Over the past month or so, I have become apathetic in a literary sense. In other words, I've become lazy. The extent of my writing has been wall messages on Facebook. I've also been trying to read, and yet I find myself with a stack of unopened, unintruiguing novels on my desk.
Having lent out all of my personal favourites, I have taken to borrowing the so-called "must reads" that friends and family have pushed into my hands. So far, I have finished "What They Don't Know" by Mitch Albom, an interesting, yet considering Mr. Albom's past work, mildly disappointing short novel. I have definitely been interested in the more suspense-filled books, especially the Eve Duncan Forensic Thrillers written by Iris Johansen. Most of the novels on my desk, however, are murder-mysteries. Which, in my opinion, are just a step away from a particularly irritating rendition of Clue. Colonel Mustard in the Library with the Wrench.
I know I should just return the books, and search for something a little higher on my interest level, but I can't help but feel guilty that I haven't simply soared through them as I would most every other book. So as I was saying: Literary Laziness.
I am also in desperate need of some inspiration when it comes to writing. Hence the reason I have decided to break down and begin an online blog. I'm sure no one truly cares what I have to say, and even if no one reads this, I will try my best to continue writing. If not for my sanity, but at least for the sake of my grades in the fall. Without practice, I'm sure I will lose my flair for the written word. Writing is not the proverbial bike, I am afraid. So if you are reading this, I appreciate it. I hope you'll return.
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