I just read sj’s (aka @popqueenie) not-quite-celebratory blog-i-versary post:
Go ahead. Read it now. I’ll wait.
Much of what she wrote hit me smack in the ballsack, although I disagree that we’ve got nothing in common. She must be the only other person on the planet that loves Chris F. Holm and The Dead Milkmen. That is a bond that can’t be ignored.
She mentions that she has stopped requesting ARCs and Galleys and will be posting fewer reviews. Yeah. That.
When I started this blog, I intended to review at least a book a week and I requested anything that looked remotely interesting. Well, what happened was somewhat different. I ended up only posting reviews that I felt that I had to write (lest my head explode) and I now have a raft of unread ARCs sitting on my KindleGadget.
Some of those are books that I really want to read, but haven’t found the time, or been in the frame of mind, to dive into.
The most popular pages on this site are reviews that I just had to write. I had something to say and needed to get those thoughts out of my head and onto your screens. They are reviews about books that surprised me or made me feel (or just consider) something unexpected.
Perhaps it is not a coincidence that only three of the most popular reviews have been based on ARCs. One other was a prize in a giveaway (tied to an interview in which the author said something unexpected), but the rest were all books that I had to break open my piggy bank to buy.
I feel guilty about those lonely, neglected ARCs languishing in KindleJail. I made a deal with those publishers. They gave me the books for free and I was supposed to give them my honest opinion.
I haven’t done my part.
What I have found is that I am very selfish with my time and selective about the opinions that I want to spend time sharing. A book can be completely brilliant and be something that I will reread for years, but if I don’t have anything interesting to say, then I don’t particularly want to write about it.
Sorry about that.
I recently requested an ARC of Chuck Wendig’s latest Miriam Black book and I confess that I was a little nervous. I really hoped that there would be something in there that would compel me to write (which may be a very different animal than what compels me to read). I don’t want to churn out another “Wendig … dark … edgy … profanity … Miriam … gritty … action … fucking great” review just because Angry Robot gave me the book and it happens to be fucking wowsome.
I was thrilled (and gobsmacked) when I hit that first plot point and HOLY SHIT! Oh boy, now I’ve got something screaming to get out of my head and onto the page. Thank you, oh beardly one.
I like reading what I want to read and I like writing what I absolutely must write. They aren’t always going to be the same thing. And I think that I’m going to be OK with that.
I would like to write a little more about starting to write fiction after years of writing academic papers, technical articles and white papers. I’d like to write about the challenges of trying to navigate an educational system with two special needs kids; of having another kid who constantly raids my TBR pile; of trying to build a lending library for a culturally diverse, primarily immigrant, community. I know that I’m OK with that.
At the end of the day, and despite my best intentions, I like the way This is me exposing myself is shaping up.
My only regret is that I didn’t choose a better name. Having “little girls like to see me exposing myself ” as a consistently popular search term is a wee bit creepy.
PS — Happy Blog-i-versary sj. I am glad that you are OK and don’t think you should apologize. Ever.