Or “How I’m keeping my promise to myself that I’d write every day while still something something words. I’m not feeling well, I’m tired, and I’m grumpy, damn it.”
There are days I can’t stop myself from writing. If I did stop, I know the worlds and their respective characters would build up to the point my head would break open and let those many oddities spill out. The whole thing would be a terrible mess, really, so I choose to write instead. However, and despite my best efforts, there are still days something in my brain just says how this writing just isn’t working out. At all.
This is one of those days, and it’s probably one of the biggest bothers I know. I hate it, because I could easily justify skipping sleeping, meals, and social obligations (and if you’re one of my closest friends, you’d be the sort of person who would understand and encourage such unfortunate binge-writing sessions). If I didn’t get so damned loopy after going a day without sleep, I think my choices would be obvious here.
Naturally, today’s one such day where I can’t seem to get any creative thoughts. They’re on hiatus, maybe. Or perhaps they’re waiting for later on, once I go to bed, which is not a thought I’m entirely okay with given my subconscious’ tendency to go all-out with nightmares. No, thanks.
On the plus side, and perhaps this is some misplaced optimism of a sort, I don’t feel burnt out yet. I’ve been writing, even if only just a little, every day since I made the promise to myself I would, and I’m still feeling pretty good about that. I’m not getting anywhere in terms of publishing yet, but I will.
However, I should be getting some sleep because I’m sick. Not until I pick which Hogwarts house I’d reside in, though. Priorities, people. I’ve got serious priorities.
Phil's Misadventures In Fiction 