50,003 Words

I took a week off writing to read Jane Eyre. I cried continually for the last ten pages and felt thoroughly exhausted afterwards. I enjoyed it so much I realised how much I've missed reading these last few months. I've been reading books of course, now and then, in the gaps, but I haven't been giving them my full attention. I haven't been allowing them to set their own pace - you know: the ones you can't put down; the ones you savour. By my bedside I've got Dr Zhivago, Tender is the Night, A Portrait of a Lady and Alan Bennett's Four Stories, and I'm not writing another word until January.
Blissfully,
A