Welcome back, fam. It’s a million degrees outside and my beloveds have gone to the beach, while I stayed home to work. This is not a complaint, believe it or not. The air-con is fighting valiantly in the living room, while I’m in the office under the ceiling fan, typing away, and feeling the tension bleed out of my body. I haven’t had any time to myself in months, haven’t been able to write for work or for pleasure, and as per usual, it drove me to breaking point, then beyond. For all that I try to emphasise therapy and medication as being integral to my mental health, it is also true that if I don’t write, I will eventually break regardless of the pills I’m on, or the counselling I might be getting. In this summer of trying to find a regular job, I lost sight of that, to my detriment. There is a reason I have made a life from words; without it, I falter.
Thankfully, things are a little better now, and I’ve been able to reclaim some time, which brings me here. I promised that I would use this space to reflect honestly on the books I’ve been reading and I recently finished my first novel of 2023, so let’s get into it.