graceyu:

was right: Writing is a lonely job.

Lonely and time consuming. Mad props to the writers who held down their daily responsibilities while pushing out their novels. They were machines!

To sleep or to write? That is always the question.

That and what my next meal will be.

Something I face everyday as I stare at my computer wondering where all the words come from.


J. M. W. Turner, Margate (?), from the Sea (detail), 1835-40 (x)
kourtneyjackson:

My work mess + leftover Scrabble game with Daniel. So many little delights.
awelltraveledwoman:

sinkling:

m-ty:

(by michelle k. a.)

I find it so lovely

Stop this right now.

Summer time: this is how you will look.  Complete with pimms in mason jars.
theoldgal:

This god damn day.
fortysixsunsets:

shelbyisms:

yay, dead week!

Oh yeah. This is me.
An accurate description for the current state of my mind. End of term has a way of making all my thoughts seem strange.
~   Virginia Woolf, London: A Guide To Bloomsbury And Beyond (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)

undr:

Fox Photos
Londoners braving the snow and sleet outside Blackfriars tube station. 1933

I came to the conclusion that this year is an extension of 2012, but things have started to look up.  In the past two months in particular.  The end of term is in sight but my attention has been focused on finishing my final projects and scripts.  It has been a battle of writing and rewriting, then rewriting some more.  I am looking forward to the days where I have nothing to do but lay outside and read.  But until then, more radio silence on my end.

Opaque  by  andbamnan