Oh Wow: Literally Almost Seven Days
Nov. 9th, 2014 05:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
handful_ofdustPerhaps, as ever, you wonder what the hell I've been doing. Well, today started out okay, in that I got up early(ish) and did all the chores I needed to, then went out to the laundromat to dry today's laundry. I was feeling pretty good, not least because it was genuinely not raining for once. Then, when I came back, Steve volunteered to do the shopping: also good! But I suppose something must have shifted around, air pressure-wise, because I started to feel like I was going to pass out. Then I passed out, and slept until almost 5:00 PM. I can only assume I needed it, but it's still annoying.
In a lot of ways, I think I've been dealing with the after-effects of having finally finished "Death To Everyone." I'm well aware that from the outside, this whole thing has probably seemed like a species of lunacy, not least because functionally it means I've just spent three months I truly did not have writing a zombie apocalypse novel I can't sell to anybody, and which very, very few people are likely to be interested in besides me. And what do I have to show for it all, in the end? I spent the last couple of days trying to figure out how to turn this Rick Grimes/the Governor obsession/dynamic into a female-centric YA apocafic that plays like The Stand crossed with 28 Days Later or A Scent of New-Mown Hay, and I actually think it could be viable, but that's not what I'm supposed to be working on, by a long shot.
Right at this moment, I kind of feel like what my brain is telling me is that it'd rather I pulled it out my nose using an Egyptian burial-preparation hook than work on Experimental Film, but I have to hope that's not true. I have to hope that if I press it hard, it won't allow me to default on all the impending deadline I've racked up throughout this year. I have to hope that at the age of almost 45, I really can rely on my own creative instincts, even when they seem to be undercutting me. I wrote scads of Lackadaisy fic while finishing A Rope of Thorns, right? I did do that. Everything still got done, in the end.
And I'm a week into my Litreactor course, and it's going...okay, I think. They say it is, anyhow. And I really do have to get corrections in for Imaginarium 3, because World Fantasy Con will be over very soon. And Tuesday really is the launch for We Will All Go Down Together, at last, and that is not actually completely all my fault. And what I'm feeling now, this crushing existential dread and despair cut with a fucked-up shoulder and an aching, exhausted body, is most probably chemical, easily put down to the fact that this is the beginning of the month. Even my insanely dodgy digestive issues can be put down to that, and the fact that my mother won't believe me when I tell her I haven't eaten anything different from what I usually eat and am still experiencing great pain and grossness is not about me, it's about her. It doesn't fucking matter, either way.
All right, back to it.
In a lot of ways, I think I've been dealing with the after-effects of having finally finished "Death To Everyone." I'm well aware that from the outside, this whole thing has probably seemed like a species of lunacy, not least because functionally it means I've just spent three months I truly did not have writing a zombie apocalypse novel I can't sell to anybody, and which very, very few people are likely to be interested in besides me. And what do I have to show for it all, in the end? I spent the last couple of days trying to figure out how to turn this Rick Grimes/the Governor obsession/dynamic into a female-centric YA apocafic that plays like The Stand crossed with 28 Days Later or A Scent of New-Mown Hay, and I actually think it could be viable, but that's not what I'm supposed to be working on, by a long shot.
Right at this moment, I kind of feel like what my brain is telling me is that it'd rather I pulled it out my nose using an Egyptian burial-preparation hook than work on Experimental Film, but I have to hope that's not true. I have to hope that if I press it hard, it won't allow me to default on all the impending deadline I've racked up throughout this year. I have to hope that at the age of almost 45, I really can rely on my own creative instincts, even when they seem to be undercutting me. I wrote scads of Lackadaisy fic while finishing A Rope of Thorns, right? I did do that. Everything still got done, in the end.
And I'm a week into my Litreactor course, and it's going...okay, I think. They say it is, anyhow. And I really do have to get corrections in for Imaginarium 3, because World Fantasy Con will be over very soon. And Tuesday really is the launch for We Will All Go Down Together, at last, and that is not actually completely all my fault. And what I'm feeling now, this crushing existential dread and despair cut with a fucked-up shoulder and an aching, exhausted body, is most probably chemical, easily put down to the fact that this is the beginning of the month. Even my insanely dodgy digestive issues can be put down to that, and the fact that my mother won't believe me when I tell her I haven't eaten anything different from what I usually eat and am still experiencing great pain and grossness is not about me, it's about her. It doesn't fucking matter, either way.
All right, back to it.
