From the moment I could read and throughout most of my younger years I was a bookworm. I read all day and at night I would hide under the covers and read by torchlight. Books accompanied me everywhere – they sat next to my cereal at breakfast and I would
I catch public transport practically every day, certainly every work day. Here in Melbourne, in the inner suburbs, it is relatively easy to get anywhere by train, tram or bus. To get to and from work I catch all three; two trams, one train and a bus. It takes me
It seems as if books have always played a major role in my life. From as young as four, I remember taking books to bed with me and as I grew older, the piles of books on my bed grew higher. Enjoying books was hereditary. My parents loved to read
I have been seriously slack. I have not written anything for this blog for weeks. It isn’t because I haven’t known what to write about. It isn’t that I haven’t had time. It is because I have not been motivated. So, what would motivate me now? The date of course.
“Writing comes from reading, and reading is the finest teacher of how to write” once said Annie Proulx, author of the Pulitzer Prize winning novel The Shipping News. As writers and wannabe writers and anyone who has ever contemplated putting pen to paper or tapping frantically on their keyboard knows,
Christmas this year and my family has decided to do a Kris Kringle. We have a limit of $50 to spend on whoever we have drawn out. I’m not going to mention whose name I drew, just in case they are reading this. But if any of you just happen