Typed with one hand as I shoveled in cereal with the other...

Lately I've been reading a lot of paper-format novels on the assumption that part of my epic writer's block might have been touched off by reading nothing but nonfiction, which doesn't feed the imagination nearly as well. Sure, that keeps me striving to write better in the nonfiction arena, but what I really want to write is stories.

Also, I usually listen to my books so I can have my eyes and hands free to draw or exercise or whatever. This is good stuff, but I've been using it as a replacement for much-needed vegetation time. Just sitting in a comfy chair with a good book, doing nothing productive, is amazingly soothing for the spirit. I haven't felt so mellow and relaxed in ages--something I can defintely use considering that January is already starting to show signs of being a particularly difficult month for my spirit.

That said, I've just finished To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis, and it kicked ass. If you like cats, time travel and snark in your sci fi, you need this book.