I always thought writing would be a gentle pastime. Sitting at a desk, fingers busily tapping the keyboard, ideas flowing from mind to computer in a steady creative stream. But it’s not like that in our household. For a start, if the words won’t come, I pace the kitchen, deep in thought. If Joe speaks, I snap at him, annoyed that he’s breaking into my train of thought.Living in a tiny village in Spain is definitely inspirational. I can work undisturbed, gazing out onto the mountains between paragraphs. No sounds apart from the bee-eaters chattering as they fly through the valley in flocks, or Uncle Felix’s mule clattering through the streets. So there should be no distractions, right? Wrong, I’m afraid.
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“Vicky! Come and see this eagle,” Joe calls, and I abandon everything and race to look. We're not expert enough to identify it, but that doesn't matter. To watch an eagle wheeling in the endless, blue sky over the mountain tops is a joy and a privilege.
Or, “Vicky! Paco’s just given me this huge bag of vegetables. What shall we do with them?” I turn away from the computer to admire the contents of the carrier bag he’s holding out, crammed with glossy red and green peppers, courgettes and purple aubergines. So I search for recipes that require these delicious ingredients, and start preparing and cooking, my manuscript forgotten...
Read more at: http://www.expatfocus.com/victoria-twead-200911
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