I've been in Far North Queensland recently, the writer in me instantly invigorated by the contrast of my now self in a place I once lived years ago as a young child. Some things don't change; the moisture of the air, the cry of certain birds, the colour of the sky, the smell of the vegetation, the sounds of the night. I found myself in a kind of Proustian space for almost the whole time I was away, considering the past and then ones perspective upon the events of the past when a long way further into life. I've also been reading Javier Marias, a novelist whose ruminative style has a similar effect, of forcing the reader to pause and consider the currents of memory and thought as life continues progressing.
Now that my exam is out of the way, I'm again able to 'waste' lots of time thinking and writing, a pleasure I've spent many months without. Returning to writing has been a home-coming. So keep it up everyone still attached to this most noble of enterprise, and please post more for us all to read, Barbara
