(no subject)

[katallison]

Ah, drat. It is raining, not hard but steadily, which grieves me because I'd been looking forward to going downtown for the Pride parade, and all week they kept telling us it was going to be a lovely sunny weekend, but nooooo, they fibbed to us. *shaking fist at weather gods* If I were not such a giant wussie I'd go down in the rain, but oh well. Next year.

This would be a golden opportunity to actually get some writing done, were it not that I seem to have (temporarily, I hope) lost my grip on the fine arcane art of putting together coherent sentences. It's ... a little scary, frankly, kind of like when you go to the gym after some time away and discover you can't lift even *half* of what you could when you were in regular training--how quickly the rot sets in, and all that. One reason I've been so quiet here lately is that even just whamming out an LJ entry (or a comment on someone else's entry, or a reply to a comment, or *anything*) feels insanely difficult, and requires several drafts and long spells of staring into space trying to put my hand on the right word.

Very frustrating, because I have stories going great guns in my head--the AU, and also the DS post-series one in which Vecchio comes back wrong. I have *lots* of ideas, dammit, but when it comes to the actual putting-one-word-after-another, I turn into Old Leadfoot, The Mentally Challenged and Somewhat Aphasic Guernsey.

Part of the problem is that I've lost my fine free clear 6-9 a.m. daily timeslot, which was when I always used to get most of my writing done. For the past month or so, I've been at work by 7:30 every day instead. I'm hoping to change that back again once orientation is over (three weeks and counting...).

And, gaaahh, I read back over this and it's boring boring *boring*! And stoopid! I'll go ahead and hit "update" anyway, because dammit, I'm sick of typing out entries and then deleting them. And then maybe I'll take a deep breath and go lift weights, or something.

Comments

[theodosia.livejournal.com]

Seriously -- the inner critic being too sleepy is a =good= thing for me. In my long years of learning to write (and the jury's still out as to whether I have) I came to the realization that the fluffy Muse who bounds through the literary fields, strewing flowers and singing off-key is much better off if the Inner Editrix stays far far away -- better she comes in later with her push broom and her put-upon sighs and tidies up all the excess 'creativity.'