CAME ACROSS this quote by Dr. Seuss yesterday morning: “Sometimes you will never know the value of a moment, until it becomes a memory.” And it struck a chord because it feels like lately, that we're always waiting/hoping to move past current situations and times and on to better ones ...
THERE IS a Welsh word, hiraeth, that is used to describe a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past. I've been studying words in other languages recently, marvelling at how different languages have so many descriptive ways to denote very specific feelings or situations.
During one of my more desperate phases as a young novelist, I began to question whether I should actually be writing my own stories. I was deeply uninterested at the time in anything that resembled a plot, but I acknowledged that if I wanted to attain any sort of literary success I would need to tell a story that had a distinct beginning, middle, and end.