Yesterday I found out that the cover for The Dragon Keeper by Robin Hobb is shortlisted for The Ravenheart Award. Amazing. When I find out more I will put links to all the other covers and a link for voting.
Today I find that this blog is shortlisted for the Author Blog Awards. It is strange how that has tied my fingers in knots. Took me years to think of myself as an 'author'. Someone asked me the other day if I 'managed' to make a living from painting alone. I replied that, no, I also write books, and a blog or two. This didn't help their confusion, and neither did it sit well in my mind.
I have a headful of stories. I write books, and the odd fragment of poetry, and lists, lots of lists. And I try and write just a few things every evening in a moleskine diary, to close the day. Above is a fragment from part of a new story. I wrote it on a beach that was soaked in early spring, early morning sunshine, while waves rolled ashore. I paint in my studio, write on the hill or on a beach, usually.
Below, a random opening of the diary page.
1. I have not yet found any blue sea glass. Clear, green, amber, but as yet no blue.
2. A head full of dormice in teacups, hares running through panels of paper, the wolf gondolier and his midnight cloak of stars, lion dancing with unicorn, patchwork quilt made by convict girls, thimbles and patterns and Christmas cards all tumble together in my head and doing no painting as friends are staying.
But today we walked through woods greened emerald by fresh leaves beside a tumbling river that echoed my thought. Wood anenomes danced in light wind. Ruined house patterned by shadows.
3. More painting, more writing, more listening, less talking.
4. And it is always good to contemplate the finite.