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May 27, 2020
Idiomatic measures of time have been tagging my interest; the most recent: ‘until my ink dries’, really tickled my fancy. The writer, falling to metaphor, was saying - until I can no longer write - which for a professional writer is a euphemism for - until I die. Unpacking these layers, exposing an intensity of passion, somehow added humour to the article and made me smile, the more so as it was deeply embedded in a diatribe criticising modern literary competitions on how prizes and fame damage the reputation of the whole book industry: publishers, booksellers and writers, both winners and losers.