Aug 6, 2023
I've imbibed espresso and I'm about to make it my word processor's problem.
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I've imbibed espresso and I'm about to make it my word processor's problem.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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HELLO I'M STILL HERE just in The Thick of It trying to make some writing goals by the 16th. 5k more words and an outline that bites and tugs at you.
I leave you with this: Writing advice I'm finally relaxing back into: follow your id. Write that fucked up shit.
Still here, still writing, just hearing the boss battle music playing as writing vacation draws near.
Learned something about myself as a writer, in that I must Must MUST maintain a liberal amount of distance between myself and the first early drafts of something. Once I sink into scenes emotionally to tool them I find it so much harder to go back in and do necessary surgery. Therefore, sketch phase until all big problems are solved or SO HELP ME.
I was mooning around B&N for a writing group homework assignment, reading jacket covers when I chanced upon something that might be a comp other than SJM. Delightful! I pick it up, read the first two pages.
Ah. Lady fae of some sort who is the Lord of Night's 'mate'.
I made the most disgusted noise at the ceiling.
In Defense of Writing in Public
For some reason there's this predilection to shit on people in bookstores, cafes, whathaveyou, working. I get it. I used to snort to myself about it. What's that guy think he's doing? Writing the next great novel in Starbucks?
The truth is, people work in public for a lot of reasons. Maybe they don't have reliable internet at home. Home might not be quiet. Or for whatever neurodivergent reason, working in public makes brain go brrrr.
Turns out I'm one of these people. I'd average ~250 words in a sitting at home, but put me in a b&n cafe or a Starbucks and suddenly I'm banging out 500+. I could hazard several guesses as to why this is, but ultimately it doesn't matter. I buy my frap and my croissant, and I exist as a creative engine tapping away at a keyboard for a couple hours.
What does matter is, whether you see us or scoff at us, we're putting in the time and doing the work.
Can you say the same?
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Despite everything, I wrote 1,353 words today sitting in a Starbucks. I haven't felt this capable since pre-college. I thought I was permanently broken to a trickle and yet here I am, catching words by the handful and letting their sound pour through my fingers.
All this to say, I wish my former classmates a Very Fuck You.
I have a small pile of stuff to respond to DON'T THINK I DIDN'T NOTICE. But I've been dealing with some stupid back pain and general grossness in the body I keep getting wrapped up in. This isn't my normal.(Have gotten bloodwork and x-rays. Waiting on results.) Conclusion: we do not do enough, give enough credit or understanding to those with chronic pain conditions.
In better news, broke 5k words on the latest fae novel draft so that's baller.
Finally, finally, I've got the outlining down enough so I can mash my subplots together like dolls and insist they kiss in the most horrible ways.