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Showing posts from December, 2012

The last of 2012

I won't be doing my annual round-up because I just haven't been as culturally connected this year; the joys of being too busy with the day job. And I'm not sure if I even did one last year. My previous post did, however, name a few 2012 faves. Today I spent a few hours sorting through hundreds of books - paperbacks mainly - ready to be recycled. For years I've been unable to part with any books unless they were great and I wanted to pass on the odd one of them to friends and family. But today I figured, just keep some of the ones I've not yet read and a good few shelves of those I really want to keep. And the result so far is seven garden-sacks worth of books waiting to leave me. And I've still to go through another six or seven shelves worth. Having to cull books forced me to focus on the space that they take up. No bad thing, to have books around. But it seems something of a vanity to have hundreds of them, getting dusty, and never read or even referred to. …

Towards the end...

And yet there is no end. Only towards the end of a man-made calendar year. My favourite band of the year was Alt-J. And so it was gratifying to then see them nominated - and then winning - the Mercury Prize for Music. I told myself that I had picked the winner! Or that my trend-setting taste in music was perfectly aligned with the music industry 'experts'. My favourite app of the year has to be FlipBook; it opened up a new world of brilliant design, art, and technology that I probably would otherwise have missed out on. Favourite book? I started so many and failed to finish them. I struggled to connect with literature this year. I did, however, enjoy William Boyd's Waiting for Sunrise. And I was blown away by King Crow, back in the summer. Theatre wise I love The Last of the Hausmanns, starring Julie Walters. And was sore to have missed out on Rylance in Jerusalem. Film wise, I was moved by Nostalgia for the Light, which I blogged about. And really liked Skyfall. And I ado…

Scribbler fatigue

I'm tired of writing. Jaded, even. How to move forward to a new and reenergised state? I'm writing the Mum book again and I have the opening scene. I also have lots and lots of fragments, from my last rough draft, as well as from previous attempts at mapping my life with her. But it's bloody hard. It's a slog, writing, in a way that it just wasn't when I began to write more seriously, over ten years ago. Perhaps it is meant to be this much of a slog. I think one has to feel compelled to it, for sure. Every phrase I pen, every sentence, is filtered through a cliche, alliteration and everything else meter. The thing with alliteration is that I like it. I'm digressing.

The usual round up of recommended books are doing the rounds. My favourite book of the year would be King Crow, I think. If that was this year. You see, my finger is nowhere near the pulse. I shall shuffle away, in the hope I have something more interesting to say on books and writing before the ye…