Recently I blogged about the fear of publishing, with all the incumbent stresses that could come with doing it too well. I found an interesting article at the National Post about a writer who desperately went after publication for her book - something of a family expose - and then regretted it when it was published; she preferred that no one read it, after all. This is such an odd story, with the old warning, "be careful what you wish for" firmly attached. The article link is here.
I'm still in deep introspection mode. No matter how hard I try to get back to 'real' life, I find myself dwelling on future writing objectives. I probably need a good night out with the girls, or a nice lunch in town, but it's an effort to socialize, to reach out to anyone. A friend up the street was so chatty and warm the other day, but all I could think about was getting back to my work. How boring we writers become! I've noticed a few of you out there voicing much the same thing. I'm hoping my mood is simply exacerbated by the weather and that, as the first days of Glorious Spring arrive, I'll bounce back to my un-writerly self for a bit. I do have another side, really! It's just that it got buried the last few months.
My favorite thing to do, on a nice sunny morning, is wander up to our local charity shop. I love that shop. I get to buy books, unusual things for the house, even nice clothing - and all for a song. It's not that I can't afford new, but getting a bargain, knowing that I'm recycling, is such a pleasure. I have never been a true shopaholic (well, perhaps for a couple of years in the 80s when everyone was doing it) but I could become one at charity shops. There are so many interesting things for sale.
That last paragraph was an attempt to come back to earth. I hope you recognized that. It certainly had nothing to do with writing - and that was the point.
Is it the weather, guys? Or is it just me?
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