Sometimes I find I have a limited number of words. If I’m writing a novel, (a dreaded first draft, at least), then my blogging falls off, I can’t mange other journalism, even decent emails to anyone wither into few-line updates and twitter-like bursts. I’m in the other world, trying to give that character thoughts and actions; my own seem secondary. Chalk it up as another not-too-healthy writing habit I’m developing, along with all-day pajama-fests, hermit-like spells, and over-reliance on HIMYM as short spells of distraction.
Must. Do. Better.
Anyway, here’s a band I’ve been swooning over lately, a new London group called the XX. Their debut album is wonderful, one of those slow-grow, intense affairs that really lingers. I think it’s coming out next month, but I got a preview thanks to one of the stack of puffy envelopes that cascade through our door every day (the bounty of living with someone who still is in the music journalism game. Oh, freebies, I remember thee).
I miss music freebies too!