opera142: (this shit is bananas)
Have a writing class this morning, got to the joint a little early so I could plunk down some words. All the tables near the outlets are taken up by people reading magazines or writing in paper journals. *trombone noise*
opera142: (Default)
I have slept terribily, if at all, the past couple of nights. I'm totally exhausted and I have to go to work now.
opera142: (this shit is bananas)
The Panics hit me hard today. I'm at the early-draft point where the story seems huge and tangled and flawed and a re-hash of all my ruts. I am running around the den, flailing like Lucy from the Peanuts while Moe, Schroeder-like, plays piano Mass Effect 3 or something.


May. 29th, 2011 10:14 pm
opera142: (Default)
A great simile came to me today, and that should be cause for celebration, right? Except that it's a simile I've been futzing with for a couple of weeks. Always auditioning words and concepts, never liking any of them. Until today's great one.

Why does my brain work like this? Why have a let weeks-long pondering become a habit? Why am I so precious? And why does always work out in the end, so that my brain has incentive to keep its m.o? ERGH.


Apr. 19th, 2011 07:48 pm
opera142: (crayons)
Okay, kinda almost over my bout of writing panics. Had a horrific run of nasty self-talk during the drive home from my last writing meet-up. The worst part of it is, it was triggered by correcting a bad sentence. I found a clunky run, I fixed it then proceeded to trash myself for the mistake.

I took the weekend off. Read a terrible novel, ate a snickerdoodle (sounds like a vulgar British term), caught up on roughly 45 billion hours of TiVo'd wrestling. LOL, Matt Hardy stands between Abyss and Bully Ray so he looks skinny, and RVD stole my "Girls, girls. You're both pretty" line. Also tried to play with Sophie and Mazy who are still in the OMG THAT LADY IS BACK! BENEATH THE COUCH! IT'S OUR ONLY HOPE! stage.

The only writing-based work I did was create a list of everything I didn't like about the draft I'm revising and everything that makes me doubt the quality of the writing. It's a big list, but at least it's clearly defined goals with minimum nasty talk.
opera142: (crayons)
2 MarySue fics I will never write:

1.Songfic: Me and Jericho, dueling POVs in "Pictures".

2. Me as Steffy's BFF from college becoming the new GM of Raw. After I turn face, she threatens to fire me.

Me: Go ahead. Orlando is great this time year, and they give you a title run just for showing a WWE paystub.

Steffy: Like even they'd want someone as incompentent as you!

Me. Have you seen their roster lately? They've got AJ freakin' Style, Samoa F'n' Joe, Christopher Fallen Angel Daniels, and Desmond omgsohott Wolfe, and you know who they're pushing? Matt Morgan.

Steffy: Who?

Me: He flunked out of Tough Enough for being too fat... and their women's division. They have ODB and they never use her. God, I would wreck that chick.

Steffy: Who?

Me: And don't get me started on the tag division. Shannon Moore...

Both: Bawhahahaha.

Me: I know, right. Shannon Moore gets a push while the Motor City Machine Guns languish.

Steffy: Who?

Me: I'd wreck those chicks too.
opera142: (Default)
This morning's writing session: not productive at all. One good line, the rest stumbles and wanderings through the crap forest.

The problem, I think, is I can't quite figure out the character's stance on his problems. Right now, everything is very abstract and faux-grandiose concepts. Nothing is bleeding.

If I could just get him to say, in plain, easy english "This is bothering me because ..." I know this story would start moving foreward again.

C'mon little guy. You've got a great opener and some killer dialogue. Don't chicken out on me now.
opera142: (this shit is bananas)
I used some variation of "slop" 5 times in a 7-page draft. Verb, adverb, adjective, adjective, adverb.

No crime in slopping up a draft mucking up a draft, and hooray! for noticing the repetitions. But, it's like pulling fingernails trying to make myself swap out those 5 "slop"s. I <3 them all.
opera142: (this shit is bananas)
Though there's still tomorrow, and this week has fangs.

It's been pretty miserable. Lots of hits to the ego, unexpected ones and wow, they killed me. So I had a good mope on Weds (and I was rewarded with another ego-smackdown). Thursday and Friday, I went on a good deed spree. Delivering food to homebound seniors means lots of sulking time for reflecting in the car while listening to cheesy music.

No grand goals or newfound joy came from the reflecting, but I've sort of made my peace with the problems. Well, not super at peace because I feel like I'm resigning myself to something less than what I want. But, right now less-than-what-I-want is all I got so I have to figure out how to make it work for the short term. I'm disappointed, but I'll move on.

In happier news, I bought a wee Christmas tree. Moe has to go into the office this weekend, so I'm looking forward to more sulking time for reflecting with the lights off, the tree lit up, cheesy christmas songs, a cup of tea and maybe, a pumpkin cookie or two.
opera142: (this shit is bananas)
Well, I figured out my meltdown yesterday--- other than I have my moments of dipshittery. At 8:15 last night, I opened Driftless and less than a paragraph in, I zonked completely out, and slept until Moe nudged me at 5:45, and was like, are you getting up or what? All morning, I felt amazing. I felt taller. The plague must have taken more out of me than I realized.

Moe has been playing (and playing and playing) Age of Dragons, which means the TV has been hogged night after night. He's pokering now, so I went on a TiVo binge. Steph's really trying to get back on my good side--- the Precious is getting beatdown upon beatdown, including one particularily missionary-positioned one from Festus. With bonus!Punk lording over both while patting Festus on the head. Jericho faces DX in a handicapped match, yesyes. TNA does not have any endangered preciouii, however Super Dave Osbourne sorta-kinda makes up for it.

I joined the bookclub at work, despite fears of having to read dopey books when I don't even have enough free time to read all the books I found on my own. My fears were realized! Driftless. UGH. Ugh, I say. I'm 200 pages in, and honestly, I'd rather listen to Shannon Moore sound out the big words in Bread and Jam For Frances.

The book is so grody and 60's. The female characters are either sexy baby-makers or harpy rooners of splendid male dreams. The lead dude, July, is such a Mary Sue. Seriously, it's hilarious. He knows rock stars! He helps a pastor find God! He introduces lonely widower Jacob to the hot chick who likes to be naked. Still have 200 pages to go.

ETA: This probably violates the idea of F!S, but Twig did you write that secret?
opera142: (this shit is bananas)
Well, today was shitty.

Ever struggle through a patch of life where a trillion boulders get strewn in your way? I'm frustrated and down and lost and I feel like anything I've ever tried to accomplish in life required 645353x time more effort than it should have, like other people decide to do something and they do it while I get nothing but obstacle after obstacle. This is not true, of course, but I will not allow the truth to get in the way of a good pity-party/sulk.

Tomorrow, I will get back to the struggle. Tonight, I am too tired.


opera142: (Default)

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