I spent a season in rural France a couple of years ago, and I left part of my heart behind. It looks after the house for me, opens the windows to let fresh light in and stale air out, sends occasional postcards, and of course maintains an online connection. When I sit down to write, I make a Skype call to my heart, and it props its iPad up on the window-ledge so that I can watch the sailboats play in the harbor whenever I look up. It’s a good life.
For The Love of Words 
I love words too 🙂
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i am not having any fun with this website… i still can’t even find it
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Do you think Hemingway started like this?
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Hemingway sat in a brown room and wrote on brown paper–or maybe it was a brown, smoky haze that coloured everything he did. Either way, it was working for him–and what you do has to work for you. Blog every day. Just write something. Like today’s–something/anything. Sometimes it’ll be inspired, and sometimes it’ll be complaints about cat barf, but it’ll be writing practice, and better-than-practice, because it’s also actual writing. Good stuff.
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nothing in the world is more precious than encouragement, and it begins the day we are born.
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