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If only I could equate novel writing with everyday pleasures in life, like afternoon walks in London or Netflix, then it would come out fine and quickly.
I used to sweep leaves in Brazil and listen to music as a mantra. I gathered love for my work-in-progress as I’ve gathered love for the things in life that don’t require much: like toucans crossing the sky, affectionate cats at my heels, toast with coffee and mountains in the horizon — all the while creating space for the story to emerge within the inner silence.
This I know: a completed novel is wordless.
I love this phrase, Ollie 'I gathered love for my work-in-progress as I’ve gathered love for the things in life that don’t require much..'
This struck a chord with me, to paraphrase, if I may. Your words speak to the loving approach I take to the seemingly mundane, boring, simple things I do each day, which defines the care I give and the unique memoir that's as yet unwritten but is weaving its story inside me, wordless...for now.
Inspiração para as manhãs por aqui este belo texto seu. Tenho cada vez mais me dedicado a escutar silêncios e coisas simples já dadas pela natureza. Abraço.