There’s a book in everyone, so the saying goes. And in some there are more than one – think of all the Jodi Picoult and Nora Roberts, John Grisham and Cathy Kelly novels out there, for example.
Whether you have one or many, the point here is that you’re never too young to write a book. This has been proved by a talented writer under the age of 10.
This week I received a rather disturbing SMS from my bank. In fact, this was the second time the bank was sending this alarming message. The first time, I checked my various banking accounts and could find nothing irregular. I assumed the bank was sending this message to the wrong customer.
Last week, I set out to take part in a cyclethon which had all the promise of a thunderous event complete with disco lights, the hippest of DJs and an ongoing supply of energy drinks.
When I arrived, all I saw were a lot of empty bikes, women and men in tights waiting to mount, while crackling sound speakers and subdued lighting attempted to create an ambience.
By all accounts the gig economy takes off, but fears of AI replace the good ol’ human remain. And here’s a dog to help things along.
“This robot delivery dog will hitch a ride in a driverless car to deliver your packages.” https://www.verdict.co.uk/robot-delivery-dog-continental/
Two things struck me:
- The reality of AI and the number of jobs that are lost to mechanisation and 2. my mind travelled back to the article I read this morning about the 10 000 jobs lost in newsrooms over the past 10 years
- For us as writers it only means one thing – we have to be more and more creative and put our minds to writing content – that not just sells but sizzles and stirs mouth-watering responses.
Hire me. I’m your gal …(sorry it’s about dogs again)
With no less than eight beautiful loving dogs at home, and witnessing the birth of three perfect puppies, I am rather distressed to learn that the origin of the word ‘doggerel’ originates from a time when people thought dogs were less than honorary human beings.
Can you just image living in such a heartless age?
Last night while watching an excellent wildlife programme, I saw an antelope give birth, apparently a two-hour stint, to get the eager youngster out.
While I was engrossed in the final minutes, a friend called and took away my attention. She was complaining about her friend who talks the hind legs off a donkey. While doing that, she was guilty of the same offence – and I wanted to get back to ‘my’ antelope.
It’s all fair in love and war and friendship too.
I felt I was losing ground with a friend and that we would soon be going our own separate ways, so I asked her to do something for me which would require her to commit to making an effort in a very specific way.
As I contemplate my next travel destination, my enthusiasm starts with a trip to Russia, then Egypt and Morocco and finally India, again.
Then it occurs to me, having just finished reading Mao’s Last Dancer by Li Cunxin, why not China?