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Sam van Zweden

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A Month of Reading

It’s freakin’ crazy right now, and that’s about all I have time to say about it.

I didn’t get a chance to post my Month of Reading yesterday, as a new nephew was welcomed to the world and I was out swooning over his cuteness. So here it is. What have you been reading this month?

 

Books Bought:
Affection, by Krissy Kneen
Poppy, by Drusila Modjeska
This Too Shall Pass, by SJ Finn
Iris, by John Bailey
Rosie Little’s Cautionary Tales for Girls, by Danielle Wood
Wabi Sabi Love, by Arielle Ford
All of Me, by Kim Noble.

Gifted:
Obernewtyn, by Isobelle Carmody*
Our Father Who Wasn’t There, by David Carlin

Borrowed:
The Lover, by Margeurite Duras

Books Read:
Juno: The Shooting Script, by Diablo Cody
The Hunger Games: Mockingjay, by Suzanne Collins
Phaedrus, by Plato
Running Dogs, by Ruby J. Murray
The Trojan Women, by Euripides
The Turn of the Screw, by Henry James

Currently Reading:
The Confidence Gap, by Russ Harris
Why We Broke Up, by Daniel Handler and Maira Kalman

 

*Thanks to Tully Hansen for giving me another signed copy of Obernewtyn. Turns out they’re not uncommon. 

Excuses

People say it’s easy to make excuses.

I disagree. It’s bloody hard!

In the last two or so weeks I’ve missed, skipped, and bowed out of half a dozen things. Mainly things I would’ve enjoyed, too. Life has just gotten in the way – an illness in the family, money stress, double-booking myself, final assessment pieces coming up for school. I know they’re all valid excuses, but I’ve skipped so many things that I almost feel like they’re not.

I also find these excuses popping up for writing… Too much noise, half-baked idea, other things need doing more, too emotional right now, the list goes on. I’m good at excuses.

I keep having to remind myself that writers write, and that one poem or paragraph or blog a week does not a writer make. Life doesn’t ever stop and shuffle off to the side to make room for me to write comfortably. Most of the time it is a necessarily uncomfortable process.

Enough excuses. I’m going to go write.

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