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I think I'm going off Neil Gaiman.
I've been thinking about this post for several weeks, and the more I think about it, the more true I think it is.
I read Stardust again a few years ago, and I was struck by how much I disliked it second time around. All the things I thought were clever initially seemed quite simplistic and obvious, and I really didn't enjoy reading it. I've given up counting how many times I've tried to re-read Good Omens, and I LOVE THAT BOOK. I've read it quite a lot of times. I've completely given up on American Gods, although I found that hard to get into the first time I ever read it.
Currently Neverwhere is sitting in my shoulder bag, being my go-to book to read while waiting for the bus in town. I haven't touched it in over a month, I reckon, as I've found other things to do/read instead. I haven't even plucked it from my bag to read during idle moments at home which I would have done previously because I LOVE THAT BOOK.
Or I did, once.
I'm less than excited about his new book, even though it sounds interesting, and I liked what he had to say about it. I'm going to try to read it, however, once it's published (I was quite surprised to hear it wasn't on my library's To Buy list, given how popular of an author he is).
I still like Sandman, though.
(But that's probably because it's about dreams, and I find dreams interesting, and frustrating, and amazing).
I feel kind of sad about it and, if you asked me, I would probably still say he was my favourite writer, because I do like the way he phrases things, and uses words.
(I am fed up of hearing about Amanda Palmer, though. I realise she's his wife, and he loves her very much, and he wants her to succeed, but I don't know that I really know who she is even after all this time, and I'm not sure I actually like what I do know/have read of her).
So anyway. It is a sad thing, and I kind of wanted to mark it.
~*~
Talking of which, I've been feeling pretty sad for the last few days. For no real reason, and I keep describing it to mum as "having a sad" (thanks internet, for ruining my vocabulary). Anyway, the point of this is that one of my cousins from Wales rang earlier, so mum was chatting to her. When she got off the phone, she updated me on general stuff, even though I was present for, and heard, her half of the conversation.
And she said: "I didn't tell her you were depressed at the moment."
And I thought: oh. I didn't know I was.
But I suppose that I am. But I scale it next to when I've felt catatonic/numb/emotionless, and this feels like piddlingly little next to all that.
Anyway, don't worry. I'll feel better soon, or I'll just look at pictures of nebulae and galaxies until I feel better (seriously, it works! I don't know how, but it does).
I've been thinking about this post for several weeks, and the more I think about it, the more true I think it is.
I read Stardust again a few years ago, and I was struck by how much I disliked it second time around. All the things I thought were clever initially seemed quite simplistic and obvious, and I really didn't enjoy reading it. I've given up counting how many times I've tried to re-read Good Omens, and I LOVE THAT BOOK. I've read it quite a lot of times. I've completely given up on American Gods, although I found that hard to get into the first time I ever read it.
Currently Neverwhere is sitting in my shoulder bag, being my go-to book to read while waiting for the bus in town. I haven't touched it in over a month, I reckon, as I've found other things to do/read instead. I haven't even plucked it from my bag to read during idle moments at home which I would have done previously because I LOVE THAT BOOK.
Or I did, once.
I'm less than excited about his new book, even though it sounds interesting, and I liked what he had to say about it. I'm going to try to read it, however, once it's published (I was quite surprised to hear it wasn't on my library's To Buy list, given how popular of an author he is).
I still like Sandman, though.
(But that's probably because it's about dreams, and I find dreams interesting, and frustrating, and amazing).
I feel kind of sad about it and, if you asked me, I would probably still say he was my favourite writer, because I do like the way he phrases things, and uses words.
(I am fed up of hearing about Amanda Palmer, though. I realise she's his wife, and he loves her very much, and he wants her to succeed, but I don't know that I really know who she is even after all this time, and I'm not sure I actually like what I do know/have read of her).
So anyway. It is a sad thing, and I kind of wanted to mark it.
~*~
Talking of which, I've been feeling pretty sad for the last few days. For no real reason, and I keep describing it to mum as "having a sad" (thanks internet, for ruining my vocabulary). Anyway, the point of this is that one of my cousins from Wales rang earlier, so mum was chatting to her. When she got off the phone, she updated me on general stuff, even though I was present for, and heard, her half of the conversation.
And she said: "I didn't tell her you were depressed at the moment."
And I thought: oh. I didn't know I was.
But I suppose that I am. But I scale it next to when I've felt catatonic/numb/emotionless, and this feels like piddlingly little next to all that.
Anyway, don't worry. I'll feel better soon, or I'll just look at pictures of nebulae and galaxies until I feel better (seriously, it works! I don't know how, but it does).