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Okay, so it's not much and I'm not sure if it will continue, but I wrote a little on Leap of Faith today. 623 words. I've been blocked for so long that this feels like a triumph. I have missed these characters so much. I also wrote 389 words on Three Hour Tour. It feels like starting a rusty wheel. It takes a lot of effort, but it is turning.
Stream of Consciousness
Oct. 5th, 2012 12:43 amI don’t know, I don’t understand it, it’s like background music playing in my head, always playing, always there, but I’m not quite aware of it anymore and those sounds, those notes, they used to be words and the words would simply flow and the story would come out of me, telling itself to me, to the world, to everyone who cared to look, that I could soar in the air with these simple letters that came one after the other through no effort of my own. It’s so hard when they are gone, or when they are there, but not strong enough to break through with any type of coherence or cohesion or anything that can make sense on paper. It’s like having a broken pen that only leaks ink, but not the author’s life’s blood. Stab me in the heart and I will bleed you a story. That’s the way it used to be.
Words, words, words, they’re just nonsense on a page, and yet I still want to make them mean something, make people want to read them, make people laugh and cry and snort and exclaim loud enough that their spouse or child comes in from the next room demanding to know the why of that reaction. I want to give my words out again, but they’re gone, just gone, gone, gone. And it’s not writer’s block. It’s so far beyond writer’s block because I can still put words together, obviously I can, but the muse that tells the story doesn’t let imagination come into it, because she’s so far gone she’s not even living on the same planet anymore.
And I think maybe I’ve lost it, that five good years was all I was going to be given. It’s more than some people can even hope for. I look at what I’ve produced and how much I loved it and how I truly feel like a bird who will never be able to fly again and I loved the flying, the words falling from each down stroke of my wings, the pen, the typewriter, the laptop.
It’s come before. It’s gone before. It’s come again, and gone again, so I know that it can, but it just isn’t. I want to fly. I want to scream and shout and beg the universe to give back what it has so blithely taken away. I want to dance in streams beneath waterfalls and let my hair drag down to my waist and see the moon above me and find that elusive thing, that maddening crazy thing, that magical, mystical thing that brings life to what I write, that allows me to tell stories, that puts little pieces of my soul into the words that pound out of my keyboard, in the words that I breathe and speak into the darkness.
Where do you get your ideas? So often asked, so often answered. They just come to me. Only now they don’t. Now they don’t. A broken muse, a broken heart, and broken wings. I want to soar again, to stay aloft, to not come down. I miss the days of not coming back down. I want them back. All of them. And my words. For without my words I have no voice left to speak with, and nothing left to say.
Words, words, words, they’re just nonsense on a page, and yet I still want to make them mean something, make people want to read them, make people laugh and cry and snort and exclaim loud enough that their spouse or child comes in from the next room demanding to know the why of that reaction. I want to give my words out again, but they’re gone, just gone, gone, gone. And it’s not writer’s block. It’s so far beyond writer’s block because I can still put words together, obviously I can, but the muse that tells the story doesn’t let imagination come into it, because she’s so far gone she’s not even living on the same planet anymore.
And I think maybe I’ve lost it, that five good years was all I was going to be given. It’s more than some people can even hope for. I look at what I’ve produced and how much I loved it and how I truly feel like a bird who will never be able to fly again and I loved the flying, the words falling from each down stroke of my wings, the pen, the typewriter, the laptop.
It’s come before. It’s gone before. It’s come again, and gone again, so I know that it can, but it just isn’t. I want to fly. I want to scream and shout and beg the universe to give back what it has so blithely taken away. I want to dance in streams beneath waterfalls and let my hair drag down to my waist and see the moon above me and find that elusive thing, that maddening crazy thing, that magical, mystical thing that brings life to what I write, that allows me to tell stories, that puts little pieces of my soul into the words that pound out of my keyboard, in the words that I breathe and speak into the darkness.
Where do you get your ideas? So often asked, so often answered. They just come to me. Only now they don’t. Now they don’t. A broken muse, a broken heart, and broken wings. I want to soar again, to stay aloft, to not come down. I miss the days of not coming back down. I want them back. All of them. And my words. For without my words I have no voice left to speak with, and nothing left to say.
Stream of Consciousness
Oct. 5th, 2012 12:43 amI don’t know, I don’t understand it, it’s like background music playing in my head, always playing, always there, but I’m not quite aware of it anymore and those sounds, those notes, they used to be words and the words would simply flow and the story would come out of me, telling itself to me, to the world, to everyone who cared to look, that I could soar in the air with these simple letters that came one after the other through no effort of my own. It’s so hard when they are gone, or when they are there, but not strong enough to break through with any type of coherence or cohesion or anything that can make sense on paper. It’s like having a broken pen that only leaks ink, but not the author’s life’s blood. Stab me in the heart and I will bleed you a story. That’s the way it used to be.
Words, words, words, they’re just nonsense on a page, and yet I still want to make them mean something, make people want to read them, make people laugh and cry and snort and exclaim loud enough that their spouse or child comes in from the next room demanding to know the why of that reaction. I want to give my words out again, but they’re gone, just gone, gone, gone. And it’s not writer’s block. It’s so far beyond writer’s block because I can still put words together, obviously I can, but the muse that tells the story doesn’t let imagination come into it, because she’s so far gone she’s not even living on the same planet anymore.
And I think maybe I’ve lost it, that five good years was all I was going to be given. It’s more than some people can even hope for. I look at what I’ve produced and how much I loved it and how I truly feel like a bird who will never be able to fly again and I loved the flying, the words falling from each down stroke of my wings, the pen, the typewriter, the laptop.
It’s come before. It’s gone before. It’s come again, and gone again, so I know that it can, but it just isn’t. I want to fly. I want to scream and shout and beg the universe to give back what it has so blithely taken away. I want to dance in streams beneath waterfalls and let my hair drag down to my waist and see the moon above me and find that elusive thing, that maddening crazy thing, that magical, mystical thing that brings life to what I write, that allows me to tell stories, that puts little pieces of my soul into the words that pound out of my keyboard, in the words that I breathe and speak into the darkness.
Where do you get your ideas? So often asked, so often answered. They just come to me. Only now they don’t. Now they don’t. A broken muse, a broken heart, and broken wings. I want to soar again, to stay aloft, to not come down. I miss the days of not coming back down. I want them back. All of them. And my words. For without my words I have no voice left to speak with, and nothing left to say.
Words, words, words, they’re just nonsense on a page, and yet I still want to make them mean something, make people want to read them, make people laugh and cry and snort and exclaim loud enough that their spouse or child comes in from the next room demanding to know the why of that reaction. I want to give my words out again, but they’re gone, just gone, gone, gone. And it’s not writer’s block. It’s so far beyond writer’s block because I can still put words together, obviously I can, but the muse that tells the story doesn’t let imagination come into it, because she’s so far gone she’s not even living on the same planet anymore.
And I think maybe I’ve lost it, that five good years was all I was going to be given. It’s more than some people can even hope for. I look at what I’ve produced and how much I loved it and how I truly feel like a bird who will never be able to fly again and I loved the flying, the words falling from each down stroke of my wings, the pen, the typewriter, the laptop.
It’s come before. It’s gone before. It’s come again, and gone again, so I know that it can, but it just isn’t. I want to fly. I want to scream and shout and beg the universe to give back what it has so blithely taken away. I want to dance in streams beneath waterfalls and let my hair drag down to my waist and see the moon above me and find that elusive thing, that maddening crazy thing, that magical, mystical thing that brings life to what I write, that allows me to tell stories, that puts little pieces of my soul into the words that pound out of my keyboard, in the words that I breathe and speak into the darkness.
Where do you get your ideas? So often asked, so often answered. They just come to me. Only now they don’t. Now they don’t. A broken muse, a broken heart, and broken wings. I want to soar again, to stay aloft, to not come down. I miss the days of not coming back down. I want them back. All of them. And my words. For without my words I have no voice left to speak with, and nothing left to say.
I'm taking a break from writing as I clearly can't write a damn thing anymore.
My DW Muses Ran Away Again
Feb. 21st, 2012 07:38 pmHonestly, this sucks. Why can't I write what I want to be writing? There was absolutely no reason for me to write an original short story instead set in 1960's Nebraska. Absolutely. No. Reason. Not that I didn't love writing it, but come on! I have things I want to finish.
My DW Muses Ran Away Again
Feb. 21st, 2012 07:38 pmHonestly, this sucks. Why can't I write what I want to be writing? There was absolutely no reason for me to write an original short story instead set in 1960's Nebraska. Absolutely. No. Reason. Not that I didn't love writing it, but come on! I have things I want to finish.
Drabble Spree Time
Nov. 21st, 2011 09:28 pmIn order to shake myself out of this case of the writer blahs, I hereby offer Doctor Who drabbles to the first ten people to leave a pairing (Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, Ten2/Rose) or combination of characters (Donna, Jack, Jackie, Mickey, Martha) and a one word prompt.
Drabble Spree Time
Nov. 21st, 2011 09:28 pmIn order to shake myself out of this case of the writer blahs, I hereby offer Doctor Who drabbles to the first ten people to leave a pairing (Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, Ten2/Rose) or combination of characters (Donna, Jack, Jackie, Mickey, Martha) and a one word prompt.
Writer's Block: Music of my heart
Aug. 2nd, 2011 12:35 am[Error: unknown template qotd]
Open Arms by Journey. It was playing on the car radio on the way home the night we broke up. (I was only fourteen, but it was the first time my heart had been ripped out.). Stupid parents moving him to Texas.
Open Arms by Journey. It was playing on the car radio on the way home the night we broke up. (I was only fourteen, but it was the first time my heart had been ripped out.). Stupid parents moving him to Texas.
Writer's Block: Music of my heart
Aug. 2nd, 2011 12:35 am[Error: unknown template qotd]
Open Arms by Journey. It was playing on the car radio on the way home the night we broke up. (I was only fourteen, but it was the first time my heart had been ripped out.). Stupid parents moving him to Texas.
Open Arms by Journey. It was playing on the car radio on the way home the night we broke up. (I was only fourteen, but it was the first time my heart had been ripped out.). Stupid parents moving him to Texas.
Writer's Block: No. 1 hits
Jul. 7th, 2011 03:49 pm[Error: unknown template qotd]
I...don't really like the Beatles. I always thought they were overrated. But I do like the song Eleanor Rigby for it's weird lyrics and the strings part of the music.
I...don't really like the Beatles. I always thought they were overrated. But I do like the song Eleanor Rigby for it's weird lyrics and the strings part of the music.
Writer's Block: No. 1 hits
Jul. 7th, 2011 03:49 pm[Error: unknown template qotd]
I...don't really like the Beatles. I always thought they were overrated. But I do like the song Eleanor Rigby for it's weird lyrics and the strings part of the music.
I...don't really like the Beatles. I always thought they were overrated. But I do like the song Eleanor Rigby for it's weird lyrics and the strings part of the music.
Drabble Spree Time
Jun. 20th, 2011 08:56 pmThe first ten people to give me any Doctor/Rose pairing of choice and a ONE WORD PROMPT will get a drabble written just for them. I emphasize ONE WORD PROMPT because in the past some of you are very, very, very bad at leaving only ONE WORD PROMPTS. Also, please don't ask for stuff from any of my established 'verses (i.e. No Zeppelins or LoF, etc., just standard Doctor/Rose). Just Doctor Who this time, no Fringe or Castle.
I am trying to jumpstart my muse and drabble writing generally helps. So if you want a shiny drabble of your very own, you know the drill. It might take me a couple of days, though, fair warning.
I am trying to jumpstart my muse and drabble writing generally helps. So if you want a shiny drabble of your very own, you know the drill. It might take me a couple of days, though, fair warning.
Drabble Spree Time
Jun. 20th, 2011 08:56 pmThe first ten people to give me any Doctor/Rose pairing of choice and a ONE WORD PROMPT will get a drabble written just for them. I emphasize ONE WORD PROMPT because in the past some of you are very, very, very bad at leaving only ONE WORD PROMPTS. Also, please don't ask for stuff from any of my established 'verses (i.e. No Zeppelins or LoF, etc., just standard Doctor/Rose). Just Doctor Who this time, no Fringe or Castle.
I am trying to jumpstart my muse and drabble writing generally helps. So if you want a shiny drabble of your very own, you know the drill. It might take me a couple of days, though, fair warning.
I am trying to jumpstart my muse and drabble writing generally helps. So if you want a shiny drabble of your very own, you know the drill. It might take me a couple of days, though, fair warning.
Time for Another Drabble Spree
Feb. 19th, 2011 02:39 amI'm banging my head against the wall here looking for fresh inspiration, trying to finish chapters, and it's just not happening. So it's time for another drabble spree, I think. So...first ten people to leave me a one word prompt and a fandom/characters from the list below, get a drabble. I may or may not decide to do more than ten, so it's okay to leave a prompt even if there's already been ten left. We'll see how it goes.
Doctor Who: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, Ten2/Rose, Mickey/Martha, Donna and Ten in a non-romantic setting, Jack, Doctor and Rose
Castle: Richard Castle and Alexis Castle, Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fringe: Olivia/Peter, Walter and Astrid (friendship only)
The Vampire Diaries: Tyler/Caroline, Stefan/Elena, Damon/Elena, Bonnie/Jeremy
Pretty Little Liars: Ezra/Aria, Hanna/Lucas
Doctor Who: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, Ten2/Rose, Mickey/Martha, Donna and Ten in a non-romantic setting, Jack, Doctor and Rose
Castle: Richard Castle and Alexis Castle, Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fringe: Olivia/Peter, Walter and Astrid (friendship only)
The Vampire Diaries: Tyler/Caroline, Stefan/Elena, Damon/Elena, Bonnie/Jeremy
Pretty Little Liars: Ezra/Aria, Hanna/Lucas
Time for Another Drabble Spree
Feb. 19th, 2011 02:39 amI'm banging my head against the wall here looking for fresh inspiration, trying to finish chapters, and it's just not happening. So it's time for another drabble spree, I think. So...first ten people to leave me a one word prompt and a fandom/characters from the list below, get a drabble. I may or may not decide to do more than ten, so it's okay to leave a prompt even if there's already been ten left. We'll see how it goes.
Doctor Who: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, Ten2/Rose, Mickey/Martha, Donna and Ten in a non-romantic setting, Jack, Doctor and Rose
Castle: Richard Castle and Alexis Castle, Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fringe: Olivia/Peter, Walter and Astrid (friendship only)
The Vampire Diaries: Tyler/Caroline, Stefan/Elena, Damon/Elena, Bonnie/Jeremy
Pretty Little Liars: Ezra/Aria, Hanna/Lucas
Doctor Who: Nine/Rose, Ten/Rose, Ten2/Rose, Mickey/Martha, Donna and Ten in a non-romantic setting, Jack, Doctor and Rose
Castle: Richard Castle and Alexis Castle, Richard Castle/Kate Beckett
Fringe: Olivia/Peter, Walter and Astrid (friendship only)
The Vampire Diaries: Tyler/Caroline, Stefan/Elena, Damon/Elena, Bonnie/Jeremy
Pretty Little Liars: Ezra/Aria, Hanna/Lucas
Sleep is Good
Jan. 4th, 2011 10:32 amI have been so ridiculously exhausted lately it is not even funny. As in, you know when you're tired and you just get sort of loopy and say goofy things and your kids look at you funny and all that? No, it was beyond that to the point where I never thought I was going to sleep again and I was pretty sure the world was going to suck forever. Last night I was actually in bed by 9:30 and asleep by 10:00 (thank you Excedrin PM and Zolpidem and I slept through the entire night and woke up seven minutes before the alarm clock went off at 7:00 this morning and did not even resent those seven minutes of being awake. This is epic. I also did not go back to sleep between dropping Rose off at the high school at 7:15 and T's normal wakeup time of 8:30. Epic I tell you. Now if I can do that for a few more nights in a row I might actually kick this stupid bronchitis in the butt. I'm starting week four on antibiotics and I am so sick of them.
I hope to finally get some writing done today, but I dunno. My brain is still kind of foggy. Not from the pills but from not sleeping right for a week. We will see how it goes. Chances are since I am still highly distractable I will instead watch more of season 2 of Lost which I got for Christmas or watch season 6 of That 70's Show which I got from more nefarious sources. But I can play That 70's show in the background while I goof off on Facebook without actually having the picture going since I watched them all before back in the day. My city is getting quite large on Cityville and it's fun to play but sort of mindless without something else going on. Even my laziness likes to multi-task apparently.
Anywho...writing is sort of in that limbo place of I want to but I'm probably not going to quite yet. Which sucks for me because I'd really like to, but it's hard when you don't feel good and your muses can come up with only one line (i.e. The Doctor moved his hands with slow and deliberate care to the insides of Rose's knees,) but I'm not even writing smut at the moment so it's sort of a useless line. *sighs* I will use it when I get back to writing smut again, though, because I do like it.
I hope to finally get some writing done today, but I dunno. My brain is still kind of foggy. Not from the pills but from not sleeping right for a week. We will see how it goes. Chances are since I am still highly distractable I will instead watch more of season 2 of Lost which I got for Christmas or watch season 6 of That 70's Show which I got from more nefarious sources. But I can play That 70's show in the background while I goof off on Facebook without actually having the picture going since I watched them all before back in the day. My city is getting quite large on Cityville and it's fun to play but sort of mindless without something else going on. Even my laziness likes to multi-task apparently.
Anywho...writing is sort of in that limbo place of I want to but I'm probably not going to quite yet. Which sucks for me because I'd really like to, but it's hard when you don't feel good and your muses can come up with only one line (i.e. The Doctor moved his hands with slow and deliberate care to the insides of Rose's knees,) but I'm not even writing smut at the moment so it's sort of a useless line. *sighs* I will use it when I get back to writing smut again, though, because I do like it.
