I let things here stagnate, because I had to poll some crazy shifts with some even weirder sleeping regimes. Plus, I had to travel away from the city. Real life keeps me away here [though I have some other projects that do swallow my time as well] and since I have long since ditched the structure of the blog, I wanted to sort the chaos before I resume any regular posting.
BUT until then, more chaos and a rather intimate reading moment. My family has a villa, situated in a smaller town than my own, which we use every summer. A good fourth of my childhood was spent there and I always recall these days as the best, even if I did not have all the TV channels I wanted or an Internet connection [a very serious issue for a budding teen]. I wrote my first short story in that villa. I also completed my first novel [in Bulgarian] and attempted to re-write it, even if it read like something from Stanbeck. It's because of the disconnection that I manage to do a whole lot, which when tempted with a personal computer and a wi-fi is nigh impossible. This combined with the nature... Can you spell heaven?
As you can imagine I experienced heaven again. Two families [my family has known for decades] visited us and every single one of these people are heavy readers during their vacations. I spent two silent afternoons, six adults reading, first on the beach and then under the grapevine. It was a comfortable silence, mute joy. The best bit was that my Dumas made company to Dan Brown, Stephen King, Joe Hill, one German crime fiction author and another thriller author. We all asked what happened in our books and who liked what, agreed on our different tastes and kept on reading...
No name calling. No genre slamming. Acceptance and peace. I learned that weekend that genre acceptance was possible. Ain't it wonderful?
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