This week has not gone according to plan. Last week didn’t quite either, but this week has been worse.
Suffice to say, the writing isn’t happening as intended. As desired.
However, I’ve finally read a few books again. I somehow went through a rather bad dry spell for the past several months. Maybe more like the last year. I guess I’m not actually surprised.
But reading these books has been reinvigorating, exciting, inspiring. It’s like I spent long enough drawing down my reserves of enthusiasm that the wells ran dry, and these books are filling me back up again. They’re not all exactly what I’m looking for, or fine literature per se, but they’ve all reminded me of what I love about fiction. Reading them has been wonderful.
I’ll probably write about the books here another week, when I’m not driving my partner to their grandfather’s (tiny, outdoor, socially distant) funeral.
Life ends, life continues. C’est la vie.
And as my mom pointed out, maybe this will be good fuel for more writing to come.