It seems forever ago I wrote in here, but I suppose it wasn’t THAT long ago. Honestly, I haven’t been feeling very much in the writing mood lately. I even stopped reading books on writing for awhile. I felt overloaded, and still do. It’s funny, because the last time I wrote in the blog was either the day of, or the day after I had a glass or two of wine. I had vowed to limit my drinking, and I have, but tonight I decided it had been long enough and relax for a few hours with some red. Now here I am. Writing.
Coincidence? Don’t know, but it sure is interesting.
Maybe the wine does help me to unlock my unconscious, relax, let my guard down to let others in.
Maybe that’s why so many writers drink.
It makes it easier.
I definitely don’t want to make a habit of drinking just to write, that’s for sure. Not a very good one to get into. The rain recordings help a lot, but I want more. Who doesn’t?
Walking into a bookstore tears me in two. I’m torn because I love it, yet I can’t stand to see the sight of so many books that don’t bear my name. Depressing to say it gently.
What a mindfuck. This writing business.
