Later, July
I'm mostly glad to have the month behind me, what with the brain-boiling weather that crops up occasionally (and which we will probably have just a little more of in this coming month). I survived another summer month. Yay.
Now, I just need to put up a website. And maybe write something new. I am having dreadful block - not the staring at an empty page kind of writer's block, but the never-getting-around-to-opening-an-empty-page kind. I have things that I want to do, but they all seem so pointless and misguided, even the stuff that I want to just do for fun. I think my main problem is that I am so heavily surrounded by worthy entertainment that of COURSE my silly ideas seem pointless in comparison. I mean, seriously, who wants an angsty pop-star/mental illness story when I have, sitting right there waiting to be read, books by Philip Pullman, Daniel Handler, Samuel Delany, John Courtenay Grimwood, Martin Amis, and Alfred Bester? (those are just the newest books that I actually own, and I have a couple of others out from the library, and a couple of others on hold).
Perhaps I should just put all my books into storage so that I no longer see them in my bedroom, parcel them out, read two or three a year at most. Get comfy with the knowledge that I could never read all the books I wanted to read in one lifetime, anyway. Put away the videotapes and DVDs; get back to watching only one hour a week of televised entertainment, whether broadcast or on storage media. Try desperately to get back to the kind of state where I made up stuff all the time, effortlessly, compulsively, selfishly, lists and characters and fantasy unbridled. OK, I'll read some more of the Starman graphic novel I'm currently on, and help out Jen with her new project and then...
*tearing sensation of loss at the thought of sending the precious books away*
I gotta do it. Like exercise. Shake off the thoughts of mortality and helplessness. Appreciate the fact that intense itching on my scalp woke me up an hour and a half early today, and I'm not at all tired, probably because I exercised intensely for 45 minutes for two days in a row. Hooray for Terence Stamp and free weights. Hope I don't backslide, what with the fact that the whole rest of the week has a social engagement every single night. One episode of Veronica Mars, on videotape, once a week; no books, no comics, no fanfic online unless it's my own. Must make myself so desperate for words that I create them myself.
Now, I just need to put up a website. And maybe write something new. I am having dreadful block - not the staring at an empty page kind of writer's block, but the never-getting-around-to-opening-an-empty-page kind. I have things that I want to do, but they all seem so pointless and misguided, even the stuff that I want to just do for fun. I think my main problem is that I am so heavily surrounded by worthy entertainment that of COURSE my silly ideas seem pointless in comparison. I mean, seriously, who wants an angsty pop-star/mental illness story when I have, sitting right there waiting to be read, books by Philip Pullman, Daniel Handler, Samuel Delany, John Courtenay Grimwood, Martin Amis, and Alfred Bester? (those are just the newest books that I actually own, and I have a couple of others out from the library, and a couple of others on hold).
Perhaps I should just put all my books into storage so that I no longer see them in my bedroom, parcel them out, read two or three a year at most. Get comfy with the knowledge that I could never read all the books I wanted to read in one lifetime, anyway. Put away the videotapes and DVDs; get back to watching only one hour a week of televised entertainment, whether broadcast or on storage media. Try desperately to get back to the kind of state where I made up stuff all the time, effortlessly, compulsively, selfishly, lists and characters and fantasy unbridled. OK, I'll read some more of the Starman graphic novel I'm currently on, and help out Jen with her new project and then...
*tearing sensation of loss at the thought of sending the precious books away*
I gotta do it. Like exercise. Shake off the thoughts of mortality and helplessness. Appreciate the fact that intense itching on my scalp woke me up an hour and a half early today, and I'm not at all tired, probably because I exercised intensely for 45 minutes for two days in a row. Hooray for Terence Stamp and free weights. Hope I don't backslide, what with the fact that the whole rest of the week has a social engagement every single night. One episode of Veronica Mars, on videotape, once a week; no books, no comics, no fanfic online unless it's my own. Must make myself so desperate for words that I create them myself.