I’m still in the reading phase of the semester, but I’m getting a good longing to write, and not the papers but other stuff instead.
Part of it is Orwell, though I’m in the tedious part of 1984 (which I’m reading in case we get President Snow). He has some good observations, such as the man who writes in the small, neat handwriting of the illiterate. I listened to a lecture series on him in general, and that made me want to re-read him and to write fiction.
Another part of it is that I’m doing poetry, and that always brings the mood upon one. I was reading Dymer, which is not without its merits. If you’ve read the Diaries you’ll have an idea of the circumstances and aspirations Lewis had when he wrote Dymer, and the edition I have has a long foreword in which Lewis explains the rest.
The other part is that I need to be busy with other things, so it makes me want to dodge out from under the other things and write stories. The least productive thing I can do, besides this blog, is to read the ones I have and not work on them or anything new. I believe I have some good stories I ought to get back to. I quit to do a lot of work on my big novel in 2014 and have not really returned in earnest. Perhaps I will.