East of Constantinople, West of Shanghai


Nothing to say

Today I have nothing to write about here on the blog. I usually try and do at least one post per day, both as a good practice to keep the readers engaged, and as a form of self-discipline – because you see, I am a writer, and so I must keep the writing thing going. But today… what could I write about?

In fact there’s a few things on my mind.

There’s this beautiful book I’m reading, for instance. The sort of book that makes you go, ah, I’ll never be able to write something like this!

There’s the fact that I’d like to tackle the issue of working on a story featuring soldiers, and yet not being a “militarist”, and how labeling based on prejudice can be damaging for all parties involved.

There’s the strange matter of the Italian sword & sorcery fans suddenly veering to the right, and now claiming that “fantasy has its roots in our culture, not in the Britons'” (which is stupid, and ignorant – a word they have come to like a lot, the last).

And there’s this general sensation of hopelessness that comes with being snowed in in a village in which nobody talks to you, and for some strange accident of fate, you are supposed to sit here and invent whole worlds. And I still don’t know if it helps or not, this being totally isolated, when it comes to invent whole worlds.

So, with one thing and the other, today I will not write a post about anything.