It is the 11th and I have not written since the 1st. Terrible. Book writing and researching have somewhat taken over at the moment. I spent yesterday in the Transport Museum, looking up early 20th century London omnibus routes. No, I started looking up bus routes and then wound up falling down the fascinating rabbit hole of WWI propaganda literature. Terrifying, brutal stuff. As today is November 11, that seemed to justify the enormous diversion.
Now, I am back to working on my Author Portal. Yes, the same Author Portal I was meant to have finished a month ago. It is again the classic pattern of Priya writes and then Priya deletes ad nauseum. Don't you love that the ancient Romans used the same sort of teenage phrasing as we do?
This week, I also helped my ingenious, dearest, artist friend with her installation on imagination. It was heaven. Lunch with a old friend who asks you "If you did love a flower that lived on a star, would it be sweet to look at the sky at night?" is a lucky thing.
Pages written this week: 16