I seem to be in a sort of extended writers block. I am as obsessed about books as ever and I am still finding time to read remarkably. But I am having a hard time writing about what I read. I can’t seem to focus long enough to think intelligently about what I am reading or long enough to get the thoughts I have down. For some reason writing feels like work these days.
Perhaps, now that a big part of my “day job” is writing, writing as a hobby and for no pay seems wrong or a distraction. But I think mostly it has to do with habit. When you are posting regularly and engaged in debates and conversations things flow much more easily. In the same way, when you get out of the habit of posting regularly and the creative juices seem to die up it is hard to jump start things again.
Not sure why I am posting this either seeing how I have no indication that anyone reads this blog except for those that surf in from Google searches and other side doors. Publishers must see something in that as they keep sending the emails and the books. Which is like bartenders emailing alcoholics offering to buy the first round.
I never intended this to become simply a running record of the books I have read – or more accurately a record of some the books that I have read with a long lag time. But this is kinda where we find ourselves. Not much left to do but suck it up and press on. But being a blogger I wanted to write a meandering post about the lack of content and muse about what it all means.
BTW, I really like the word that makes the title of this post. I found it via one of the sleep screens on my Kindle. Great word. For more see here.
