Let's attempt this again.

As a budding writer, I've been thinking about any books I really have to read and among those I thought of were the Narnia books. I have, at 22, still not read them. All of them are on the book shelves, and I have attempted many of them, but rarely got beyond the first chapter. Once I became aware of the God metaphor I was even less interested in reading them, and so these apparent literary greats have, by me, been untouched. Until recently...

I have always been a Tolkein groupie, but I thought it was about time I ploughed my way through his friend C.S. Lewis' chronicles of Narnia. So far I have reached the third chapter of Prince Caspian and I am hooked and now I am beginning to fully appreciate how clever Lewis' metaphor is.

His story's are simple and to the point. There is no faffing around and they appeal to the individuals imagination. The films, I have little doubt, have much to do with my renewed interest - mostly to do with my mums comment that they have often portrayed things exactly as she imagined them. I suppose I am reading them in part to see if this is true, but I don't know if it will work backwards!

But nearly two and a half books in, enchanted though I am, it's no Lord of the Rings, nor a patch on the Hobbit. Tolkien has kept his crown!

The Found Art of Enjoyment

It's amazing how some books you return to again and again, for no other reason than the story uplifts you, you find something of yourself in the characters, and somehow the story captivates you. I have two books like this, and neither ever feature on any "must read" books. To me that makes them all the more special as it feels like they are purely my enjoyment... but regardless I'm going to share them.

The first is by Eva Rice and it called 'The Lost Art Of Keeping Secrets'. This is the more recent of the two discoveries, and even then I couldn't begin to tell you how I came across it - more than likely it was in a Waterstone 3 for 2 offer!

It jumps in with the wonderful first line "I met Charlotte in London one afternoon while waiting for a bus." and from there I was hooked. The book follows Charlotte and our heroine Penelope in 1950's London, their love of rock and roll musician Johnnie Ray, the various relationships between characters past and present and the suggestion that maybe their meeting was more than just coincidence. I keep on coming back to this book again and again, and every time it feels like I'm reading something new and even in the advent of the kindle this is one book I read, out of choice, in it's paper form. It's is pure joyful escapism!

The second of these two books is, technically, a children's book. I received it as a present well before I entered my teens, and now I'm in my twenties I have no problems saying I still read it. This is my ultimate feel good comfort book. 'The Swish of the Curtain' by Pamela Brown.

(and my copy is even more battered than the one in the picture!)

This book follows the children from three families following their ambitions to become actors. I love this book for two reasons. Firstly, every time I read it I feel like I can achieve anything at all (and it's never been an ambition of mine to take to the stage). Secondly, it's a portrayal of a Britain that no longer exists, something that makes this book both saddening and an absolute joy at the same time. And on that note, it's been to long... it's about time I read it again!

Tonight My Inspiration Is Going To Be...

I remember the first short story I ever wrote was during my GCSE's, and the inspiration for it came from a painting I had seen in a book. The painting was by Edvard Munch - and no, it wasn't 'The Scream'! It was, in fact, 'By The Deathbed', a lithograph from 1896.

I was as proud as anyone can be of their first short story, but not proud enough to write any more and to that end I recently joined the Telegraphy Short Story Club, hence the return to the one and only one that I have written and the inspiration behind it. It was then that I got thinking about other paintings that could maybe provide the same inspirational jolt... queue hours of internet searching that resulted in this...

Van Gogh's, 'Cafe Terrace At Night'. This was not a work that I was familiar with, having seen all of Van Gogh's most famous works, but this is a painting that made me sit up and think "I wish I'd painted that!" Sadly I am sorely lacking in any artistic skill, so I am setting myself the challenge of writing a short story that truly does this magnificent painting justice.

Death to Pemberley!

Death Comes to Permberley was one of the most eagerly anticipated books of the year and was included in this years hall of Christmas reading material. I was, as I always am to receive a book, thrilled. When embarking upon  reading it I was less so. I am a great P.D. James fan, and I have loved everything of hers that I  have read. I am also intrigued by the idea of an Austen-era crime, but that is also in my view the books downfall.

It would have been impossible to write this book without using Austen's most well known and loved cast of characters, and the dedication P.D. James put into the book ensuring that every word and sentence was correct can clearly be seen on every page. The book is in this way a work of art. However it has also cast a shadow on my enjoyment of Pride and Prejudice, to the extent that I had to stop reading it. I found it impossible to match my ideas of the characters from my copious readings of Pride and Prejudice to James's continuation. In short I feel that if I read any more of Death Comes to Permberley it may well mean the death of the Pemberley of my imagination.

P.D. James has produced another well written, captivating book that is exemplary of her craft and I would recommend it highly to anyone, along with a caution as for in my view the ingenuity was not enough to make me disassociate from my created truths. Here's hoping one day I'll be able to pick it up again and finish it.

The POA didn't work... so I got a desk...

When it comes to furniture, there are few things I truly love. As a matter of fact there are only two: chair's and desks. Our house is teaming with them... everyone has their designated desk, though these move around the house and may be purloined by other people over the course of time. I have just acquired a new desk - well technically it's a "family" desk and it is categorically not to be an extension of my room... while it may not be the latter, it is most definitely mine - no questions.

Why is this desk so worthy of a blog post though? Because there is nothing so conducive to constructive writing as a nice, big, organised desk space. The ideas are flowing and I feel like I might actually be getting somewhere...I have always been a splurger, I'll sit and write thousands of words, not necessarily in the order they should be, and the next day I'll scrap the majority - but at least now I am writing daily at my awesome desk.

The desk did come with a downside however. It has to be in the coldest part of the house, requiring me to wear multiple layers, and thanks to the current cold spell also a coat. Sometimes I look like an extra from Dr Zhivago and sometimes even the man himself (if you haven't seen the film it's worth it just for the scene of him and his frozen moustache as he sits at his desk writing...sadly I do not have the moustache and therefore cannot pull of the look with quite the same aplomb...)

As it is I am embracing "struggling writer chic" for all it's worth - if you're going to do something, it may as well be done in style!