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Wednesday, January 28 2015

Hey, all!

As mentioned in my #BestBooksOf2014 postscript, I’ve been working on collecting my book reviews all in one place, and finishing that has been one of my goals this month. I update so much on Goodreads (I’m seriously more active there than on Facebook, lol)―since I started in 2013, I’ve written more than a hundred reviews there now. But the format of the site itself makes accessing a particular review for a particular book from a particular user (even yourself) quite tedious―so, I don’t know, I just really wanted to transfer mine into one space where I can find them easier and filter them better. (More for myself, but if it helps any of you bibliophiles, too, that would be swell.) Sooooo I just want to share that I’m finally done doing that!

World, meet nenenreads.tumblr.com. :)

(I shall remain ever active on Goodreads tho. I’ll just be adding my reviews to Tumblr too from hereon.)

You know, I used to think I’d be staying away from using Tumblr forever (note counts give me anxiety), but would you look at that, now I’ve got two minor blogs to maintain, this new one and my quote blog. I now cannot deny I’m a sucker for the easy-peasy perf-for-organization tagging system, so I’m down with Tumblr so long as I keep it non-personal. Not to mention, it’s welcome work―I obviously enjoy filling my head with words, and these blogs reflect that love of expression through literature. I don’t really expect them to become popular (lol duh); they’re really like hobbyist pursuits more than anything else, but I mean, I’m allowed to shameplug here every once in a while, right?

Anyway. That’s that. But hey, I also wanted to say I’ve got a treat for you―free printable bookmarks, anyone?

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Friday, November 14 2014

Well am I completely sucking at this blogging thing or what?

Honesty hour: I’m stuck. That’s really been life lately for me — knees-deep-in-quicksand stuck. Which is, of course, sad and frustrating, and actually that perfectly sums up the tone of every freaking writing piece I’ve come up with for months now: Sad and frustrated. (Including this one. Hola!) I’m like, Self, aren’t you supposed to be creative? Can’t you write something interesting or quirky or witty or funny or something totally unrelated to your misery for once? Or at least muster up a little enthusiasm?! But ha. No matter how much I attempt to insert pretentious sunny acerbic bullshit in my writing, all that comes through is the sad. The mad. Also the boring. I wish I could say adult life is hella exciting so far, but lol no. Everyday I’m still struggling with the reality — I’m an adult, I have a job now, this is real life, this is what it’s all about, right? This is it. But that’s immediately followed by panic — Oh God, is this it? Surely this can’t be it. If this is indeed it, I am gonna be living a perpetually *gunshot-to-the-head emoji* life. Which: NO.

Also there is the fact that if I could call 2014 anything, it would be this: The Year of Not Talking. It’s been my first full year of no longer being a student, so I haven’t been with my best set of friends and favorite people in ages. And since my default social setting is off unless I’m with people who are well within my comfort zone, I’m not the kind of person who hangs out with ‘friends’ who aren’t really friends. These are the ‘friends’ I’m with now — people who are constantly around me out of necessity (i.e. we share a workplace) but not by my choice. I don’t mean to draw that line — they’re good people, and I am friendly, in general, if I need to be (lol) — but I’m just always reminded, every single day, through their choices of conversational topics, their seeming interests, the way they talk… how they react to what I say, in the rare moments I actually attempt to speak my mind… that they’re not my friends. That they don’t get me. It’s like I’m back to being so different again, so otherworldly. Misunderstood. And unknowable. So. All year the walls have gone up, higher and higher, and I’ve always been somewhere between I don’t want to talk to anyone and I want to talk but the words aren’t coming out and There is no one open-minded enough to talk to so I’d rather not say anything — and all that has spiralled down to this pretty much closed-in zombie-like life of not opening my mouth. At least not about the things that matter.

And now blogging feels like talking too. With my social setting still off.

But yeah: I don’t want to make you worry about me. That’s not the point of this post. I’m doing fairly okay. Honest. I mean, I don’t really get asked by these ‘friends’ about how I’m feeling in general, so I assume I’m still doing a good job of keeping it together. The cracks aren’t showing. (Yet?) I still have good days. I can still laugh. My spirits can still be lifted by little things, like microwaved butter popcorn and the existence of pain-relieving patches for sore muscles. I guess, it’s just… I think that in order to be a sunbeam that shines beautiful light out, there has to be a beautiful fire inside you first, and I haven’t had that fire for a while. I just feel burned out.

So, um, I apologize if I sound like a broken record now re: why I can’t blog properly/regularly. Why I’m even keeping this up, I don’t even know. Sometimes it feels like the least of my problems, one I could very well do away with. But sometimes it’s like an anchor to the productive life I desperately want, too. Regardless, I’m determined to keep things light(ish) here, and since I’m currently all mopey and heavy and whiney, talking happy here about books or music or art or general fangirlism/materialism doesn’t ring true, and I don’t want that. That spells pretentious. So. The crickets linger here longer than I do. At the moment.

However, if there’s one thing I rock at, it’s PMS (which I like to define as Pendulum Mood Swings, ha) and I guess I just need a big baseball-game-winning swing in the right direction. (Well, creativity-wise, at least. Getting out of the quicksand of my life needs more than that, I know, I know.) I operate on random bursts of energy, emphasis on random, so. You know. Unpredictable. I’m brimming with ideas, though. And I miss happy. So. Big Swing Needed Asap.

In the meantime, I’ll keep cruising, can’t stop won’t stop moving, etc.

DFTBA guys. xo


Friday, August 8 2014

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I’d just like to say I made a quote blog. If you’ve navigated around the links over there at the top of this site, you probably already know this. My reason for making it was purely selfish — I have so many screenshots and scribbled lists and post-its of my favorite quotes now that it’s confusing to sort through all of them, much less look for specific ones that I need at a particular moment. So I decided to transfer them all on a Tumblr blog where I can use the tags as filters, by author and by topic and such. I say all, but truthfully I haven’t posted even half of my bank of quotes. LOL. There are so many! But the sorting is slow and enjoyable.

So, um, I don’t really recommend you follow it, because I don’t post there regularly, and if I do, I flood, like, more than ten quotes at a time, but, you know. Just in case you want to check it out? Here: wordsandshe.tumblr.com


Thursday, July 31 2014

(Noticed this blog’s new look? Yeah? That’s what’s up…)

I’m beginning to see the phrase “hit by inspiration” in a new light, because I think I understand now that whoever first coined it really meant to use the word hit and all its implications.

In my experience, inspiration never creeps up on me. It’s never subtle. It’s either absent or present, with nothing in between, and with no warning when it becomes the one or the other. Like, when people tell me I’m so creative, I want to laugh. Because most of the time, and I really mean most of the time, there’s NOTHING. My creativity isn’t naturally overflowing, it’s trickling. I swear. My creative ‘process’ almost entirely consists of staring at a blank piece of paper (or document or canvass) willing myself to just let something out, anything — but when when there’s nothing, all I feel is that total absence. It couldn’t be forced. There isn’t anything to be forced. The vertical cursor on the monitor will just blink back at me and I have nothing to feed it. When I’m in these hopeless moods and have no choice but to make something, I know I’ll be dissatisfied with the results before I even start making it. Because when something isn’t inspired work, it shows. Which is why sometimes I avoid making anything altogether.

The opposite, of course, are the rare moments when inspiration hits. There’s that word again: Hit. Because, really, that’s precisely it. That’s the feeling. Hit. Crash. Jolt. You’re caught entirely by surprise by the appearance of the maddening drive to create, that the sensation is almost physical.

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Thursday, May 1 2014

This is my struggle regarding this blog: There’s only a teeny tiny part of me that still wants to share stuff on the Internet. For the most part I’m all, let them wonder what I’m doing! There was a time when some people really did get to see a glimpse of who I am because I have been so confessional in my profiles, but since being offline for so long I’ve grown more comfortable in imagining people asking “How is she doing?” and the default answer being “I don’t know.” That the only way people will know is if they actually interact with me in real life. Like, you want to know how I’m doing? Talk to me. In person! (Not that I’m readily available to talk to, being the hermit that I am. But yeah.) I kind of like the idea that I’m not giving complete strangers the bits and pieces of my life that could form a puzzle. All I’m now willing to give away are the inconsequential bits.

Which, obviously, almost completely goes against the idea of blogging.

So you see my struggle here?

There’s a part of a creative person that always has the urge to be all, “Look at what I made! See?”

And there’s a part of an introvert that’s always like, “Shit! Human beings! HIDE.”

And I am, frustratingly, a bit of both.




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