I don't have much time to write on this blog anymore, but just a quick word, since I don't want to leave it altogether. Writing a book is a lot of work. Really. I've been thinking for a while that I was about to finish it and now and the gap between nearly finished and finished just extends into eternity. Let's just say that I have had the enough words for a full length novel for a while but putting it all together into a good book is just as much work as writing the words in the first place.

On an unrelated matter, I have just read 'Wuthering Heights' and just wanted to say that it is a fantastic book, but it's made me so sad I'd better start reading something else so I can shake it off. And I wonder about Emily Bronte, what kind of life did she live? Did she know people that corrupt, that awful? Did she see that kind of mistreatment of people, that cruelty that the story is about? In any case, a masterpiece. It's been a while since I've been moved that much by a book. I guess the classics are classics for a reson.

I guess now I'll have another go at 'One Hundred Years of Solitude'.

My book is still happening. Every day I advance a little more.


Sylvia