Well, you can't accuse me of being big-headed. At least, my head simply wasn't big enough to accommodate much beside my recent writing project plus the various crit jobs I've done - not big enough to accommodate any thoughts about cleaning the house (you should see it! Or maybe not), or anything more than the headlines of the news; no space in there to think deeply about the things that have piqued my attention literary-news-wise, or indeed to compose blog posts. And I haven't been out much. When I first looked down to my desk the world was barren with post-Christmas winter, and I've looked up again finally and it's full of flowers and birds bustling about with nesting material in their beaks (and huge dust-balls all over the floors!). Crikey, I've been missing life!
It's odd, this writing lark. To be a writer you really need to be watching, observing, taking note, yet sometimes you need these periods where you just have to go away inside your (small) head - well, I do, anyway. If I'm not obsessive with a long project, I lose it, the whole thing just falls apart, and I really do envy those who can write while juggling lots of other stuff. As I think I wrote here earlier this spring, I felt tense and raddled when I had to leave off to read and to write reports, and exhausted afterwards. Split personality, moi? (Come to think of it, that's one of the things I've been writing about, fragmented personality...)