Whether it’s your inability to start a new book, because you are still living in the world of the book you have just finished, or if it is simply that as you close the cover on the last page, you realise the rest of the world has just carried on while you’ve suffered a battery of emotions, book hangovers, can be a pain.
You see book hangovers don’t always spoil your enjoyment of reading, they can spoil your enjoyment of writing, or experiencing real life, because you cannot shake the feelings they have caused. Sometimes those feelings can be inspirational and drive you forward, sometimes they will be dark and hang around for days making you contemplate all you know.
I find book hangovers more annoying than real hangovers, because they invariable last an awful lot longer, but unlike those mornings after the night before where you swear you’ll never drink again, I know I’ll always read another book, because the heroes and heroines are my heroin, my drug, my addiction, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.
it doesn’t mean you can write, but it doesn’t mean I can’t dream either.
There is a question I am being asked more and more frequently of late, to the point where even my own mother has got in on the act.
“When are you going to write your / Why don’t you write a book”
It stems from my love of books, and all things bookish, my years of attending book festivals, and my friends who either write themselves or are somehow ‘in the industry’. You’ve seen from my posts here I get through an awful lot of books, I’m already up to 64 for the year, and I really enjoy the escapism that comes from losing yourself when reading.
But, am I a writer?
My reviews don’t always suggest so. I know what I like and what I don’t, and if you sit across a table from me I will argue the salient points behind my belief with gusto, but can I get them over to you in a blog post? I’d say not, but If I read the reviews of books I’ve read in broadsheets, or specialist book blogging websites, they often put my offerings to shame, but at the same time, I’m not interested in having the synopsis of a book regurgitated to me, I change my mind, as let’s face it, the review never makes you read a book. Those damn author written taglines on the front cover will though.
When I look at other things I’ve written, on older, now defunct blogs I see something, even if I’m not sure what that something is, that points in another direction.
My desire to write is also hampered by something else. I’m a major league procrastinator, hence this blog. I am always avoiding doing anything that actually needs to be done. Maybe it’s laziness, maybe it’s just being afraid of putting in a lot of hard work for rejection, maybe it’s a fear of failing. I’d say all of the above, but I’ve failed at a lot of things in life and have picked myself up, dusted myself down, and moved forward on a regular basis.
In the time it has taken me to write this post, in my head, I’ve gone from feeling strong for being able to admit a lack of ability to feeling like I”m just making more excuses not to try.
I can read.
I love to read.
I would love to be a writer
but do I lock the ability to write?
Most days I say yes, although in all honesty, I have no idea, but since I can dream, I figure there’s hope for me yet…
or in my case how to randomly connect the string of the last few books I’ve been reading, because I’ve been bored today, and keep noticing strange connections…
Book 1 has a character called Gabriel, so does Book 2
Book 2 has a character called Fassbinder, Book 3 opens with a quote from Reiner Werner Fassbinder.
Book 3 has a character called Caroline Morrow, Book 4 was published by William Morrow.
Book 4 contains a serial killer who removes victims fingers, so does Book 5.
I wonder how long I could make this list go on for?
It’s been a fabulous week, but there’s nothing better than going to sleep in your own bed at the end of it all.