We're in the middle of peak season in the book market; every self-respecting publisher wants to have most of their books out now, ready for Christmas shopping. That means lots and lots of hopeful debuts and brainy zeitgeist novels and the compulsory "how hard can it be to write a thriller" thrillers. All sent to the poor book critic (me) three days before the publishers hope for a glowing review (by the way, if you're one of those publishers: Rethink that strategy. Really rethink it).
I'm not complaining, it's a good job; it keeps your reading skills where they need to be, and you know what happens in the industry. But: There's just hardly any time for comfort reads. Especially not if you want to write something of your own stuff, too. That's why I sometimes reach Christmas with a desperate need for less paper books and more comfort reads (those are always e-books for me). And, above everything else, time to write.
I guess it's all part of the rhythm of the year: I write in the summer, read in the fall and edit during the winter months. Springtime I use for collapsing with stress...
I read and I write - everything from corporate to kink. My naughty fictional friends are always there to make my life interesting. And pester me, of course. Pesky creatures.