Going to Town

City

The other day, I went to town.  I mean this in an actual as well as figurative sense.

Whenever I leave my beloved mountain village to go to the Big Smoke, I like to indulge myself just a little.

My favourite haunt is a famous book shop with a whole section devoted to books on writing. (It also has a great cafe with booths that feel as though you are in a private room.)

The last thing I need is another book on writing — I have about 50 already —but there’s no harm in drooling over them, surely.

The Write-Brain Workbook

Such as this one like a bumper colouring book only with writing prompts and exercises. Or

Ten minutes a day

which is an appealing idea but I’m not sure I am committed enough. Then there’s Fiona

which opens with the idea that to write is a verb. It requires action. This makes sense.

To collect is another verb. I collect books about writing.

To browse is another verb. You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?

Collecting books about writing doesn’t make me a writer. It just makes me a collector.

If I want to be a writer, I must write.

Sigh. It’s so simple really.

By the way, I didn’t buy any of the above but it’s good to have a wish list prepared, in case anyone asks.

What writing books are on your wish list?

 

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