Monday, 17 February 2014
The weekend that was...
I can't complain though that we weren't paid a inordinate amount of attention as we hit the carcassonne carnival on Saturday afternoon, we just stood giggling as we were showered with confetti and joined in the fun. The guests left a lovely bottle of bubbly so we lit all the candles in the sitting room put the music up loud and danced the night away.
By Sunday I was regretting the whole shebang because unlike some still slumbering I had to work, the show must go on and all that.
But someone asked me an interesting question as to why I wrote and I replied thus;
‘Why do you write’ ? he queried and she pondered for a while as her thoughts carefully picked over the words that were forming in her head.
‘It’s difficult to explain she eventually replied although if you asked me to write it down I could quite easily. Writers have the ability to pluck forth from the air a choice from the wonderful wealth of words that form the rich tapestry of language. It’s simply an ability to be able to arrange them in such a fashion that they can evoke emotions such as to soothe, delight or even disturb and distress. But ultimately to be able to present to the reader a pleasing array of prose that has meaning but equally it can enrich the writer also.
He gave her a long hard look that held an element of fear behind the seemingly fearless eye’s. ‘That’s quite a power’ to possess he said. She met his stare head on,’I suppose so’, the words lingered and hung between them, but the power of the written word is set in stone whereas the spoken word can be lost on the air and melt from the memory with time.
‘I had better be nice to you then’ he joked. ‘yes’ she retorted and gave him her most beguiling smile.
The weekend that was....