Facing the Wall

The idle life of a writer such as myself is often beset by circumstances that inevitably draw me away from attempting to put pen to paper.  Such was the case yesterday, where instead of plunking down some words, I decided to reread something I had written (and not looked at) from a year ago.  Surprisingly enough, not only that I feel that it stood the test of time (if a year is enough time to evaluate anything), but most interesting for me is that the writing seemed not to stem from myself.

A conversation which began and ended on an entirely different slant last evening was on the varied nature of the writing of William Faulkner, whose commitment to the written language is way beyond the ken of most writers nowadays, and even while he was around.

So, while very much enjoying the spring weather which greeted the city today, I thought of writing as a bit like facing a wall, and trying to make sense of it.  As a graphic indicator, I decided to take some snaps of a wall which I often see on my daily walks and share it, as staring at walls is not as unattractive as it may sound.

Overpainted wall seen many a time but never documented until now.

Another view of the white wall.

Although not being able to write, as I was not quite able yesterday, got on my nerves, I promise to be more diligent in the near near future.