Writing and reading


Made some more progress on a zine tonight, which feels great. I’ve been a bit frustrated creatively for ages. Once in a while there’d be breakthroughs, but for the most part, I felt muted. Maybe it was stress and busy-ness that atrophied my mind. Writing everyday for the last couple of weeks has been helpful.

I’ve picked up zines to read over the last couple of days too. That’s helped. I sometimes feel guilty for reading. I used to read a lot when I was younger. Unable to tear myself away from good books, I’d devour them one by one, caring very little for other stuff going on if the story got exciting. I think I’ve been reading less in recent years cos I can’t feed my obsession and go on reading rolls so much. I can’t skip work, for example, to read a book. I can’t put my life on hold like I could during summer holidays.

Holidays… I’ve formed a habit of book consumption when we go away now. Because I don’t need to care about anything but getting my fill of having a good time. I finished the last 2/3 of Dune over 4 days at the Vines, popped my Clive Barker cherry last Christmas with Mister B. Gone, stayed up all night reading Hellbound Heart in Melbourne then couldn’t sleep for ages cos of all the grossness it put in my head. I have Game of Thrones now and it’s massive, so I’m very much looking forward to the next sabbatical, disappearing in my own head with some beautifully penned words and a beer.