I have finally read a novel by George Eliot. I may in the near future read another book by her. While I was reading the novel I've sort of felt like I was reading a little bit of Thomas Hardy's writing. The novel is about people living out in the country side and away from huge cities. But still have to think more about the novel before I can say anything about it.

The days has been getting warmer in the last couple of days. But every so often the night wind comes through the city and cools off the night. We may get a little bit of rain because the rain clouds have been appearing and cooling off the late afternoon. It's wonderful to watch the rain clouds change colors as the sun is slowly sailing down to the west. One moment the clouds are pure white and it slowly changes colors and when the sun is very low...the redness pours over the clouds. And one can look forward to a new day and watch the world move on and continue to write in long hand. There have been a few ideas floating around in the back of my head and I just need to write them down on papers. Even though I have been trying to get the first novel to a publisher to look and read the entire manuscript. Maybe one of these days the book will be published and let the world read the book on their own. In the mean time, I have to keep myself writing and keep on writing. Writing and reading...but I should be leaning more toward writing...putting words down on papers...WRITING and WRITING...

Darkness has flooded the land and gradually, the street lights turned on and the evening world has changed a little. The clear blue sky has been replaced with blackness. But if one were to sit by a huge window one could watch the night change into day. People of all ages come and go and they never seem to stop moving and chatting away. But it's wonderful just to sit back and watch people come and go and sometime just to listen to them talk about their lives. I think by listening to their stories one can be able to create stories for the world to read and hopefully enjoy them. For the time being, I' still waiting for those stories to come to me and create the stories on paper. Those stories are out there and I just need to get them into my pens or pencils and create the stories.

It has been cloudy for the last two days now. It sort of feels like winter is returning instead of spring. Still...I have not done very much writing. I only have half a page written. I really don't know where the narrator is going to go...next. Or what he's going to chat about for the next 400 pages. I've even tried writing the story in long hand and that didn't seem to help with the flow of the new story. I've even tried reading novels to help with the story and that didn't seem to help at all. I really don't know what to do but wait and gaze out the window and watch the world go by. I've seen a few white boys walking by wearing their torn jeans. And there are others, walking their fat dogs on the sidewalks. I continue to wait for an image of some sort to emerge or drop down from the fast moving clouds. The clouds that never seem to stay still for very long because the ever moving winds moves them forward. Fire and Rain...

Again, the images are just beyond my fingertips. I can only see the opening page of the next novel. The image of the narrator sitting in his earth covered hogan and waiting for something to happen or maybe not. The world outside his hogan has been floated by the darkness and I don't know if there's going to be full moon rise. He hears the sound of his flocks' bells. And there maybe a lone plane flying over head or maybe not. But what will make him open the flood gates of his stories or tales. What type of images will he release through his stories. Stories he thought he had forgotten since his childhood. There has to be something that will make him retell his life story. Maybe a picture will slip out from between a book he picked up off the floor...a book he has been meaning to read for a long time. Who's going to be in the picture? Will it be a picture of his lost beloved...person? What is he going to talk about and how's he going to do it. Surely, he's not going to talk to his cat and his room. Yes, he's going to do a lot of chatting...maybe throughout the entire night and beyond. I really don't know if he has a goal or not. But he's going to talk and talk...