,you women,bleeding and torn.
For on days like that,a new resolve is born.
While you live don’t accept all the blame.
Don’t live so long as I did,in fear and in shame.
Rise up and find that calm
In the eye of the storm…
On days like this
a new woman is born.

Y

What was so wrong about asking
About your absence from this world
And trying to grab you back
holding onto your coat tail
Eternity’s long enough already
We don’t need your vapour trails.
Was it a wicked thing to do
As you floated so far away
To reach out to touch you once more
I admit I never knew you kept score.
When I beat you at chess so long ago
Were you already packing bags
to throw out the door?
I knew it was the real thing
But some men never do.
You have your expectations
And your tests and rules
But we never learned those
In our higher math schools.
We learned rigour and icy vision
We learned definition and precision.
But what use are they in loving
I didn’t know how to steer with no maps
You were off anyhow.
The orchestra stoped playing
When they saw the gap.
You can’t fly forever
But I do be leaving you.
In the circumstances
What else does a woman like me do.
You can smile and squeeze your eyes tight
Suck in those cheeks and hide your love.
What’s coming after you’s an eagle or a crow
Not a dove…it’s black I know
When you toss it all away then
Seems like it’s long past time
and emotion to call it a day.
Come again…..you must be crazy
Love is clear to me now like the face of a new born daisy

Something wrong with the network

https://www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Sestina#:~:text=A%20good%20sestina%20will%20use,three%20lines%20of%20the%20poem.

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2023/apr/03/early-years-support-parents?utm_term=642af80ce8b2df75473a2300e8b757fb&utm_campaign=BestOfGuardianOpinionUK&utm_source=esp&utm_medium=Email&CMP=opinionuk_email

https://www.the-tls.co.uk/articles/twenty-questions-ursula-le-guin/

The sea of Life stilll murmurs in my ears

As I waken up I sense it near.

The rolling waves break on a pale seashore.

The deep sea dark enchants the heart’s deep core

The still small voice will whisper,who can hear?

The prophet on the mountain hid from fear.

The tempest and the storm and the great fire

Were not the voice of God,but Nature’s choir

Listen to the silent music playing

Open up and learn what it is saying

While Mary sat in the kitchen on a large pine chair looking at Hotter’s latest shoe catalogue,Annie was creeping up the garden path in a pair of turquoise suede elegantly heeled shoes matching her teal tencel culottes and matching blouse.Round her neck was a large lump of amber on a gold chain handy for beating off muggers or lustful men and women
Despite the heat she was in full splendour with golden beige tinted moisturiser from Langone of Lyons on her lovely complexion,pink eyeshadow from Yves St Current and dark brown boot polish as her mascara had run out and she’d not been out for a while to buy more
Annie ran the last few yards and darted like an eel into Mary’s 1970’s kitchen.
What on earth are you doing,dear? Mary asked her.Those shoes look unsuitable for leading anyone up the garden path.Mind you,I do like them
Oh,I’ll explain,Annie said huskily.
I told that therapist across the road I was living with you.
What exactly do you mean by living,Mary asked anxiously.
Well,he said yesterday that anyone who lives alone must be lacking in some way.Except for him of course as he had full analysis with Alfred Zion.
You mean Wilfred Bion,Mary told her.
Zion,Bion,what’s the difference?
It shows your lack of education,Mary told her.Not that education nowadays makes much difference
That’s not quite what I would have done, said Annie.A degree in flirtation and pleasing men would be more up my street.And cooking of course although I once did have an interest in Hebrew and Aramaic.
It’s not a way to progress in a neo-liberal economy,although reading the Hebrew Bible is always interesting.Personally I prefer that to the New Vex-a man.The stories,the love songs,the action.Mary’s round eyes gleamed with intellectual life and a bit of languorous lust
How about God? Annie asked her.
He seems to have changed as he related to his people.But he was a friend despite being an abstract concept.Though one could hardly call him a concept as he is inconceivable.
Mary’s voice faltered as she was stunned by her own articulacy and wondered what she might say next that could offend millions around the globe all at once
You should write a book,Annie said kindly.
I think I am ill-equipped to write about God.And ,also ,I am saddened to see how his own people have been treated.I can’t dwell on it over much as I already feel weak and weepy.
Why what have you been doing,asked Annie.
I have been sorting out clothes to give to the hospice shop. I’ve got a big bag full already and 2 bags of newspapers and rubbish of various kinds which somehow creeps into my bedroom… tissues,cotton wool, old hairbrushes.I am hoping to get it nice and neat before my sister comes to see me
And now I realise I have far too many pans despite burning several.But it’s a big decision for a woman who was famed for entertaining friends with scorching Beef Vindaloo and lemon mousse that tasted like rubber.Giving that up is a big wrench.
Why can’t you carry on, asked Annie.
Carrying on is precisely why I can’t do it.Now I am a widow the wives of my former colleagues and my own women friends are afraid I will steal their husbands.
Emile miaowed in ecstasy as any talk about the love lives of his family were always intriguing.He was hiding as usual behind the stone flour bin.
Don’t you see,said Annie.If we pretend we are living together then you can mingle with men without suspicion.
This is beginning to sound like a spy story,Mary told her.And do not drag me into a character part in the play based on your romantic love for that psychoanalyst.
He looks ugly and boring to me.
Oh,that’s just a projection,Annie told her.You are defending yourself against acknowledging how much you long to lie in his arms and let him smother you in kisses.
Well,said Mary,I see you have been reading Freud for beginners again.
Or is it Freud for Dummies?
Mary recalled how nice her dummy used to taste when it was dipped into a jar of malt and codliver oil.Maybe that is the answer,she thought.
I’m going to Mothercare,she called as she ran out of the house in her green trainers and denim trouser suit.See you later.
Annie sat in the kitchen wondering how soon she could see the psychoanalyst again without being accused of sexual harassment.Even old age has not deterred her from seeking a replacement for dear old Stan.A few tears ran down her cheek and Emile jumped out and sat on her knee

I’m sorry the prime minister is not here ear today. He is looking at the Channel and says he will have to have an eye test because he can’t see any migrants in dinghies.

The prime minister has promised that e,,, that everybody will have to , study mathematics,,until they are 18 years old. I am wondering what exactly they are going to teach. The paper say that there are, not enough mathematics graduates. But do you need a degree in mathematics to teach people how to read and how to do arithmetic? Because those are the things that children fail in primary school and in the secondary school just go through without help.

My question is this. Are we going to get maths graduates to help the high flying children even more teaching so that they’ll be ready to do a master’s degree before they go to university or are we going to get intelligence sensible sensitive teachers who can teach all the children who are failing at GCSE level how to read better and how to do the kind of arithmetic we need in everyday life and in looking after our money or paying taxes. Will we teach them how to understand inflation? Will we make it easier for them to find a place in society? Learning how to budget and and what to do if you get into debt? How to understand credit cards and how to avoid being take it in by offers of money all the time?

We’re talking about the poor and they’re not so poor but people who are not so skilled at reading long forms and have no one in their family able to help.

We need to to empower the poor but will any government do that?

Let them solve quadratic equations,

I have to get a new phone recently but when I was starting to set it up I put the wrong language on because my finger trembled and it went into Danish and then I had a page of Danish which would not move forward or backwards. At last today I was able to do a factory reset.

This phone is one of the cheapest ones from the motorola range. Seems very good to me except you can’t do contactless payments with it which I don’t want to contactless payments I want to pay people with money cash coins o away with instant satisfaction.