Just coming out of one of those annoying slumps, the kind when the kicks that usually work for you just don’t cut it. Over the last two months, I’ve hardly written a word, I’ve read only two or three books and even the movie-watching has dropped off. Don’t know why, can’t explain it. It’s been awhile since I experienced that sort of complete lack of interest in the things I normally love and it’s always accompanied by a general sense of malaise and unfocused anxiety. Weird.
But as I say, I’m coming out of it now. The two or three books I read eventually kick-started my imagination again (the Zeltserman book in the previous review, Burrough’s Junky, and the new one by Vincent Zandri, which was pretty goddamn awesome, review coming soon). I’ve been getting excited again about outlining a new novel and doing some much-needed revisions on City of Heretics. Much catching up to do. Two months is much too long to stew around not enjoying anything, don’t you think?
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