Sophie B. Hawkins

You won’t believe this, because I can’t believe it myself, but this Royal Wedding is making me smile. I feel there is a rebirth of something classic, like the way Virginia Woolf writes about Big Ben, in Mrs Dalloway, and Orlando, that clock which is eternally pulling us into the present-or bust.

When I used to read Jane Austin I squirmed because I wanted that world to be true, but thought only she was true,

 »  Read More

Dash said last night, “I’m happy. Sad happy.” In my own way I feel the sorrow of growing, of seeing, of learning. On the one hand I’ve met profoundly committed people since 2008, people who put their lives on hold and sometimes never get back to them because they discover an injustice in our society and they want to expose it, right it. And I’ve also met people who have sold their souls to the extent they seem to be mind controlled,

 »  Read More

It was an evening business meeting at Hollys house, our Broadway producer, our Hollywood producer, potential investors and guacamole. A woman from next door walked in through the garden doors that hung open with weight of night blooming Jasmine, smartly East Coast and fixed on reaching the couch with no detours or small talk. She was a friend of the New York guy.

I liked her immediately, I introduced myself and sat down next her.

 »  Read More