You know how, every so often, I go quiet on here for a while, then come back with talk about all the writing I’m planning to do but have been too busy for, or haven’t been in the right headspace while I’m in the middle of moving house, or how I’m feeling bad that I’ve been kinda lazy but I’m itching to get back to it any day now?
This is, like, half one of those, because I haven’t posted in ages and I guess I’m sort of apologising. But it’s half not that at all, because I’m not actually remotely sorry, I’ve just not even been trying to write anything for a while and it’s really nice.
I mean, I’m not totally giving up. I still want to engage with the world, including discussing politics and ideas and stuff, and sometimes that’ll involve lengthy rants and rambles on here. And there’s a good chance I’ll have another sincere go at churning a book out at some stage.
But lately I’ve had the longest stretch I’ve allowed myself in quite some time of not giving a shit about any of that. I’ve been tidying the house, and learning to cook a bit more, and playing the piano, and reading, and binge-watching kick-ass female-oriented Netflix superhero shows with my wife in our cosy basement, and basically having a nice time.
I do seem mostly to be better at having a nice time when I’m not trying to be a writer.
It’ll be a shame if I can never find a way to reconcile those two at least a little more than I am right now. But… I’m starting to think maybe not that much of a shame.