The Rose's Grove

New source of writerly angst re: my current "book" (and yes, it demands the scare quotes).

Holy crap, I don't know what my glass of water is!!! I can already see that my accomplishment at writing 1000+ words last night is going to go straight back down the tubes tonight, unless I manage to shut off the Thinking And Panicking part of my brain.

...And I still don't have a name for my third main character. ARRRGH.

During the day I always feel like I could write, if I could just get away from work and have time to do it. It's all I can think of during the day - how much I wish I could be writing. In the evening, once I've gotten home, fed the cats, made and eaten dinner, talked with The Boy, had a shower, and sat down with my laptop... it's like every writing thought I had during the day has just slipped from my mind and vanished down the drain.

I know I've whined about this before. But it's really very frustrating.

Inevitably, I will start to hit my groove again right about the time I need to be going to bed. That's always how it works.

1. Today's xkcd makes me more than usually proud to be a geek.

2. I really, really, really, really hate when I keep coming up with what seem like viable bits of a fic, but they refuse to gel into anything because the characters seem perfectly happy to stick around in their vaguely-uneasy non-communicative status quo. Seriously guys - it's called communication. You don't really want me to follow through with my threat of giving up on this serious fic and instead writing a parody with you all in a group therapy session, do you? Because I swear, if this doesn't pick up and go somewhere within the next day or two, I will. I thought maybe the problem was only having two characters, so I brought another one in. It has helped not in the slightest. I swear to god, these people? All broken. ...Which may explain why I love them so much, but is nonetheless quite tiring as they are not so much broken in an active kind of way.

3. It so figures that I would get hungry just at the same time I realize that I should be going to bed.

Plotbunny icon used in extreme irony, as this is less a plotbunny and more a "if you people aren't going to have real conversations, why won't you stop hanging around in my head being all whiny and wistful and strange?" kind of bunny.

You know those days when the characters grab hold of the writing and start making decisions and choices seemingly of their own volition? When the words just rush out of the pen (or, in this case, fingertips) and you, the writer, feel like you're not doing anything except desperately trying to transcribe what's going on?

This is not one of those days.

At this point, I could just about grab these very beloved characters and shake them, bless their confused little hearts, to try to get them to make up their own damned minds about this scene. Because I sure as hell haven't the foggiest idea what they're going to do. Talk! Or decide something! Or do something! I don't care what, just something!

*Headdesk*

For the record: This is just flailing. I'm sure it'll work out. But... bleh! And since I couldn't write more in the document without starting to write things like "make up your mind, you stupid bastard! Grow a flipping backbone for once in your life and CHOOSE!" ... I thought flailing at LJ would be a good option. ;)

Last night I had a fabulous time out with zinjadu and her adorable new hair, leaving today as a day for writing and errands. Unfortunately, my cat kept me up a good part of the early-morning, meaning that after I locked him out, I overslept abysmally. Put my schedule on a wee bit of a wack-out. So we did our errand things, paid bills, ran out and bought curtains and curtain rods (yay!), which the Boy is now working on putting up... and then I wanted to do the last of my errands, which is printing out and paying my registration materials for the museum studies certification program this fall. No problem, right? I don't have a printer, but that's okay, because there's some computers for public use in our apartment building, and failing that we live only a few blocks from the public library.

Except apparently out of the four computers for public use here in the building, only two work, and every other tenant appears to know that and grab those computers instantly. The other two are worthless. Oh, and the printer? Is loaded with lined paper, which I would be okay with for some things, but... not so much for this. Sends a less-than-professional impression. So I go to the public library. Where the computers apparently hate the internet today, and won't let me access my file because Gmail keeps timing out. *Headdesk*

Fortunately the Boy is my hero and has promised that if I just email him the file at work, he'll print it off... since I don't have access to our work printers, but he does. :) I suspect I may have to come up with a better plan than this once I'm actually in the classes, as they probably will want printed assignments.

Now it's time to write. Or at least stare at this gods-damned document and wish that it would finish itself, because I... am feeling very detached from it right now, and very much like I can't be bothered with figuring out how to finish it. Alas.

Neil Gaiman efficiently pokes holes in that tired old entitled complaint that writers are 'responsible' for finishing things in a timely fashion for the sake of their readers.

Seriously, I cannot believe the gall of the fan who sent him that question. I really can't. If you like a person's work, you ought to have some small degree of respect for them as a human being, all right? I may not always be thrilled with the rate at which certain authors work (I'm thinking particularly of James Alan Gardner and his "Expendable" series, here, and I assure you that whenever I check his website I do mutter dark things about how much I wish the next book was on its way out) - I'm not unsympathetic to the emotion, here. What I'm unsympathetic toward is the entitled attitude, exactly as Neil noted. Writers are people. Writers have lives.

Neil says it all, and better than I'm ever going to, particularly when I'm tired and hormonal, so just go read his entry. And I'm going to go curl up with a hot pad and try to sleep.

Stayed in bed until well past noon today, in part because 'the adipose' was acting up again. I suspect this has something to do with the fact that I (gasp!) did sit-ups and crunches before bed. I appear to have a choice - adipose-pain, or no-sit-ups. That really irks me - I am spoiled and not used to my body limiting what I can do, particularly in terms of exercise. That strikes me as just plain unfair.

Anyway. Got up, had breakfast, and spent a blissful morning drinking tea and reading "Sex in History" by Reay Tannahill - still one of my all-time favorite books, despite the fact that she gets herself into stupid trouble in the bits on pre-history, and was much amused by the fact that, despite knowing it will do no good, I continue to try to research for writing Merlin fic. What's the point of knowing historical details in a fandom that can't even decide what century it's set in, and, more to the point, neglects all the details of any of the relevant periods? No point, of course, except that I adore research and am constantly flummoxed when I can't do any. Alas. Then I tried to assuage my feelings by reseaching for my original piece that I'm working on... and discovered that the book has no relevant details for that period/subject. *Sigh* I need more detailed reference material.

And the moral of the story is that if I'm suffering from writer's block, I feel that research is the answer. If the research fails me... I get pissy. ;)

Oh, and I watched the Confidential from last night. I hate to be a pissy fanbrat about this whole thing, but... ( More nattering about the Spoiler of Last Night )