An Hour A Day

I've been home from Paris for a week now, after my pilgrimage there to rekindle creative joy in my writing. First, of course, I had to d...

Yesterday was my last full day in Paris before flying home this afternoon. So of course it had to begin as all last days of international tr...

When I am "old and grey and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire" (Yeats), I will still remember these past three days in Rignac...

Once I made my plan to slip away from Paris for a couple of days, the rain stopped! The skies were gray but nothing wet was falling out of t...

Dear readers who have followed my rapturous posts about the bliss of writing with Rembrandt at the Louvre and with the Impressionists at the...

Today I took my writerly self for a creative outing to the M usée d'Orsay. It was another gray morning when I headed out on the twenty-m...

On day three of my writing retreat in Paris, it was time to get serious about . . . writing. Rain was predicted so I planned to spend all da...