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I am an addict.

This is no surprise to those who know me, I believe I have rather an addictive personality. The thing is though the things I’m addicted to don’t cause harm. They do effect those around me, it would be hard to deny it when the books are overflowing off my bookshelves and there are piles of them on the floor and more delivered nearly every week.

I am a book addict. I was before I got into book retail but selling the damn things only opened me up to so many more authors. Fortunately part of my addiction is supplemented by the fact that I get books sent to me to review. I am so thankful for this for a couple of reasons. Firstly that it helps keep the costs down and secondly it introduces me to new authors. I love discovering someone new. 

Books aren’t my only thing I can spend hours gaming if I’m not careful. Also I feel rather out of sorts if I don’t exercise for any length of time (I’m not sure that’s really got much to do with addiction it’s probably more to do with my body doing all it can not to get old).

There are things I definitely am not addicted to though and housewifey things (dusting, cleaning, ironing) probably top that list.

I am also rather addicted to creating. That is to say I get a little bit touchy if I go too long without putting pen to paper or fingers to the keyboard.

I need to write. Sure I want to finish a few books, get them published and make some money from them but as that hasn’t happened yet the logical thing to assume is that I am addicted to creating. The only thing I get from it is the act itself. It makes me happy to write. There is a feeling of accomplishment even though no-one else probably sees it that way.

Do I wish there were more hours in the day to feed my addictions, hell yes. Sometimes it is a battle within myself as to which addiction wins out at any one time. I have a pile of books to read for both pleasure and review, I have thousands of words that need to be put to a page, and I have games to clock with and without my hubby playing.

Right now my need to communicate is being fed. I like to blog, I like to think I’m communicating with like minded people. It helps me to get things off my chest, it might help others who don’t feel so comfortable getting these things off their chests to know they aren’t alone.

I could of course be just putting words into the ether and you know what, that’s fine. In an ideal world my blogs would help me connect to those who might one day want to read my books. But the fact no-one much may be paying attention, well that’s not enough to make me stop blogging. I need to write across a variety of formats, this fulfils something in me. I feel much better if I get my different targets met. It is cathartic and it helps me become more focussed for my fiction writing. This stuff clears out the thoughts, the rants, the frustrations and gives me a clearer run at the worlds of fiction.

In my case addiction serves its purpose, apart from filling in my time when I’m not at work. I am ever so glad that my addiction is not a destructive one. 

Now all I need to do is figure out which parts of my day tomorrow will go to which addiction.

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