Quoyloo Quill

Thanks to Orkney Scriever, Alison Miller, for her reflections in this blog piece. Would I like my personal diaries and letters to be read by other people when I’m dead and gone? Would I like them mined for works of fiction? It’s not an easy question to answer. Sure, while I’m still on the planet, the thought of somebody raking through private letters and journals feels somewhat uncomfortable. What did I say? What did I reveal about myself that I would rather keep hidden? Did I malign people? Was any of it actionable? I could ensure this scenario never happens by getting rid of diaries and letters while I still have time. On the other hand, when I’m dead, I don’t imagine I’ll give a stuff.   I recall a writer friend telling me she’d destroyed all her journals, written over decades of her life because she didn’t want her daughters-in-law to read them when she’s gone. The pang I felt when she said this was visceral. How could she consign years of details of her life, years of thoughts, ye

An odd title for the, belated, first blog of the year (and apologies to Blondie), but there is a reason. One of my New Year's resolutions is to take a photograph every day of something pertinent. So far, so good, although some are more interesting than others and I have had to revert to photographing my cats on quieter days, but I wonder if, come December, I shall still be clicking away, or will have long forgotten my January resolve. My other resolution, inspired by fab notelets I received for Christmas, is to write a 'proper' letter once a month and send it by Royal Mail to a friend or family member. Having long got out of the way of writing letters, this is not an easy task and seems a stupid one, given the convenience of email. No need to buy stamps and find a postbox, instant delivery and possible reply within minutes. However, there is something nice about receiving a letter or card in the post. My daughter did advise me, once, that there was no point getting a card u