Just like that another year seems to have come and gone. I’ve totted up the amount of books I’ve read: 32, the number of shows I’ve seen: 9 and the exhibitions I’ve visited: 3.
On a personal note, I started a new job, organised my office’s book club and began writing for a living (hooray!). I’ve also redesigned this blog and planned far more content than I managed to write; that’s something to work on for 2019. So without further ado, here are some of my favourite experiences of 2018:
- Meeting Markus Zusak, he was welcoming and inspirational, funny and honest. There will be a blog on both The Bridge of Clay and The Book Thief soon, I promise.
- Rethinking my routine and the way I spend my time having read Morning by Allan Jenkins.
- Seeing Pity, an explosion on what theatre can be – I’m planning on seeing much more experimental theatre in 2019.
- Visiting the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy, I’d love to make this an annual trip.
So what will 2019 have in store? Hopefully more book and theatre reviews and where possible meeting authors and attending book events.
Sunshine in the distant sky, but not quite warm enough to abandon your jacket. Longer days and shorter nights as the world keeps turning around — a glimpse towards the future. Another summer is about to begin, another summer full of dreams and inspirations. Another chance to explore the corner of the world we call our home.
Flowers begin to appear, leaves are now on every tree. The colours changing more quickly than I can believe. I’ve seen the earth’s cycle over twenty times now; but the time that winter leaves us, the time that spring brings summer to us, is one part of this world I can never stop appreciating.
Spring is the season of opportunity, of times anew. A chance to look forward and believe in what we can accomplish. Perhaps as this spring marks my final time as a student — my last spring full of deadlines and revision — that it permits me to look at the world anew. The next seasons won’t be restricted by the academic year and that’s something that vey much excites me.
I love the simplicity of a postcard, a suggestion of a tale, of an adventure making its way just to you. There’s something extremely personal in a postcard, the picture and place it represents in addition to the words etched into the paper.
There’s also the mysterious stamp in the top left hand corner, recognisable but still unknown. A presentation of a different country whittled down to a square inch.
Then there’s the language we use on a postcard, its the only time in English we can write without a subject — a different language and culture is already subconsciously making an impact on us. We can write brief, simple statements, or long, descriptive tales. Our writing too big or too small for the world we’re attempting to recreate.
Next time a postcard drops through the letter box, take time to appreciate what else it contains and the power of language it encompasses.