gluedwithgold: (Default)
Mm-hmm. I should be doing any number of other things - the dishes, wrapping christmas presents, baking cookies - but, nope. I'd rather ramble on my LiveJournal, so *sticks tongue out like a bratty two-year-old* that's what I'm gonna do.

I think my last post here was about NaNoWriMo - which turned into NaNoWriNO. I ended up giving up. It's been over a month and I'm still kind of pissed at myself, but I just got so far behind that I was stressing so much I couldn't write. I'd make progress of a thousand words or so and realize "oh, I'm still 10k behind." So, in an effort to destress my life (which seems to be all I DO lately) I just threw in the towel. I got about 12k into one story, then switched gears and started a different one, got 3500 words in and THAT wasn't working either, so - bleh.

I haven't really done any significant writing since, either, and that needs to stop. I need to get back into it. I've put too much work into writing in the past year to stall now. But, I've been thinking about it the past couple days, and I think part of my attitude problem with my writing is that I don't feel like I've made any significant improvements in my skills - obviously just practice will garner some improvement, but I haven't put any real effort into bettering myself as a writer. Part of that is because I'm not sure what areas I really need to work on - it's a hard thing to see the faults in your own work, even when you're willing and driven to do the work to improve.

So I think my goal in the coming year is going to be to work through some of the writing books I have. A few months ago I found a used copy of one book in a series called "Write Great Fiction" - sounds lame, I know, but the techniques and exercises (at least in the first chapter I read) made a lot of sense to me. I ended up ordering two more from the series with a gift card I had, so now I have "Description & Setting", "Characters, Emotion & Viewpoint", and "Plot & Structure". So I think I'm going to work through those books and see what I can learn, what I can improve on. I may post the exercises I write here - not sure. Maybe I can turn some of them into SPN fic to keep them within my current interest/obsession. Who knows. But 2017 is going to be the year of study for me. And I'm going to try my damnedest to stick to my personal goal of writing at least 500 words every day.

Speaking of obsessions....
Eyewitness?
HOLY CRAP!
Not only did that show feed my fetish for pretty boys kissing, but the story! The characters!
With only 10 episodes, I kind of feel like it's the television equivalent of a short story - and a damn well-done one at that. There were a few loose ends/inconsistencies (like - what happened to Kamilah? And - how did Ryan know to look for the frying pan Lukas hit him with? It was in the woods, at night - how the hell did he find it with what I'm sure was a pretty decent concussion?) but overall, it was just a beautifully woven story with such vivid, dynamic characters and I just loved every minute of it!

At this point I've watched it probably 7 or 8 times - and I'm sure I'll purchase it at some point so I can always have it. (Hopefully it will be released on DVD? I really would love to add it to my collection.) At any rate - I love it. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it. (And hey, it's only 10 episodes, so it's not too much of a time suck, right? Right.)

Christmas is just two days away and I'm actually dreading it. Which kind of sucks, because I used to love Christmas. I didn't even put up my tree this year! I know there's still time, but - really, what's the point? It's just me, I rarely have guests (and especially not this time of year) so I'd just be putting it up for a week or two of yelling at my cat to leave the ornaments alone.

I'm dreading Christmas day - family time. It's a strange thing that the older I get, the more I come to know myself, and the more I dislike my family and the way they treat people. There's this general air of unacceptance of anything outside of the "norm" and I'm just generally more and more intolerant of it. And it's not even that I lead any sort of alternative lifestyle - thank goodness because I can't imagine how that would go over - but I constantly feel judged just because I don't do things the way they think they should be done. Just because I have no desire to follow the typical life path they are comfortable with. So, time with family will be spent treading water, giving civil but terse responses to any questions posed to me, otherwise staying quiet and probably drinking a lot of whiskey. At this point even the fact that I'm expected to be there pisses me off - what if I didn't want to celebrate christmas? I'm not christian, so the standard religious conotations of the holiday bear no import to me. I used to consider myself pagan, and the celebration of the changing of the seasons and the rebirth of the sun made sense to me - but now? I don't even find any joy in that, so what's the point in celebrating this holiday? It's a completely secular event for me which only comes with obligations that I begrudgingly fulfill. (Yeah, I kind of sound a bit like a petulant, rebellious teenager here, huh? Guess I'll just do what I do - suck it up and deal until it's over.)

Well, THAT got whiny and depressing. On to more positive things!

I've been listening to Kaleo pretty much non-stop lately. (Thank you, Jared and Jensen, for putting them on my radar!) I'm not sure what it is about the album, but it's pretty damn happy-making for me. I don't think I've even really listened to the lyrics of the songs (something I unfortunately rarely do) but the music just gets me. It's mellow without being either depressing or sappy - it's just chill and I love that. Again, I highly recommend it - if you haven't had a listen yet, give it a search on YouTube (the albumn is called A/B - there are a few artists called Kaleo - this one only has this one album.).

Alright, I suppose that's all I have to ramble on about for now. If you've made it this far - you deserve a cookie! (Everyone deserves a cookie!) I'm off to do - something. Productive. Probably. Maybe.

Pre-post edit: I just spent half an hour scrolling through twitter when I got distracted while reading through this for typos. The procrastination force is strong with me!
gluedwithgold: (Default)
*dusts off her LJ*

Yeah, I kind of dropped out for a while. But, I figure it's time to pull my head out of the sand and take a look around again.

Yup, I've been hiding from social media. I've been mourning.

Read more... )
gluedwithgold: (Default)
It's that time of year. No, not Halloween (though, Happy Halloween!). Not Thanksgiving or Christmas. Screw all those traditional holidays. I'm celebrating the month-long holiday where writers across the world embrace their insanity and write 50,000 words in 30 days. Yup, I'm doing it again. NaNoWriMo will consume my life for the next month (and I can't wait!).

Read more... )
gluedwithgold: (Default)
Another easy one today.

Writing is my happy place!!!

After yesterday's autumn love-fest, I was talking to friends about how much we all love fall, and today was the FIRST DAY of fall, and there were google doodles and fall-themed Jared aesthetics, and the whole thing just gave me the fanfic feels. I just got this neeeeeeed to write beautiful boys cuddling under a big maple tree with bright orange leaves all around them and the sun filtering through and *swooooooons*

So, yeah - I've written about 2000 words of a mini-story, it'll probably wind up somewhere around 3-4k words (which is an odd length for me, I usually write one-scene ficlets that are about 1k, or full stories that are 10k on up - this one's totally different!). I'll hopefully finish that tomorrow, edit over the weekend, so there should be new fic posted from me soon! Woohoo!

But yeah, writing is so my happy place. I love the way my brain latches on to an image or a story premise, and doesn't let go until I've worked it out to a full-fledged idea. I love the a-ha moment when it all comes together in my head. I love starting to write, those first, tentative sentences flowing out onto the screen, then I pause and re-read, make a few adjustments to get the engine going then all of a sudden I'm off and the words are flowing, my fingers flying over the keyboard, and before I know it I've gotten a full page written with characters starting to come to life and the scene set and things are starting to happen.

When I write, I have this calm focus that I don't have any other time. My brain shuts down all the chatter - all that negative self-talk, all the worry and wondering what if, all the memories of things past that I can't do anything about but my brain latches onto anyway. When I'm writing, it's just me and the story. It's an escape, a way of transporting myself into another world for a while, but unlike reading or watching movies or television, when I come back from that escape I have something to show for it. I've created this world, these characters, this story - and hopefully it's good, hopefully it's something other people will want to read and get some enjoyment from. Because if I need to escape the world I live in for a little while, shouldn't I want to do that in a way that might benefit others? In a way that gives other people the same kind of escape that I need? Shouldn't there be something positive to come out of all the shit I have to deal with and fight all the time, something good from the way in which I deal with it? Yeah. I love writing. 
gluedwithgold: (Default)
header2.jpg

The Other Side of Fear (40141 words) by gluedwithgold
Chapters: 20/20
Fandom: Supernatural RPF
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Christian Kane, Chad Michael Murray, Danneel Harris, Genevieve Cortese
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe, Photographer Jensen, Writer Jared, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Homophobia, Coming of Age, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Love, Falling In Love, Boys In Love, Kissing, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Shower Sex, Schmoop, Punk Jared, Punk Jensen, Tattoos, Piercings
Summary:

Jared has been waiting for years to get away from Texas so he can finally be who he really is. Jensen has been looking forward to finishing college and moving on with his life. When they wind up living together in the same dorm, they find out there's a much better way to live.

gluedwithgold: (Default)
My plan for this weekend was simple. Really. I was going to write. I was going to spend the weekend with my laptop and challenge myself to see how many words I could pump out. It was going to be great.

Except.

I managed to catch a case of insomnia this past week, and by Friday night I was exhausted. I went to bed early knowing my brain was in no condition to function and put together coherent thoughts, but...guess what? Still couldn't sleep. I was up until 3 a.m. Thinking about writing. This one story idea I have just latched onto my brain and would not let go. If I had a brain recorder, that I could then download and convert into text? The damn story would be 3/4 finished by now.

I did end up getting about 5 hours of sleep, and though not totally rested, I decided to go ahead with the plan and write my weekend away. I schlepped myself out of bed and got dressed, went out to get some groceries (writers need nourishment!) then headed back home.

And then. There. On my doorstep. A package.

I was confused - I hadn't ordered anything, wasn't expecting anything but bills and junk mail.
I picked it up and looked at the return address - MY FRIENDS SENT ME A PACKAGE! WOOHOO!!

Seeing as they'd just been to Minn Con the previous weekend, I expected they'd picked up some cool SPN schwag for me - because they are awesome like that! So I began tearing at the envelope (enormous, padded envelope, stuffed full). Hacked at it with scissors, got frustrated as hell and started cursing - until I noticed the pull-tab on the side. I ripped it open and pull out... another damn padded envelope! But this one was easier to open, and soon I was sliding the contents out. There was a card, addressed to me with much love from Sammie and Amanda (heart-eyes - of course - I love those two so much!). I turned over the object in my hand... identify it as a picture frame... I look at the photo in it... Jared Padalecki! (more heart-eyes!) But then... what's that? Is that? NO! It can't be! OH MY GOD WHAT DID THEY DO????

THE FUCKING PHOTO IS SIGNED BY JARED PADALECKI!!!!!!!!!



My eyes immediately start tearing up, and my hands start shaking. My wonderful, beautiful, amazing friends got an autograph for me! I tear into the card - which turns out to be a beautiful artwork by dephigravity from a fic I adore - and read all about how they missed me and wanted me to be at the con with them, they had an extra autograph from a package they'd bought and decided they needed to give it to me! There was also the story of the autograph itself - including sweetness, smiles and gummy bears (heart-eyes!) and a mention of the back of the frame (which I'd not noticed yet) - I turned the frame over and there were more messages from my friends on the back of the photo. By the time I finished reading everything, I'm literally crying. This package was filled with so much love and friendship it just blew me away!

You see, I am not "one of the popular kids" - I'm socially anxious and shy, which makes me pretty awkward, I tend to be very introverted as well as pretty closed off. I just don't connect with people. I don't create the bonds with other folks that make them miss me or think about me when I'm not around. So, even though I'm nearly 44 years old, this is the first time anyone has ever done something so meaningful for me. I connect with these two women on a deeper level than I have with anyone I've considered a friend before - the only comparable person in my life is my sister. It's fucking amazing.

So why am I blathering on about this on the internet? Because this is a perfect example of the power of the SPN Family, of fandom. People say you can't really make friends on the internet, that it's not real. Well, they're wrong. Through the internet, through the SPN Family, I have met true, absolutely amazing friends. I love them with my whole heart. They bring me joy every day, I am a better person for having them in my life, I like myself (dare I say - love myself?) more because of them. They give me inspiration, comfort, laughter, and always, always love.

So, thank you, [livejournal.com profile] dancing_adrift and [livejournal.com profile] non_tiembo_mala. Thank you for being you. Thank you for being amazing, wonderful, creative, funny, patient and kind. Thank you for loving me. I love you back a thousandfold. <3

So, needless to say, I didn't get much writing done this weekend - I was too busy squeeing and basking in the love of my friends. Although I am getting some words down tonight. Really! I am! I swear!


Top Left: Amanda and Sam; Bottom Left: Autographed photo of Jared Padalecki;
Top Right: card with artwork of Jared by dephigravity for dugindeep (hotsauce)'s Refracted
gluedwithgold: (Default)
Actually, I should be working, but - working from home 3 days a week gives me far too much freedom to slack off (hey, I don't get paid enough for the work I do, I don't feel guilty!).

I keep thinking about last November when I participated in NaNoWriMo. I wrote 50k words in a month. My life was eat, breathe, sleep writing. It was awesome. Even when the words I spewed forth weren't all that great, I was at least getting them out. Which is odd, considering I hate deadlines. I signed up for a challenge here on LJ and wound up dropping out because I just couldn't handle knowing I HAD to write this specific thing by a specific time. I tried forcing it, but...it all came out crap. I started two stories for that challenge before I gave up. My heart just wasn't in it.

Then I dropped out and, just like in the movies, the heavens opened up, great beams of sunshine fell down while a chorus of angels sung - I was free! No longer was I chained to one story, I could write WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANTED TO WRITE! WOOHOO!

But...I'm not writing. I keep trying but it just won't flow. I get out two or three hundred words and my brain deflates like an untied balloon slipping from my fingers (farty sounds and all). What's up with that??

I know I'll get it back. I know I'll keep trying, keep putting my ass in the chair and my fingers on the keyboard and sooner or later the words will start spilling out onto the pages again. I'll finish my works in progress, I'll move on to other ideas. I'll get my confidence back. I'm too stubborn not to.

But right now? I'm kinda bummed. Because I want to write, I really, really do.

Maybe I need more coffee.................................
gluedwithgold: (Default)
So. The lovely [livejournal.com profile] akintay posted a Friending Meme over on her journal (which I would link to, but I still don't know how {will someone please just wave a magic wand so I know how to use this site? Pretty please?} and I think most people who will see this already know her anyway so, yeah.) and it reminded me that I have this here blog/journal/place to spew forth all my thinky-thoughts.

Lately I've been inundated with new story ideas. It seems every time I turn around I'm grabbing my fiction journal and scribbling down thoughts on some new plot or character combination.
You see, here's my story. *settles everyone on pillows on the floor, passes out cookies and juice*
I studied creative writing in college - growing up I was always writing stories, foregoing recess to sit with a notebook, commandeering my parents' old electric typewriter (I'm old - we didn't have computers back then!) and eventually going on to study writing, despite parental protest. Being young and immature as I was, I didn't really take advantage of that education. I didn't put the work in. I wrote, sure - I participated in all the workshops, garnered some skill from being critiqued on a pretty consistent basis. But I didn't take the opportunity to really learn storytelling like I should have.

After I graduated and the real world struck, I gave up on writing. Now, 20 years later (yeah, that long - I said I'm old - shut up!) I've reignited my passion for writing in a major way, and with my new maturity I'm working toward learning all those things I should have learned when I was in school.

And it's paying off. My dialogue has improved immensely, my characterizations are getting stronger, my descriptions more vivid. I'm starting to work imagery and theme into my stories and my plots are becoming more complex.

When I first came back to writing, coming up with ideas was a struggle. I'd get a vague image of a story - a lot of times no more than a sentence or two. I would sit down to write, and let the story unfold as I worked. The characters would come to life, conflict would emerge, all in front of the keyboard as I struggled to put one word in front of the other.

Ideas are coming to me left and right now - and they're becoming much more intricate. My latest one filled two pages of my journal, and incorporates a lot of the history of the protagonist (which will come out within the story, of course). This one hit me two days ago, and I've been filling in details since. Just a few minutes ago I was sitting here pondering what my secondary protagonist's character flaw would be. And it hit me - THIS is how you build a story.

I've had many discussions with my friends ([livejournal.com profile] dancing_adrift and [livejournal.com profile] non_tiembo_mala) about plot and how to come up with what actually happens throughout the timeline of the story. We're all learning to improve our writing, and plot seems to be the one thing we keep coming back to, that we keep struggling with.

What's happening for me (and of course, everyone's process is different, this may sound assinine to someone else) is that I start with a situation, a premise. Into that situation I put characters. How those characters interact, react, change, grow - that's where the story unfolds. So, what I'm learning is that rather than needing a specific series of events - A happens, then B happens as a result, leading to C happening - what really fuels my storytelling is character. The more fleshed out, the more real my characters are, the easier it is to throw them into a situation and let the events unfold. The more intimately I know the characters, the more logical it becomes to see what they would do, how they would react. If one character's flaw is a fear of commitment, when he meets another character and falls in love, that is going to create conflict for that character.

So, basically - all those exercises I was supposed to do in college, creating character sketches and biographies? They were right. It's useful. It's important. It's integral to storytelling. If I could go back in time and talk to my 20-year-old self, I'd definitely smack her upside the head and tell her to pay attention. Who knows, maybe we'd be published by now!

Now...I just need to sit down and actually write all these stories....
gluedwithgold: (Default)
I read. A lot. All the time. I read when I wake up in the morning, I read before bed. I read on breaks at work, and I read after work. I don't watch a lot of television. My 25 mile commute from work is often spent wishing I was reading, or trying to devise a way in which I can read while driving (yeah, yeah, audiobooks, I know - shut up, I don't like them).

As soon as I learned to read as a kid, I started devouring books. Allowance? Spent at the bookstore. Library card? Always on my person (back then - now in the digital age when I can find reading material for free or download it instantly? Not so much. Yay internet!). I started writing then, too. As soon as I discovered the bliss of a good story my brain said "YOU MUST DO THAT!" I even made my mom concerned at one point because I would read the dictionary - just leading myself from one word to another, hungry for more vocabulary, more words, more story-building tools.

What is it that enraptures me so fully about reading? It's the stories. It's the worlds that draw me in, envelop me like a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer on a cold winter morning. Characters that are drawn so vividly that I feel like I know them, I fall in love with them, I want them to be my friends. It's these places that exist in a different realm, places I wish I could step into and explore, live there for a while and see what new things I can discover, new characters I can meet, new stories I can unearth.

So much love for stories.

Lately I've been devouring fanfiction. I read good fanfiction, I read terrible fanfiction. Short, long, canon, alternate universe, general fiction, slash fiction, I read it all. I love reading it. It takes this world I love and takes it further, lets me continue to explore the characters and the world - or turns that world completely upside down to see in an entirely new way.

I learn from all my reading. The good stuff I read fuels my desire to be a better writer - I find myself in awe of the way a story is told or how a character is drawn, and I try to pick it apart later to find out just how the writer did that. I learn from the bad stuff too, by critiquing it, figuring out what makes it bad, how it could be better.

But most of all, I escape. I run away into a different world, because let's face it - ours can really fucking suck some times. So for the time I spend reading, I don't have to deal with this world - I can forget about all the hate and violence and struggle (even though those things still exist in the worlds I read in, somehow it's not so bad - somehow I always know it'll be okay in the end, and I can't know that with the real world). For a time I can immerse myself in someplace else, someplace where my mind is free to roam.

It's occurred to me that maybe I spend too much time escaping into fictional worlds. Maybe, just maybe, I should focus on the here and now a little bit more. It's possible that my real life could improve if I put a little bit of effort into making it better instead of running away from it. You know what though? Fuck it. I'm gonna go read. 
gluedwithgold: (Default)
I don't get out much. I fight anxiety and depression daily. Notice I say fight - this is a purposeful word choice. I don't struggle, I don't suffer - I literally fight it every day because I am determined to not allow it to keep power over my life. It's taken many, many years to get to this point but I'm here. It's been just in the last year that I've been able to open up to life. Much of this is due to the love and support of my sister and my friends [livejournal.com profile] dancing_adrift and [livejournal.com profile] non_tiembo_mala. I'm now able to fight through the anxiety and do things I wouldn't have considered a few years ago.

Last night I went to a concert with my sister. We arrived very early and got very close to the stage - fourth row, nearly center. I've been to concerts before - the last I went to was ten years ago, and the only way I was able to do it was to stick to the outskirts with a clear, quick escape route. But not last night - last night we were right in the thick of it. And I did experience anxiety and panic. The volume that close to the stage was epic - I could feel the ground shaking beneath my feet, the flesh on my arms shuddering with the beat, and the thumping of the bass heavily pounded in my chest. I was unprepared for that much of a physical experience, and it scared me. But I pushed through it, and by the end of the show, I enjoyed it.

The lead singer came out into the crowd during one of the encore songs, and there was a push of the crowd (he was close - my sister got knocked in the head with the microphone cord) - I knew ahead of time that this would happen, it happens at every one of their shows, and I knew I would be in the middle of it. I panicked anyway. But I also dealt with it. I fought down the thoughts that would have blown the situation out of proportion in my head - the thoughts of "what if I get separated from my sister?" "what if I get pushed down and trampled?" "what if I have a panic attack?" - I made it through, and even though I have no memory of that particular song of the show, that's okay. I made it.

As we sat in the car waiting for traffic to clear enough to be able to back out of our parking space, I was enveloped with an overwhelming sense of pride. I was exhausted, sore, and anxiety-ridden, but so fucking proud of myself for doing it. For fighting that which, not that long ago, would have kept me from going and having a good time, enjoying the music, the energy of the crowd and the company of my sister, of making memories that will stay with me for the rest of my life. I didn't miss out.

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The National at MassMoCA - June 11, 2016

I got home late, fell into bed exhausted and slept peacefully and happily. I woke up, still tired and sore, still feeling full of pride at my accomplishment, of how far I've come in my fight. When I went online and started seeing the news, my high deflated. I found there had been yet another shooting, 50 people dead and 53 injured at a club in Orlando.

I started thinking about why something like this would affect me so strongly. I don't watch the news - I gather a meager understanding of what's going on in the world through headlines on the internet, but I can't stomach anything more. I get anxious and depressed when things like this happen, and I can't wrap my head around how things like this can happen. So I escape into writing, reading, fandom, television and music. I ignore the horrible things that go on in the world because it's too much for me to handle. And that's why the news of this shooting knocked me down off my high of accomplishment. I can handle a concert, but I can't handle the world at large. I can function in my own little, sheltered environment, but I can't open myself up to the greater circle of society. I can't find the strength to join in the fight against these terrible things, even though I fully believe in fighting hate with love, and the more love is put out into the world the stronger and more effective it gets. It's not that I think I will never be able to put myself out there. I know I'm still working on it - last night is evidence of that. I just still have a ways to go before I get to the point where I can fight the panic and fear it brings up in me.

And that brought me to wondering why I choose writing as an escape. I realized that even though writing is a solitary process, that I can shutter myself away with my fingers on the keyboard and not be affected by the things that scare me, it still creates an avenue for me to participate in the society that I'm afraid of. Through telling stories I can put the love that I have, that energy, out into the world. It's my way of fighting. Right now it's what I can do while still caring for myself - and I'm okay with that. Right now, it's enough.

My heart goes out to those affected by this awful, hateful act. I send my love to help in the fight against hate. My words will be flowing as much as possible.  
gluedwithgold: (Default)
It was about a year ago that I started writing again after a twenty year hiatus (yes, I'm old enough that twenty years of my adult life can pass with significance - pipe down, you whippersnappers!). I started writing basically as soon as I learned to read, and never stopped all through high school and college (I majored in writing and literature - go figure). But once I graduated and the relative freedom of school was ripped from my hands as I wailed and moaned, begging and grasping for it with aching, bloodied fingers (I may be exaggerating a wee bit) and I had to engage in "real life" I let go of the passion and dove into the daily grind of making a living. Writing was always at least in the back of my mind, and throughout the years I made half-hearted attempts at renewing my passion, reinventing my determination and discipline. It never stuck, until now.

Now I'm focused and passionate, spending more time thinking about writing than anything else, and actually writing for at least a few hours most days. I seem to have hit a roadblock, however. I have so many ideas and so much desire - my favorite daydream right now is being able to quit my day job and write full time - that I've found myself stagnant.

I'm three quarters finished with a J2 RPF College AU, I have a solid idea for [livejournal.com profile] spnhorrorbang that I can't wait to dive into, I have another exciting idea for another J2 RPF AU story (a fantasy genre story that's so far out of the realm of what I normally write that I'm chomping at the bit to explore it), a half-formed idea for an original story that I intend to write during this year's NaNoWriMo that I really want to flesh out so I'm more prepared for the month-long marathon in November, my fiction journal is slowly filling up with other ideas and it seems I have something newsmack me in the face with a resounding splat every day (ideas are gooey - they splate when they hit). On top of all these ideas, I have an uncontrollable desire to work on certain elements of my writing - exploring different points of view, experimenting with stream-of-consciousness narration, toying with theme and motif - to learn and grow as a writer (which, of course, can only be accomplished by writing - duh).

Sounds like a writer's dream, right? Except that I'm finding myself completely overwhelmed by all of this, and when I get overwhelmed I turn into a possum curled up in a tight ball in the middle of the road in the dead of night. I get overwhelmed and I just can't do anything. I sit down to write, and the thousand words that would have taken me an hour and a half struggles out over three hours because my mind won't settle in, it's constantly skittering from one thought and idea to the next without every pausing to work on the task at hand. And what I do manage to produce is dry and lacking the heart of what I push out when I'm really focused and writing with flow.

So what the fuck do I do now? Well, my best guess is - I write. I put my butt in the chair, my fingers on the keyboard and I struggle through forcing every constipated word I can get out onto the page. Maybe everything I write will be crap, and I'll have to edit the fuck out of it to make something even remotely readable out of it. But if I let this overwhelming stagnancy take hold, I'm in for another hiatus of whining and complaining that "I wish I could write because I miss it." Fuck that. Writers write, and whether I'm writing coma-inducing crap or amazing literature that will change the collective consciousness of the universe, I am a writer. 

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