Bit cold over Easter. Such a pity. Had to stay inside and read. And eat (why do they call them scorched almonds? Anyone know?).
But there was a no-writing rule in place over Easter. After weeks of work, and writing, and study and everything else, I thought my writing arm was going to drop off last week. Luckily it's recovered, because it's back in action this morning.
Finished Kipling's Kim, which rekindled the desire to write about the Great Game; the first volume of Diana Cooper's autobiography, which I thought might help with my task for the next month, the re-writing of my adult WWI novel, but the Lady Diana's adventures are really too other-worldly to be any use at all for my middle-class protagonists; two very good YA historical adventures by Sherryl Jordan (The Hunting of the Last Dragon and The Juniper Game); and an awful lot of picture books while looking for a suitable present for a one-year-old (The Very Hungry Caterpillar and our old favourite Harry The Dirty Dog won out). And Eloise, of course. I also read Rumpus at the Vet to the one-year-old, who has got very good at turning pages since we last met. And squealing. That's her real specialty.
Now I'm back in The Crusades.
The problem is, the more you read, the more, usually completely tangential, ideas you get and there simply aren't enough hours in the day.