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Weeks Where I Would Rather Not Be a Writer
There are times where I don’t want to be a writer. Usually during blocked times, when I can’t squeeze out a single word, of course, but in the midst of an obsessive period of writing, I really, really, really hate it.
I haven’t been sleeping well lately, which is why I’m currently loathing the entire writing world. Every time I close my eyes, four ideas pop up into my mind, ideas that absolutely will not let me loose until I’ve sat up and at least committed them to the page. I’m running on less than five hours of sleep a night, which made an article that Alyssa Milano linked on Twitter about sleep deprivation oddly hysterical to me. It was a checklist of MY LIFE.
I blame the be-compromised Secret Santa exchange, for which I am clearly going above and beyond. My prompt, though I was leery of it at first, is kind of awesome, and I’ve been scaring some of my pre-readers with just how easily I managed to make two somewhat-incompatible universes mesh together. I sat down and write 5,000 words in a day and it disgusted me because there are less than 2,500 words to go on The Bank Job, dammit. Less than 2,500 words and I’m officially free of the ghost of the monkey that is the Fatesverse, and instead, I am barfing words on screen on a new story.
I have nobody to blame but my brain.
All of this whining aside, I love this new idea with an unholy glee. It’s completely out of my fic-writing wheelhouse, and closer to some of my original fiction. After years of writing with a pared-down, dialogue-driven style, switching gears to something like my current project is a new and interesting challenge. Max called me a chameleon last night, and I think the accusation fits. I like being able to stretch my writing wings—no matter how much I loathe writing for depriving me of necessary nutrients I’m pretty sure my body is not producing due to the whole sleep deprivation thing—and see exactly what the craziness produces.
It’s probably a hot mess. I’m so tired I don’t care.
I also really need to finish up my Downton Abbey stories, preferably before I end up wanting to chase Julian Fellowes with a pitchfork for ruining almost every character in the history of everything ever. Four and a half chapters and then I can bounce from that fandom, but my newfound Downton apathy means I’m not even reading over there anymore. I watch on Sundays because I can’t check Tumblr until I do (people I follow don’t believe in tagging), but unless season three shows a marked improvement, I think I’m going to be done.
Anyway, that’s what’s up with me and why you probably won’t see new fic from me for a couple of weeks.
- Frea
I haven’t been sleeping well lately, which is why I’m currently loathing the entire writing world. Every time I close my eyes, four ideas pop up into my mind, ideas that absolutely will not let me loose until I’ve sat up and at least committed them to the page. I’m running on less than five hours of sleep a night, which made an article that Alyssa Milano linked on Twitter about sleep deprivation oddly hysterical to me. It was a checklist of MY LIFE.
I blame the be-compromised Secret Santa exchange, for which I am clearly going above and beyond. My prompt, though I was leery of it at first, is kind of awesome, and I’ve been scaring some of my pre-readers with just how easily I managed to make two somewhat-incompatible universes mesh together. I sat down and write 5,000 words in a day and it disgusted me because there are less than 2,500 words to go on The Bank Job, dammit. Less than 2,500 words and I’m officially free of the ghost of the monkey that is the Fatesverse, and instead, I am barfing words on screen on a new story.
I have nobody to blame but my brain.
All of this whining aside, I love this new idea with an unholy glee. It’s completely out of my fic-writing wheelhouse, and closer to some of my original fiction. After years of writing with a pared-down, dialogue-driven style, switching gears to something like my current project is a new and interesting challenge. Max called me a chameleon last night, and I think the accusation fits. I like being able to stretch my writing wings—no matter how much I loathe writing for depriving me of necessary nutrients I’m pretty sure my body is not producing due to the whole sleep deprivation thing—and see exactly what the craziness produces.
It’s probably a hot mess. I’m so tired I don’t care.
I also really need to finish up my Downton Abbey stories, preferably before I end up wanting to chase Julian Fellowes with a pitchfork for ruining almost every character in the history of everything ever. Four and a half chapters and then I can bounce from that fandom, but my newfound Downton apathy means I’m not even reading over there anymore. I watch on Sundays because I can’t check Tumblr until I do (people I follow don’t believe in tagging), but unless season three shows a marked improvement, I think I’m going to be done.
Anyway, that’s what’s up with me and why you probably won’t see new fic from me for a couple of weeks.
- Frea
get some sleep
Re: get some sleep