I've been falling behind with my reading.
I had an impressive winter last year. It would take me less than a week to finish books I'd been dying to read but had consistently just added to my Goodreads to-read list (East of Eden, White Noise, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, for some examples).
Combined with my 60+ hr/week job and the fact that I was neglecting regular exercise (yet again), this should be seen as a miraculous feat. If only I could duplicate it this year.
I'm only working 40 hrs/week now, but with the commute it's more like 55. Living in the suburbs is steadily gnawing at my soul. Instead of reading at night, I marathon, like, five episodes of Gilmore Girls. Friends, it's become that bad.
In place of my novel-reading habit, which has dropped quite disastrously (I'm only 130 pages into 100 Years of Solitude ... a month later), I've been reading essays and short fiction online. It's given me something to do in my off-time that's not too overwhelming. I'll always be a lover of the novel first, but this should do in its stead.
Tess Lynch is one of the writers I follow for this kind of content. She doesn't post as much as I'd like her to (not everyone is my dancing monkey, of course), but it's cool. That's because, when she does, it's essentially how I'd like my writing to be - sensitive, sincere, well-crafted, elegant. It goes on.
She writes about a bunch of different topics - motherhood, current events, Kathleen Hale. If you'd like, read this story about a cat/relationship (one of my favourite things I've read on the Internet, ever) or this one about her son.
It's been a weird week. Diving into reading helps with things like this, at least.
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