I know I promised words but I don’t really have any. It turns out getting back into life after a break is hard. And once you’ve got yourself back into the swing of things the magically fascinating thoughts you wanted to write have become trivial. So news it is then.
– I submitted my story to a real, live publisher. That’s pretty exciting. I hear it’s something you have to do a lot of times if you want to get a book published.
– I’ve been writing the next book. It’s kind of fun but I’m having trouble concentrating on it what with all the other life things going on.
– One of my brothers is visiting at the moment. It’s nice but I’m ill and that seems somewhat unfair. I’m hoping I don’t make him ill and ruin his holiday…
And, here’s some philosophy from the art gallery that was once the Berlin Wall:
The wind coming into Ischia today is a herald of the storm tomorrow. And no matter how my travel plans may be affected and/or ruined by tomorrow’s storm: I love the wind today.
I think that the wind is one of my favourite things about being alive. And there’s something in particular about a warm wind on a warm day… It’s excitement and happiness and hopefulness. It makes you want to laugh and spin in circles. It gives you confidence that, no matter what, things will be better than just okay. Because life is precious and beautiful and worthwhile.
If all is well and good I will fly out of Italy tomorrow and, even though I’ve loved it here, I’m excited to be going to Austria. These photos are of Ischia Ponte and Castello Aragonese, each taken from one and looking at the other.
Everything I have ever written and will ever write comes out of my own mind. I cannot write anything beyond my own thoughts. My memories and experiences, then, are the most important things I own. Along with language. But that’s not the point right now.
In order to write stories we delve past the names and events and dates to see what it was really all about, to see what it meant then and what it means now. And once we’ve worked it out, or while we’re working it out, we wrap it all up in a separate package. We tell the story with different names and events and dates. Perhaps one lot of events happened over six weeks in an Australian highschool but the other will happen in Paris over a few years. Or vice versa. But at the centre of it all will always be the truth; the essence of what it was all about. At the centre of it all we’re reaching out and asking if others will join us.
Will you be brave with me? Will you learn with me? Will you suffer with me? Will you dream with me? Will you understand me?