My ten cents worth...

I haven't written about myself on here for a while, and I have to tell you that I don't even really feel comfortable doing it now.  Recently I have decided that book snobbery is a big no-no and I think the same should go for blogs- anyone can blog about whatever they like and screw what Franzen has to say about the spread of amateurism- but I'm just not a huge fan of treating the internet like your personal diary, or posting endless self-portraits (Selfies) and outfits of the day.  That being said, if I manage to take a photo of myself that I actually like, you know that picture is going straight on Instagram.

Recently, I had a read through of some of my old journals from when I was nineteen and I realised that I had treated them the way that a lot of my generation treat their Facebook accounts: I only wrote when I was really sad or when I had something to complain about.  The picture I got of myself was of a sad, lonely, rather unfocussed young person who didn't spend enough time with friends who deserved her attention or working on her goals.  I can see that I'm not that person, and I am really thankful for that.  I'm also thankful for:

* good music



* my job

* my family and friends (old and new)

* books.  All the books ever.

Buddy and I are still trying to make our way through the piles of books that I have impulse bought over the years and particularly over the last year when I started working in a book shop, but their growth appears to be exponential.  One day, perhaps, the piles will collapse and trap us both.  

While I'm not working on any major projects at the moment, I am writing.  Well.  Occasionally.  I think I need to take some good advice and chain the muse to the desk.

And that's my ten cents worth.