Did you know you could get book blogger’s block?

When I first started blogging about books, I wasn’t familiar with the term ‘book blogger.’ But that was in 2011 or so. Fast forward a decade (wow! All that time has passed!) and I’m a book blogger with an oversized and highly-unlikely-to-finish reading list.

But come 2021 and something rather odd happened to me.

I enjoyed reading books but I just couldn’t sit down and write the reviews. I know my book reviews are detailed. I like to cover many aspects of a book to give it a fair rating and to tell readers what I liked and disliked about a book.

Read: 8 Ways to Write Powerful Book Reviews

I also know that it takes me a while to sift through my notes and write the review. Recently, I’ve added a small task of creating a couple of images on Canva to go with the review.

I’ve gotten faster at this. But still the whole process of writing the review, adding images, uploading both, and ensuring the fonts are the same throughout… all of this takes at least 2 hours. Sometimes longer with non-fiction books.

But…

But last year, I just couldn’t sit down and write. As a poet and writer, I know what writer’s block is. But book blogger’s block? What was that? Did you know you could get book blogger’s block? Did I know that?!

What is book blogger’s block?

Put simply, book blogger’s block is when you are unable to get your words and thoughts about a book on to a page. It’s a lot like writer’s block, but unlike it, book blogger’s block doesn’t need a ton of inspiration.

You write your notes about a certain book – whether as sticky notes or e-notes if you’re using a e-reader like a Kindle or Nook, and then you compile them into something intelligible.

But even with writing a review that involves some copying here and there, it turns out you can get put off or blocked too.

Image via Pexels

There’s another case of book blogger’s block where you’re not in the mood to read books – especially those that land in your inbox as review requests.

Sometimes you want to get back to your own books, the ones collecting dust on the shelves. And sometimes you’re in the mood for binge-watching Netflix or any other streamer’s series. And sometimes life just gets too much and you can’t do anything.

That’s what book blogger’s block is. At least, that’s my personal definition of it. I’d like to hear what other book bloggers have to say.

My book blogger’s block in 2021  

So for the most part, I barely published any reviews – or writing for that matter – in 2021. I didn’t publish a single post between June and December 2021. 

I only started posting reviews again in 2022. Though I was shocked that all that time had passed and I was unaware of my delayed posting.

I do know that one of the reasons I haven’t been able to write reviews as before is that I’d been too focused on my freelance writing business. Which is a good thing because now I have name – more-or-less – in the B2B copywriting sphere.

But at the same time, all my work is about researching and writing. So with book reviews, there’s even more writing. And my reviews are long. I’ve tried to trim them but I’ve not gotten there just yet.

 

Have you experience book bloggers’ block before? Do you have a different definition you’d like to share (and I’d love to add it).

Lost Within/Catharsis - by Nada Adel Sobhi

The wind blows upon my face. Eyes closed, I'm lost in my mind, memories, jumbled. I stand in the midst of a storm. Thoughts, ideas, dates, people, all flitting through, passing me by.

I stand still, not wanting them to take notice of me.

Let them pass, fly, run… disappear.

I feel the air caress my face, reminding me that I can withdraw from the dark depths within at any time.

I keep my eyes unfocused lest the flurry of my thoughts ceases its movement and hammers me down like a million arrows.

Cold.

Is it in my mind that I feel so lost, lonely, cold? Or it the outside world?

The wind picks up. I feel it. But it's not cold. Just suitable.

My head aches.

How?

I thought I was in my head. And yet there is that tinge of pain. A prelude to a migraine.

Then comes a buzz. A fly or a bee.

The wind picks up again, driving them away, restoring my surrounding peace.

At least there is peace somewhere in my world.

Faces; some I know, some I don't pass my vision.

Words: some kind, others harsh.

Gestures, emotions, situations, distant places… a waterfall, Niagara?

An avalanche. What? Where? I've never been to such a place!

The avalanche turns to black. My darker memories. Pains, regrets, fears, anger, all hurling towards me.

I duck, cover my head with my arms, brace myself for the crash, the fall, the darkness.

But there it is again. An orange butterfly passes me by; the wind pushes my hair away from my eyes, guides me to the light, to life, to the garden before me.

I open my eyes.

By: Nada Adel Sobhi

After writing Catharsis/Lost Within, I took a pic of the view.
Photography (not amazing) but by Nada Adel Sobhi

This piece can be called Lost Within or Catharsis or both, because that is what was - or is - for me.

I've been keeping it aside for some time, not sure when or if I should share it. But I finally decided to publish it and share it with the world. Because we all need to experience that sense of being bathed from within.

The Steps by Iveta Redliha – Book Review

Book Name: The Steps

Author: Iveta Redliha

(Available in Latvian and English)

"The empty window frames like dark forest lakes conveyed chilling secrets. It seemed as if the massive wooden doors were nailed shut in order to keep them from spilling too much information."

The Steps by Latvian author Iveta Redliha is a gripping but heartbreaking story centered around people who lived or were connected to a property called The Bradbury.

Leonora, a fresh-out-of-school greedy graduate is secretly hired to become a surrogate mother. She views the opportunity as easy money and posh living and lies her way through to get the job. She thinks she will have the time of her life partying, but soon realises that her dreams will not come true as the family she's being a surrogate for insist that she live on their premises, the Bradbury, for the duration of the pregnancy and under their rules and supervision.

Kurt and Nelly are a married couple who have been unable to conceive. They hire Leonora through a surrogacy programme to carry their baby. The moment the three of them arrive at the Bradbury, the reader meets Greta, their maid and helper, whom Leonora immediately despises and mistreats.

Meanwhile, Reyna receives a phone call, telling her that her mother has died. The investigation soon dries up after it is discovered that her mother died of a heart attack and not murdered. However, things don't add up to Reyna. Her mother had left their shared tea shop without closing down and had been meeting with an unknown man.

When Reyna receives the will, she discovers that her mother had been keeping secrets, including recently purchasing the Bradbury mansion. When she visits the run-down house, she encounters Lucas, a secretive but handsome man, who entices her from the first moment.

"Shivers ran down Reyna's spine. For a moment, she thought his last words were meant as a threat. The stranger's look had been so sharp and penetrating, horrifying and exciting at the same time."

Lucas, on the other hand, appears to despise Reyna, even though he has never met her before. However, bit by bit, he too begins to develop feelings for her. Lucas is a little reminiscent of Heathcliff from Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights, except that The Steps is a much better and more exciting book.

The Steps is gripping from the start. Its pace is fast, especially as the author jumps between scenes and characters without being all over the place.

I felt that Reyna was too gullible and very trusting, particularly of strangers. She was also a bit slow, and while I realise that the purpose of her slowness is to confirm the reader's suspicions or unveil new information for the reader, I still felt she could have been a little smarter, especially since she's not a child.

I like that there are no superfluous characters in The Steps. Each character has a role to play, including the quirky, helpful and ever-giggling Lucy. Sometimes the reader wonders if she's crazy, but she is definitely the main source of comic relief in the novel.

Another character in the novel is Greta, the Bradbury's maidservant. What I liked about her is that she has her moments. In addition to always keeping tabs on Leonora, she sometimes even makes Leonora think and wake up from her attempts at seducing Kurt.

Lucas strikes the reader as a calculating character from the start. I like how Iveta Redliha give the reader bits from Lucas' thoughts, making excellent opportunity for suspense, especially since he does not mean Reyna well and the reader has no idea why he feel such animosity to someone Lucas has never met.

I liked how Iveta Redliha kept me guessing, connecting the dots, then guessing all over again.

The Steps handles a variety of themes like family, marital relationships, greed and growing up. I like how the author made the characters progress differently. Not all of them move forward, but all the main ones had some sort of character development, particularly Leonora.

One of the few things that bothered me about The Steps was the speech. There was no use of quotation marks. Instead every line begun with a dash, and there were intermittent dashes in between, making it hard to follow on who is speaking and what is part of the characters' thoughts.

Some chapters were rather long, particularly at the beginning. I don't like stopping mid-chapter.

I liked the use of imagery, both metaphors and similes throughout the novel. The description of the setting is quite picturesque and nicely done as well.

"Once their eyes locked, they couldn't look away, the gaze of their blue and grey waters merging into one whirlpool."

The Steps is full of irony, role reversals and all the literary elements a reader can dream of. Simply brilliant.

I couldn't put the The Steps down, and when I wasn't reading, I kept thinking of the characters. When I finished reading, I couldn't stop thinking about them.

"A quiet noise, like a moan or a sigh broke the silence thus startling the visitors. Lucas took it as a sign that the old building was weeping with him. If only he were alone and could let loose his suppressed grief about the house, once a beautiful home, turned into an abandoned shack, just like his soul, like his whole life…"

I liked how Iveta Redliha tied up all the loose ends at the end and I was glad I was able to correctly guess many if not all of them.

Overall, The Steps is a suspenseful, heart-breaking, gripping dark tale of a house and its inhabitants. A 10-star must-read.

Purchase The Steps by Iveta Redliha via Amazon

About the Author:

Iveta Redliha is a 39-year-old author from Latvia. She is a married mother of three wonderful children.

We have two pets, chocolate Lab named Horton and Birman cat named Smurfette. As you can see we like animated movies. :-)

I have degree in Psychology, and two professional diplomas in Stress Management Coaching and Consultancy, and Neuro Psychological Immunology. I am looking forward to work in my sphere one day.

Writing is my true passion! I have been writing since I was 8 years old, and besides prose, I love to write poetry, too.

I write fiction in the thriller/suspense/crime and mystery genres.

The Steps is my first book, not just the first translated in English, but my actual first book. It was published in Latvian in October 2013 in my country and you can still buy Soļi (The Steps) in book stores.

When I was 17, I found the poem “The Steps” by Paul Valery in my school library. The poem touched my soul so deeply, so I wrote it out on the small piece of paper. As time passed, I read the poem again and again, and knew that it has and will have some impact in my life.

When I was writing my book, I knew that the poem “The Steps” will be one of the most important things in it, and will play the major role at some point. So, when I came to choosing the title for my book, there were no doubts for me about that – The Steps was the only choice of my soul.

As for my inspiration, surprisingly for myself, mostly I find my inspiration in music, and particularly in some songs. For example, when I wrote the chapters with Lucas in them, I listened K.D Lang’s version of song “Hallelujah”, and Latvian band’s Instrumenti song “Pieturi mani sev klāt” (Hold me tight). When I wrote my new book, I mostly listened kora musicians and singers Toumani Diabaté and Sona Jobarteh (Western Africa).    

One month ago I finished my second book, and now working on it with publishers in Latvia. It is thriller/suspense as well.

Follow Iveta Redliha on Facebook.

On Writing – Part 1: The Rant

A recent conversation with a friend about writing courses has been bugging me for a few days. My friend has done significant research in the techniques of writing and has started giving courses at a local bookstore/book space.

That is all great and I support people in any way I can by telling friends or by simply sharing their events. However…speaking about the courses, I found that my friend has a basics course and will be giving a characterisation course. Still, that's great and I'm thrilled for her.

But, what I absolutely disliked it how she looks down upon some of her students. She's picky at EVERYTHING. But that's her choice. I'm not one to judge; everyone is picky about something. Still, I didn't like the way my friend goes about saying people lack the skills and she wants the crème de la crème – as we say – to work with.

The thing is, no matter how good you are, others will be better and the whole point of giving a course, spreading the knowledge that you have acquired is to teach, raise awareness and enhance skills.

In Egypt, we are not native English speakers, but that doesn't mean we don't know anything about anything. There are a lot of people who speak – and write – very good English, but not all of them have the skill to write a short story or a novel. Still, it is a talent that can be "acquired".

They may not have it now, but they may have it later in life. They may not have it in English, but the skill might present itself in Arabic, for example; they just don't know it yet.

Writers of poetry, short stories, novels, plays, creative fiction, non-fiction, technical writers… all these are writers; each of them does things differently.

The bottom line is, no one can judge a person as a bad writer.

An example I love to use and constantly remind myself of whenever I feel I'm not doing a good job of writing is Amy Tan. She said – or at least so I've read – that her English teacher(s) in school told her she didn't have the knack for writing and that she should never consider the career. Well, Amy Tan is well-known and highly respected Asian-American novelist now. (Beat that lame and undermining English teachers).

No matter how much you know about something, there will always be someone who knows more. As writers, it is NOT our job to judge one another but to encourage one another, even if that includes or involves some editing, notes, suggestions, recommendations. What the writer decides to follow or ignore is purely their choice. But at the end of the day, we must encourage each other. Whether these writers are native speakers, non-natives, young, old, smart, slow, highly-skilled or still at the beginning of the road to self-discovery, they must be encouraged. Not put down or suffer a selection process that may exclude people with potential but who require some hard work.

At least that is my opinion.

I wouldn’t be where I am if I weren't a reader to begin with and a researcher of all things writing-related. And I'm still learning, as I believe every writer does throughout their life.

In case I digressed, my point is you can't call someone a "bad writer" simply because you were probably one at some point, a starter that is. Is there such a thing as a "bad writer"? If yes, who can be the judge of that?

I doubt even J.K. Rowling can tell a person they're a bad writer, simply because her books were first turned down because publishers didn't 'see them' as having good prospects. Look where she is now.

Every writer needs guidance. As a fellow writer, poet, reader, your job is to provide such guidance. What the recipient takes from you is their choice.

Every person can be a Writer.

How every person handles their work, writing courses, you name it, is, at the end of the day, their own business. But I just can't let someone call other people "bad" writers, and look at the condescendingly, because they think they're better.

I just can't.

And I'm ranting here to avoid losing a friend.

The end.

When… Thoughts/Poem by Nada Adel Sobhi

When…

When the world conspires to stop you from being happy,

When everyone seems to know everything,

When they want to show you you're ignorant,

When everyone puts you down without a remedy,

When people come and go unaware of your inner turmoil,

When they see your tears and ask if you're happy

When they see you crying but just walk out like you're nothing

When your problems are your own, but others' are yours as well,

When your ship begins to sink, and none seems to be a worthy aid,

When everyone seems content with their lives, they move on to yours,

When people feel you're happy, so they direct their energies to making you miserable

When your happiness is not enough to steer in the direction you seek,

When your happiness is seen as a selfish desire,

When you want something so bad, everyone decides it's not right for you – as if they know,

When people decide they can foresee your future, but they can't even see your present,

When… when… when…

The list is endless

When you no longer want to put up with people's shit,

When all the world can rot for all you care

When your heart turns to stone,

When your anger builds,

When you truly become selfish

What will the world and all those people do then?

(Carry on with their BS)

 Written 29 June 2016

Treading Forward - poem

The world is dark,

I'm on a bridge

But can't see ahead.

It looks down-trodden

Like my thoughts.

There are planks,

But not regular, continuous.

I turn around;

No going back.

Where was back?

Where did I come from?

How did I end up here?

Where is here?

I look forward;

It’s the only way.

I tread carefully,

Fearful of a fall

Into the abyss of the unknown.

My mind

Is numb, racing.

I try to block out the demons

Of fear and uncertainty,

Those that have haunted

My days and nights.

The bridge carries on.

How long will I keep walking?

No end in sight.

Something flutters in my periphery.

I look and nearly fall.

I stand still,

Only to be surrounded by silence.

Was it a bird?

I begin to walk again,

Careful to step on the planks

And skip the empty ones.

Another flutter,

I hear it but ignore it.

The sound grows louder,

The wind picks up.

A flock of birds?

I try not to look back.

Louder and louder;

I feel the bridge will crumble beneath me.

Will I be lost, forever?

Lost in my thoughts,

I almost fall.

The planks have ended,

Leaving me in the middle of nowhere.

The fluttering is louder,

I venture a look behind.

"They're not birds," I say,

"Books! Sweet glorious books!"

My heart flutters too.

I welcome them;

And they land one by one,

Forming new planks in my bridge.

Shoulders squared,

Faith restored,

I continue on my way.

The path may be unclear,

But my feet are firmer now.

I carry on forwards.

Written: Monday, 11 January, 2016 for Takhayyal writing prompt no. 26.

Ramblings of the Troubled Mind (6-6-2013)

I’m sure most people would call me crazy; ‘You go to work to do nothing and you’re not happy?! Are you mad?! That’s every Egyptian’s – person’s – dream job!’

Well I suppose this is the unegyptian part of me. I’m not going to be Nada who ‘just sat there.’ No. I’m not going to quit – yet – not until I find something else.

I feel like I’m stuck in a whirlpool of stupidity and mundaneness. I’m losing bits of myself day after day, week after week and month after month.

Even the bookworm in me is dying – it could always be the book I’m reading. I’ll definitely start a new one tomorrow. But the problem is the will – my will. The famous saying goes “When there’s a will, there’s a way.” But what if there is no will?!

Every day I have to get up, get dressed, take my bags, go to work, get creative in finding means to pass the long hours, get in the car again and leave and hopefully get home in one piece.

After an absolutely meaningless day at work, I go home tired – and yes doing nothing all day is tiresome, probably even more tiresome that doing something. It is more tiresome, dispiriting and highly unsatisfactory.

I go home, too tired, annoyed and bored, eat or sleep or both; then, wake up too lazy to do anything worth mentioning or to go anywhere, especially when I’m alone and especially now that many of the people I know have exams and the rest are just Facebook people I haven’t seen in ages, probably even eras.

Lately, I have bought a ton of books with more to come – already filled in orders for them. Some will arrive later this month and I sincerely hope they break me free of this recurrent dumb misery; the rest will probably arrive sometime in late August or early September.

I feel like a switched-off light bulb. I need an incentive to get me writing and reading again – reading with fervour I mean. I need to reawaken the bookworm and writer in me.

People here don’t see me. It’s been a year and none of them seems to know me or interested in getting to know me – let alone understand any part of me. The same can be partially said of me – partially not entirely.

Every time I get on Goodreads and see the amount of books there are and how writers, worldwide in general and in the US in particular, are flourishing and writing and publishing series after series, I feel more frustrated and irritated. There is an excellent medium for reading, writing and publishing there (whether for print or Kindle or Nook or whatever) – at least I think and believe so. It’s what I see. I desperately want to enter that world and become an accomplished writer. It’s difficult, I’m well aware of that. But at the pace I’m in, I doubt I’ll ever get anywhere beyond my room, keyboard and blog.

I have so many ideas in my head, but the laziness and lack of will are killing me very slowly. I’d like to get my masters’ degree in literature (poetry or novel), practical criticism, linguistics, comparative literature or any such field. They even have a masters’ degree in creative writing abroad! How cool and awesome is that! (None of the latter here in Egypt of course, I wouldn’t even dream of it.)

Generally these interests of mine do not qualify for any kind of scholarship…

I start my next German course in August – bummer. I was hoping to start in June, but that’s not possible unless I take once per week from June till September. Not sure what I’ll do about that yet. I was hoping for an early start to get me out of this mood and possibly push me forward to finding new opportunities.

I plan to finish Sir Gawain and the Green Knight today along with its review, which I just realised is more of a summary than a review of the 98-page poem. I suppose I can make two versions; one short review and another much lengthier summary and review.

I still have two more book reviews that I need to write – and by ‘need’, I mean I will not forgive myself if I don’t write them. They are The Hobbit and My Lady Mage.

I have three more elemental poems to write – for no publication whatsoever; ‘Water’ and ‘Fire’ being the completed two. I had written ‘Water’ over a year ago – may be even two years ago. I wrote ‘Fire’ last Tuesday.

I have so many stories in progress but I fear to complete them in this mood lest I ruin them. At the same time, there is the possibility that attempting to complete them might actually get me out of this wretched mood.

There is still hope.

There should always be hope.

There has to be hope.

- Written Thursday, 6th of June, 2013.