Anyone who writes knows that a big part of writing is - not writing. Avoiding that blank page. People have cleaned kitchens, sculpted a wicked French manicure, and raised entire families in the pursuit of not writing.

Here's an article

sympathetic to the dilemma.
Now if you'll excuse me I'll get back to work...just as soon as I fix my hair...recheck the showtimes for Slumdog Millionaire...plant looks like it needs water...

(Image: www.inspirationonline.com.)

This blog isn't about politics - who cares what I think about politics? And it certainly isn't about American politics - because, same deal. But something happened on the bus a while ago that I just can't get out of my mind. It was the Saturday before the inauguration and I was en route to a movie matinee and the bus was about half full. The driver had one of the local radio stations on, playing quietly, and between the Top 40 hits came a news break, and the the news announcer mentioned something about Barack Obama. And people on the bus clapped. People on the #10 Metrobus on their way to the mall in St. John's, NL, far, far away from Washington D. C., they heard this man's name and they applauded.

(Image: geocities.com.)

Last night I was about to turn off CBC Radio's Night Time Review to watch a dvd but the feature was so intriguing I ended up standing next to the radio for the next ten minutes until the piece finished. It was a discussion about John Geiger's new book, The Third Man Factor - nothing to do with the classic film - here's an article from the Globe - stories of people who have survived quite dramatic and traumatic situations with the help of a mysterious other.

(Image: compassfishing.com.)

Been doing some research into

Karel Appel, came across the piece Questioning Children (relief, 1949) and some stories collected by the Tate,
i sweetly e.:

Eric, age 4, from USA
Tuesday 11 September 2007

It reminds me of a school. They are worried. The little one is saying something. The little one is saying, “Thank you. ” It reminds me of people in a yoga class. It reminds me of people playing together. They have square and rounds heads and little heads. It reminds me of a red dog with black eyes.

We're test-driving a new office laptop. Very exciting possibilities here, in terms of housekeeping/logistics ie. creating a portable database. But it also means that I can now partake of the time-honoured practice of writing in cafes, or, as David Mamet prefers, Writing In Restaurants. (Do I need a black turtleneck? A working knowledge of existentialism? Best to be sure.)

(Image: The Night Cafe, mikiaboomfiles.wordpress.com.)

I walked out of the house this morning into a bright day with big fluffy snowflakes sparkling in the air, and four steps later I was in a gale-fueled whiteout. It was like a movie special effect: cue the blizzard! What you might call your average snow squall I guess. I managed to traverse Rawlin's Cross and stagger along Hayward Avenue when a kind friend salvaged my mascara-streaked, weather-shocked self.

(Image: www.clevercrow.com.)

Don't know if you're into the Oscars; me, I'm hoping the nominations will at last bring Milk to our cinemas (Frost/Nixon starts this Friday!)

(Image: AtTheMovies.)