The Crying Place is Lia Hills’s second novel, and it moves at an unhurried yet insistent pace, like looking into the distance from the window of a fast-moving car.
It’s been a while. Jean and Linda at Newtown Review of Books – literally the kindest editors and most patient people in the world – let me write a review for them. It’s my first for the year and it’s the first day of June tomorrow. The year’s nearly half over. How does that even work?
I’m working on another review, which I hope to have finished soon. Fingers crossed.
What else is going on? To avoid rambling, here’s an incredibly quick life update, in three dot points…
- The Great Reading Slump of Twenty Sixteen Slash Seventeen…might be over? Yeah, I know I’ve always been That Person barges her way into bookish conversations boasting OH, I SIMPLY CANNOT BEAR TO LEAVE A BOOK UNFINISHED. But for a few months, I’ve been struggling to read a full book. My attention wanders off, and the book sits on my bedside table or in my bag for weeks on end, making me feel guilty and grumpy every time it catches my eye. However. I read a book recently and found myself distracted during the day, wishing I could somehow get out of what I was doing and just keep reading. I remember that feeling! I’m glad it’s back.
- I have a great new job! Working from home sounds like the best thing ever, right? Getting up late, wearing your pyjamas all day, snacks on demand without judgement, singing The Boys of Summer at full blast as I type…but the thing is, nearly two years of working from home turned me into a human slug. It’s not for me. Hence – new job! Among the many other things I do, I manage social media and write blog posts full of terrible puns. And yes, I miss being able to belt out bad songs from the Eighties at the top of my lungs while I work, but still – it’s pretty great to be back in the working world again. Even when the weather looks like this…
- I’m working on a secret project. It’s a memoir. Of all the things I could possibly write, I never thought I’d find myself contemplating writing about my incredibly boring life. And besides, what do I know about writing memoir? I’m still trying to convince myself that this is the baddest of bad ideas, so I won’t say too much…but the idea seems to have taken hold of me and I’m stuck with it now. I’m interested in where this idea will take me. Maybe nowhere.
I often end these posts by saying something along the lines of “I’ll write more soon” – which doesn’t always happen. But now I’m reading again, who knows?
Let’s just throw everything into the air and see how it lands. Like buttered toast.