Having spent nearly all of my two week break from the day job sick with some sort of sinus deal that has gone on to attack the rest of the family while refusing to get out of my head, I find that once again I didn’t accomplish much writing wise the last two weeks. Pretty much symptomatic of the year as well.
While the books keep coming and I continue to do reviews, I don’t seem to be able to turn it into something more than a black hole time eater. Voracious in appetite, reviewing takes up a considerable amount of time because I actually read the whole book. I have yet to find a way to at least bring in a few bucks from time to time for reviewing despite having done this for more than ten years now. The continuous cutbacks of review slots in a variety of markets this past year certainly didn’t help one get a foot in the door.
Fiction wise this past year was my worst since the mid 90’s when I first started out in terms of acceptances. Truth be told, it was also my lowest in terms of submissions. I simply didn’t get the work out there and circulating because I didn’t get the work done. Financial and health issues certainly have taken their toll and I find myself deep in the abyss these days which isn’t a good place for this guy to construct stories. Walk along the edge, peer over the side, that all works. Dropping into the abyss with lead shoes on does little to help the creative process.
The woods might be dark and deep but the abyss is much, much worse.
While I do still enjoy reading, I find I really don’t much care for the review process much anymore. Some of it is the usual crap that goes along with the idea of doing reviews and that goes with the territory. But, I also increasingly wonder if thoughtful reviews, dare I say it, the kind of reviews I do really matter in a sea of noise generated by those who write reviews of a sentence or two and think they have done something as well as those reviewers who love every book they ever write about. I’d like to think the reviews I do still matter, but increasingly, I feel like the moderator on some bad cable talk show where all the guests just scream at each other.
So many things have to change…….
Forgotten Books: E.C. Segar's POPEYE (1929-1938)
9 minutes ago