Grey on White

I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that most of us are currently in the middle of winter (to those of you on the other end of the globe, I hope you're enjoying your summer...).

Around here, for the last couple of years, winter has meant cold, wet weather, lots of mud and general misery, weather-wise. Everything was grey-brown and the cold was of the kind that went straight into your bones.

This year, winter brought snow, ice and lots and lots of white on the ground. It would have been even nicer if the white blanket went with a blue rather than grey sky but beggars can't be choosers, right? So we have, right now, a surplus of snow (very pretty), a grey sky (not so pretty but could be worse) and no cold bones in sight.

Instead, I got an actual cold, fever and everything. Which is doing wonders for my ability to concentrate on anything at all.

*sigh*

And yes, I'm sorry my blogposts seem to be all about complaining lately.

Insecure, almost in Lent

My dear, dearest fellow Insecurists!

Insecure Writer's Home CLICK HERE 

Welcome to this month's support group post on my lately very blurry blurb. I've been remiss - as usual - to do the blogging I've been meaning to do this month, and my writing quota isn't even close to being filled.

In fact, I've done hardly any (creative) writing at all this year. Nothing, nada, niente. There are endless oh so reasonable explanations for why this is so, all of which I'm sure I've used before.

The only thing to say, in truth, is this: I am not organized enough to find time to write. And how lame is that??

I suck.



ps. please excuse the short I'm-depressed rant, but I'm really not feeling to good about this right now, so I'm going to post this and hope some of you tell me it's normal to feel that way at times... hint, hint??

Reading in 2013

Two posts in such a short period of time? I'm doing well, aren't I?

*ahem*

Today I wanted to share with you my reading challenge for 2013 - about a month late, but hey, here it is:

This year, I want to read - or re-read - as many Sci-Fi novels and series as I can get my hands on. I've already started with Jack Campbell's Lost Fleet series, and mean to move on to David Feintuch's Hope books and, of course, the Childe Cycle...

Here's what's currently on my list:

1. Jack Campbell's The Lost Fleet series (7 books)
2. Jack Campbell's Lost Fleet - Beyond the Frontier books (4 books?) 
3. David Feintuch's Seafort Saga books 
4. Dorsai!! ect. - meaning the Childe Cycle, or most of it, anyway, by Gordon R Dickinson
5. Alex J Cavanaugh's books 
6. The Deathstalker books by Simon R Green
7. Orson Scott Card's Ender Series

So do you have any recommendations for me? A Sci-Fi book that cannot be missed? Let me know! 

I am lost in a sea of words

Life is just so daily.

Dick Sattler

I woke up this morning, heart racing, cold shivers running down my spine, full of the absolute certainly that I'd forgotten something, something so vital the neglect of it would have consequences dear and dire. The usual getting-myself-together phase I have during breakfast was overwhelmed by the desperate attempt to capture what was missing, what subconscious spark had put me on edge. 

It took four solid pages of writing in my diary (okay, there were a couple of coffees involved, too) for me to realise the sad truth - I haven't written anything in weeks. The corner of my brain Mr Muse calls his own has been gathering cobwebs, turning into a veritable haunted house of emaciated, whispy ideas hiding behind corners and under dusty rugs, ready to pounce on any thoughts that might wander their way. 

What I call "real life" (parenthesis because how real can it be if I'm not writing, huh?) has gripped me firmly, pulled me down into the mire. I'm stuck there, in that daily trott of too much to do, too little time, too little sleep, too little everything but work and worries. 

Like Mr Sattler said: Life is just so daily. One too early morning follows the next, one stack of papers gets replaced by another, one task done and another one due (mostly due yesterday). Barely time to breathe, never mind make an appointment with Mr Muse and actually WRITE something. 

All this dailyness leaves me with a strangely profound feeling of loss, an ache at the very centre of my chest as if my heart is about to burst. What I need is time to let my thoughts run wild, let them play, let my imagination build things out of all those words slipping through my mind day in, day out. 

What I need is a writing holiday.