Literally. It’s so out of control I’m almost overwhelmed by what to start next. October and November were bizarrely good reading months for me. I think I read five—maybe six—books in total, which feels more like a trillion to me because I barely have time to write let alone read.
But I’ve recently signed up with two different book subscriptions (OwlCrate and FairyLoot, which are both wonderful and I would genuinely recommend them on their amazing customer service alone), and I’ve also picked up a handful of new additions after the SIX OF CROWS duology changed my life. I kind of feel like I’ll read just about anything if there’s a chance of recreating such a huge amount of love for a book. (Seriously, anytime you want to talk about Inej or Nina, I am here for it.) Long story short, one book became five which became twenty and honestly…the TBR pile is now a fully formed monster. It’s a problem.
So to remedy this, I’m going to be starting a new book in the next few days, and I’m torn between HEARTLESS and OF FIRE AND STARS. Any thoughts? (Although to be fair, it doesn’t make a huge difference because I’m planning on reading them back to back!)
In other news, I have finally finished my Christmas shopping. Normally it’s one of my favorite things to do (not the actually shopping—I hate going shopping—but I really enjoy picking out gifts for people), except I have a toddler and baby who are eating up every spare second of my time. Shopping this year was so much work, and mostly accomplished at home with children jumping on my shoulders and slobbering all over my arm because my baby thinks my arm is a giant pacifier.
Oh, and I finished Pokémon Sun. Not all the extra parts after the credits, but I beat the Elite Four, which as far as I’m concerned counts as beating the game. Which is good timing because my writing guilt is setting in. I haven’t written since the beginning of the month, and I’m currently shaming myself into doing edits on SUMMER BIRD BLUE before the month is over. See, the problem with me trying to “relax” is that I always feel bad about it afterwards, like I’ve wasted too many hours enjoying something that was completely unproductive. I used to love playing the Sims (I would still enjoy it, but there is no chance I’ll find enough hours to build the perfect house, and there is literally no point in playing if I can’t have the perfect house), but every time my Sim would get a promotion, finish a painting, or master a skill, it just served as a reminder that my Sim accomplished way more than me. It was an uncomfortable combination of pride and self-loathing.
It’s also why my Sims are never allowed to be writers. Watching them finish book after book while knowing I have so many half-finished manuscripts in a folder somewhere is just torture.
Anyway, I will be writing again soon. But first I’m going to hulk-smash my way through this reading pile. (Or at least the top of it.)