So, if you follow me on Instagram, you may have noticed that I got a bit mopey this weekend. I try not to focus on numbers and engagement but sometimes it gets to me. It came straight off the back of a person with about 10 times the followers I have moaning about how bad her engagement is. I know everyone is struggling but let’s get real. If you’re moaning that only a few hundred people are seeing their posts then you need to get a reality check. Last year I thought I was onto a good thing with my feed. I was getting fairly good engagement for the size of my account and was getting new followers regularly. Now? It’s all gone to shit. I’ve been stuck on the same numbers for ages and it’s affecting my photos. Instead of doing what I want I’m trying to create content that I think will get more likes. And I’m not happy with my regular feed Which is why I put so much more effort into these challenges. Which still gets to me because I see people who put in way less effort getting way more appreciation. But I guess this is quite subjective so who am I to say which photos are good or not. Still, I feel like this ” close community” isn’t quite as welcoming as they like to believe. They’re quite formulaic with who they chose to share. It can be really disheartening. But, then again, I’m probably just having a bad weekend. I’ve been feeling a bit down for the last couple of days. Best ignore me.
I’m writing this after angrily unfollowing someone on Instagram for being an idiot. Okay, I shouldn’t call them an idiot but they said something I couldn’t accept. As you will no doubt know by now, I’m super judgmental of people when it comes to certain things and this poor person happened to be discussing a subject near and dear to my heart: Mary Wollstonecraft. She’s everything. Vindication on the Rights of Woman is undeniably great. Letters Written During A Short Residence is undeniably heartbreaking and adorable. Maria is undeniably gothic and awesome. I love her. So am always intrigued when she’s mentioned on Instagram. And today she was. Not just Mary Wollstonecraft either. Mary Shelley and Ada Lovelace were brought into the equation. Now I realise the bringing this up now is super mean and petty of me but I want to get this rant out. Otherwise I’ll go and rant on their post and that really is out-of-order. So this person said
I have long-held a fascination with Byron, Shelley and the Romantic poets and have been hugely gratified to see the women in their lives coming more and more to the fore. Mary Shelley, Ada Lovelace and their respective mothers were sharp, intelligent, radical and creative and it’s always a joy to read about them all in more depth.
Now, aside from the dodgy grammar on show, there is nothing wrong with this sentiment per se. I love people who love the Romantic poets; it’s kind of my jam. I have two dissertations to prove that its my favourite literary period. And I always love seeing other people embracing the women of this period. But, what riled me, was the idea that these women are only just being recognised. And the fact that Mary Wollstonecraft was relegated to the role of Mary Shelley’s mother. The fucking mother of feminism doesn’t even deserve to be name-checked! What? But the whole thing just reminded me of the time Donald Trump pretended he knew who Frederick Douglass was and how he was being “recognised more and more”. Mary Shelley wrote one of the most read, most popular, and most adapted pieces of fiction in the last 200 years. Mary Wollstonecraft is one of the most important female writers ever. And Ada Lovelace was a fucking genius. These women have been, rightly, celebrated for years. It’s just a vacuous statement that is intended to make you seem like you have so much depth. But it’s just stupid. And I got unnecessarily angry about it. So angry I’ve made you all pay the price. Sorry, let’s get on with the rundown and pretend this never happened…
I’m writing this post ahead of time because on Wednesday night I’m going to the theatre. A guy I work with is starring in an amateur production of Sweet Charity and a load of us are going to watch him. As a huge fan of musical theatre I’m really excited but I will miss my usual Wednesday night routine. I normally have the house to myself so I can just do whatever I want. Plus, I had to start to think about this post way before I normally would. I mean is it really a Wednesday if I’m not madly typing a bookish post at about 32:46? It’s also an issue for another reason. By the time this post goes on the blog I will have finally finished a book. I know I know. It’s a fucking miracle and it’s only taken about 3 months to do it. This slump has killed me, man. But I should be able to finish Frankenstein in Baghdad this evening. If this had been a normal week then I could have cobbled together a book review this week but, thanks to my unusually busy schedule, that’ll have to wait until next Wednesday. So, it does beg the question of what I’m going to discuss tonight.
I’m so tired and confused as I write this. It’s been a really hectic week and I’ve got another one coming up. I just wish I could sleep for about 4 days but I can’t. I’ve had a lovely few days away from work though. I went to London for a friend’s birthday and we did the Crystal Maze experience. It was absolutely amazing and I won both of my challenges. Not too shabby. I mean, yeah, I sucked in the Crystal Dome but that’s fine. It’s super hard grabbing tokens whilst they’re being blown around by a fan. Whatever the result, I’ve been wanting to do it since I was a kid so it’s a genuine bucket list thing. And to not have failed miserably was just an added bonus. I’m feeling pretty good about myself right now. Which means somethings about to come along and ruin it… but we’ll leave that for another day.
It’s reaching that time of the month when us bookish people start to set out what we plan on reading in the weeks ahead. As a keen Bookstagrammer who sticks to a couple of photo challenges for inspiration, I am used to post at least one photo at the start of every new month to show off the books in my monthly TBR. Now, I know there are people out there who will stick religiously to whatever they pick at that point but I’m not one of them. In fact, each of my TBR Instagram posts just tend to be a random selection of books that I kind of want to read but know, deep in my heart, that I won’t be doing it any time soon. It’s just a routine I’ve found myself in. But this month is worse than other months. Because I’m in the middle of a major reading slump. I’m currently still reading Frankenstein in Baghdad: a book that I actually opened for the first time towards the end of March. Fucking March, guys! That was ages ago. So, I’m feeling a little more stressed than normal about my selection this month. And, as we all know, stress isn’t something that really helps in a slump.
I feel better writing this rundown than I have writing the past two. I spent a lovely day with my family and it’s been really good for me. I feel better to be starting the week than I have in a long time. Which is good because I reckon it’s going to be tough this week. But let’s not ruin this positive mental state. After all, I have a reason to celebrate tonight. I actually read a few chapters in the past 7 days. I’m still not up to my normal speed but I’ve managed to get some pre-bed reading in a few nights this week. I won’t be so bold as to say I’m out of my slump but I’m getting somewhere. I’m excited about my posts this week and will, hopefully, be able to keep ahead of myself. I’ve got to get through just over a week of work and I’ll be away for a few days. It’s my friend’s birthday so I’m going to see her. It’s going to be one of the few things that keeps me going this week.
This reading slump really does need to stop soon. Not only am I still reading the same book I started in April (with a few stops to read other things along the way) but I’m entirely unmotivated when it comes to my Wednesday night bookish posts. It also doesn’t help that I’m having a terrible work week but we’ve reached that point where I need to go to bed but still haven’t got anything up on the blog. I genuinely don’t know what’s wrong with me. It takes me so long to get motivated to do anything. I’ve sat with WordPress open for ages but kept finding reasons not to start typing. Okay, I guess not having a subject matter is a pretty decent excuse for not writing. At one point I genuinely contemplated trying to write a post about how to deal with reading slumps but I quickly realised that if I knew how to deal with them then I wouldn’t be in one. So I scrapped that idea. I guess I’m just feeling a bit low all round right now. Even Bookstagram really isn’t giving me the same kind of joy that it once did. I wake up early on my days off to get ahead with my photos and lie in bed for hours instead of actually taking them. Apparently, these days taking loads of photos of books isn’t really top of my priorities list.