Debbienho !

Over the weekend my baby felt neglected. So we went out on a date. It’s been a millennium since I drew anything, so it had to be something really simple. My favourite artist said all good artists draw by layering. I think that means adding layer after layer (after layer) before going to details. (I always do details first. What would he do if we met? The agony!)   I decided to go with that, although, because he said all good artists, if I hadn’t heeded him, nothing would’ve changed with the rotation of the earth. So I went with it. Very conservatively. She seems cross. What did I do? Details are coming to Kofikrom. (If you notice the change of light, it’s because I took a break to watch Gavrilova clinch her first WTA title. [Yasss!] If you don’t notice a change of light, continue eh.) (My nieces want me to buy them a tennis racket. Each. Reason? They don’t have. I didn’t have a tennis racket at either of their age

When you start taking yourself seriously enough to consider honing the drivel your hands occasionally produce into something worthy of going through some publishing mill or other, you start reading writers. No longer do you think of a book in terms of The Other Side of Midnight, or Only Time Will Tell . You simply call them a Sidney Sheldon, or a Jeffrey Archer, pairing author with style, one fast-paced, sharp, with humour so cruel it’s bordering on crude, possibly agnostic, strongly feminist; the other sentimental, deliberate, wordy,  evil because of his sadistic cliff hangers. All I am saying, is I’ve been reading. and that's okay! In my four hundred odd years of existing (I’m not sure I can call it living, since I haven’t bungee jumped yet, and that’s the FIRST thing on my bucket list, which, I am reminded, I should write soon), I’ve been privileged to suddenly discover a gem of a book where I thought there was only rubble. And what great pieces they’ve been