My Writings This Month
Admittedly, a bit slow this month. At least I managed a bit of variety - here’s a summary:
My review of Tolstoy’s classic novel, and regarded by many as the pinnacle of realistic fiction. It’s a work both entirely Russian yet also modern, because of the depth Tolstoy brings to his characters, and how he develops them as the world they know crumbles beyond recognition under the social reforms of the late 19th c. Although Tolstoy reputedly hated the novel by the time he finished writing, Anna Karenina is one of the great modern classics.
I had no idea what to expect on sailing into the port of Nagasaki. Shoreside greetings around Japan are always an exuberant affair, and this was no different with bedecked cartoon characters greeting me as I stepped ashore. The town itself was a delight, with tourists in the minority. From the taxi driver who spoke no English but made a few detours to show us the sights, an exquisite knife shop, and the gardens which inspired Madame Butterfly, Nagasaki was well worth the visit.
What’s not love about Florence? Especially when I stayed in an apartment where I could brew my coffee and watch the San Lorenzo markets come to life each morning, then of an evening watch the swallows come home to roost against the colours of sunset.
Then there was the classic Italian clothesline hanging out the window - how could I not use it?
On another site, I visited Singapore’s famed orchid gardens, looked over the roofline of Prague from my window, and exploring a forgotten temple in the jungles of Cambodia.
Plus I also ventured into the world of diaries and notebooks using my photos (this photo shows sunset in the Maldives.)
Maybe more next month, but I’m currently finishing my next book of poetry. Go me!
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I peered around in the darkness. Neither the light of the stars, nor a streetlight, filled the blank void. I actually hadn’t rolled into the wall; I wasn’t even in bed. I’d hit the back of the couch — the short one.
As Caitlyn''s week of working nights draws to a close, she comes to question her belief that her past decisions have brought her to where she is; is she now too far along the her chosen road to have a choice? Or is it time itself which holds her prisoner in a place she no longer wishes to be.
The lift doors opened onto the tunnel. Like any entrance to hell, it smelt stale. Stale vomit, stale urine. Stale bodies, everywhere. A winter of rain couldn’t cleanse it. Tattered posters clung at odd places to the walls, reminding everyone to be alert, not alarmed. Despite two security guards sharing a smoke, the tunnel remained a perfect place for a murder.
Over the course of just one work shift, Caitlyn discovers it takes but a packet of Twisties, a ghost, and thoughts of a minotaur for her to break free.
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