I'm sitting overlooking an almost medieval mooring at the confluence of the rivers Saone and Doubs. I've spent the morning feeding the tiniest, new-hatched ducklings yesterday's bread, then some of today's because they were hungry. I've been hatching myself - themes and ideas for a new novel. I've also been reflecting on the book I've just finished reading - Before I Go to Sleep by SJ Watson, about a woman who loses her memory every time she goes to sleep. I become a bit like Zelig when I read a good book:in Woody Allen's movie, the hero morphes into anyone he becomes close to, taking on all their attributes. The vulnerability and dependence of Watson's heroine Christine had an eloquence which touched some nerve inside me.
Waking this morning, with pollen from the lime trees and the sound of the village's church bells drifting through the window, it took a moment to remember where -if not who - I was. But I do remember. And I remember that what makes a good book is a central character with whom you can identify intensely. So as we glide further south on the Saone, I shall bear that in mind as I plot and plan and think and dream...
PS No pix, sadly, as words don't do justice to the beauty, but I left the camera battery charging in our bedroom at home!
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