A novel called The Book goes well

I'm thinking The Book goes well. I'm in sight of the end of chapter two now, ready for on line 'publication' on 29th February to FOC subscribers through www.bryanislipauthor.com .

For me, writing is very much like painting pictures. However many times you re-visit the work you can always see ways to improve it. The editing and general titivation, right back to line one page one, goes un without end until one day you just say for better or worse that's enough. Of course by then you could have spoiled the thing by over-writing or over-painting as the case may be. Hope not. I have high hopes for The Book (provisional title)

It's early days yet, but my central viewpoint character Mrs Marie Mortlock is all the time emerging larger and more solid from the shadows of my imagination. I would never take the reader through that dreadful writerly thing of describing the lady's physical appearance in one paragraph, preferring instead to let the reader form his/her own mind picture from the clues emerging naturally, over time, through her behaviour and the story.

Nevertheless I can here tell those who are interested that in my mind the lady is in her late thirties, quite but not overly pretty, petite figure, dark hair and blue eyes. She's assertive, clever and resourceful. She's the wife of a strong, good looking husband called Ben who likes being led from behind (by her) and is the mother of Zara, now away at university, and the 13 year old, gifted, disabled Jamie. I'm thinking that her relationship with Jamie and his with the world at large will become one of the the main focuses (focii?) of my novel. Of course there is and will be a full cast of other characters in The Book as the family Mortlock settles into an anything but ordinary life in the Highlands.

A Land Unspoiled

Our day slows down as last light paints the sky
and you can feel the movement of the globe,
hear gentle surf, the wheeling seagull's cry,
watch land and sea in pastel colours robe
this Wester-Ross where calming nature seems
a place of magic that itself redeems,
inspires an artist and a poet's dreams.

You think perhaps Blake's feet in ancient times
would want to tread a land unspoiled as this.
There's little discord here where most things rhyme,
and all is sensate to an evening's kiss,
when no-one's going far and peace is sought
and found; for what this is cannot be bought,
and things material count for little, less or nought.

Bryan Islip

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