I wrote 5600 words tonight, and then I was tired, but then I couldn't sleep, so I got up and wrote 2000 more. Like, just now. What the hell, people. It was mostly talking myself through a plot outline, which takes up a great deal more space than polished narrative, but I feel good about what I came up with. And a little exhausted. But I still don't feel like sleeping.
- My fingers are unable to fing anymore
cleolinda- August 3rd, 2006
accomplished
Damn you, Cleolinda and your talent!!! *Drops to knees and shakes fist at the sky*
Okay, am calm now. I'm just a little delirious, is all. But I still think you're fabulous, regardless of the melodramatic display I just put on.
Keep on going, girl. You obviously need to get it out. Just do it.
"[W]riting is antisocial. It's as solitary as masturbation. Disturb the writer when he is in the throes of creation and he is likely to turn and bite right to the bone... and not even know that he's doing it. As writers' wives and husbands often learn to their horror. And - attend me carefully Gwen! - there is no way that writers can be tamed and rendered civilized. Or even cured. In a household with more than one person, of which one is a writer, the only solution known to science is to provide the patient with an isolation room, where he can endure the acute stages in private, and where food can be poked in to him with a stick. Because, if you disturb the patient at such times, he may break into tears or become violent. Or he may not hear you at all... and, if you shake him at this stage, he bites."
Weak.
*twitch*
God, you slay me.
And will you please fix it so that I don't have to go to work yet have money, so I can finish this damn short story that's driving me insane? You have a magic wand somewhere, yes?
*hugs*