Somebody* recently complained to me about my lack of blogging frequency. There are good reasons for it, I promise (besides which, there’s a fine balance between over-blogging and under-blogging. In relation to the former, if you haven’t got anything to say, as Segovia apparently once said, you shouldn’t say anything. Applies to writing as well as blogging, and probably many other situations besides).
But I digress.
The good reasons include starting a full-on but enjoyable new dayjob, which takes some time to get one’s head around, and which pushes out writing-related concerns (at least during dayjob days). But I’m now catching the train to work, which gives great opportunity for a) people watching and b) reading over people’s shoulders (yes, I’m one of those annoying people who just has to know what is on the page of the open book/newspaper/office manual of the person sitting next to them. I can’t help myself: sorry.) Besides the content, I love sussing what people are reading: so far this week, Anita Shreve; some book about a guy called Barry, who, going by the cover, is a footballer; Danielle Steele; a history of the world since 1945 (which was thick, but not as thick as it probably ought to have been); and some female crime fiction writer whose name currently escapes me.
It’s heartening that there’s still as many people on the train reading as those who have iPod buds jammed in their ears, or are fiddling with their iPhones or BlackBerries, or staring fixedly into space (or, in my case, at other people. Again, sorry.) But how will I work out what they’re reading when e-books take over?
* My one reader.