Author Archives: Scribe Doll
A Story My Grandfather Used To Tell My Mother…
My mother used to tell me a story which her father would tell her. My grandfather was Iranian (half Azerbaidjani, haf Turkmenistani), and this may be a Sufi tale… When Noah was gathering all the animals onto his Ark, and … Continue reading
The Lady of Paris
When I first saw her, a few weeks ago, while crossing the Pont Saint-Michel, she looked like the ghost of a bygone age, her earthly life a memory, her soul gone from the stone. Grey against the bleak, overcast night … Continue reading
Posted in Travel
Tagged katherine gregor, Notre-Dame, Paris, polyphony, scribe doll, writing
13 Comments
Queuing Outside la Comédie Française
Night is slowly permeating the evening sky in Place André Malraux. The rain has eased into a steady drizzle and the yellow street lamps have come on. The air is imbued with car exhaust fumes and roast chestnuts. A smell … Continue reading
Posted in Travel
Tagged Comédie Française, katherine gregor, Molière, Paris, scribe doll, theatre
10 Comments
New Moon, New Month
The crescent of a new moon is slowly emerging through the darkening sky. A pale silver at first, now with a bright, almost golden glow. A waxing new moon. A middle-aged lady in the flat down the corridor, when I … Continue reading
Feriae Augusti
Yesterday morning, when I opened the windows my skin suddenly felt taut. It was like a slap. There was a a chill in the wind. The sky was a pale, drab grey. My heart sank. It’s only the middle of … Continue reading
Posted in Uncategorized
15 Comments
Paris, 14 Juillet
We were in Paris this time last year. I was enjoying the buzz and feeling shortchanged: we don’t have national holidays in England, at least none that carry any kind of historical significance. No religious holidays except Christmas and Easter, … Continue reading
Posted in Odds & Ends
Tagged Bastille Day, katherine gregor, Notre-Dame, Paris, scribe doll, writing
8 Comments
Reconnecting
The fountain pen feels heavy in my hand. I haven’t written for a long time. I mean written – not typed. That I do every day, all day. Click, click. Irregular, hollow. I tap the plastic keys, one letter at a … Continue reading
