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AAAAARGH I just wrote a huge post and LJ ATE IT! Let's try this again ...
I'm back from London, and ill. Spent all of yesterday with swollen and painful glands. Chucked a painkiller in the morning and ignored the unpleasentness most of the day. Thanks to the Eurostar standing still in the middle of the English countryside for over an hour, it was past midnight by the time I was home, and this morning, I woke up with painful, swollen glands, and feeling completely exhausted. Dragged self out of bed, collapsed on the couch, and decided that making it into work was not an option. Took me three hours to drag self off couch, into shower, and into the internet café.
I hate being ill. I hate it when I'm so ill/injured I can't physically do what I want. I only had that happen a handful of times in my life, which I suppose explains my inability to deal with it. Sure, i had that whole "six years of sinus infections" phase, and my knees, and the tention headaches, but the sinus problems only kept me out of circulation for a day or two, three in total, I dealt with the knees, and the headaches only kept me in bed for one day. I've never had an infectuous disease, despite trying my very best to catch the chicken pox off my brothers when they both had it, and all the other girls in my high school class getting glandular fever in our last year. I don't get sick, I don't do sick, and I get really cranky when I'm forced to. Fucking body.
</whining>
I think I'm about a third into the Evil Het story, at nearly 1,200 words. I keep having to type/write in bursts of a few paragraphs at a time, because I can only silence the little voice crying "OOC!" in my head. Note to self: Write this for yourself, and if it's OOC, that can be worked out in beta, and if it's really badly OOC, you can just file it and it doesn't have to see the light of day, ever.
I've been whining to Ruth in e-mail about how I'm no longer really enoying the writing part of writing. I used to love that; the writing itself was my goal, not the finishing of a story, not the realisation that I'd written something good, just the process of stringing words together and telling a story. I know that I've improved a lot since getting into slash, that Evitar and Polar and even Sin are lightyears from the first stories I wrote, and even from stories I wrote two years ago, but the more I improve, the more I feel this pressure to stay at the same level, to only write stories with a meaning, deep, "real" stories, not just stuff that I enjoy. I want to post the war!M/L drabbles to silverlake, but I feel too ashamed because while I like the actual writing/style, the pairing and premise are ridiculous.
</whining, again> </rambling> </wanking>
I wish I had the energy to go watch TTT again for inspiration.
I'm back from London, and ill. Spent all of yesterday with swollen and painful glands. Chucked a painkiller in the morning and ignored the unpleasentness most of the day. Thanks to the Eurostar standing still in the middle of the English countryside for over an hour, it was past midnight by the time I was home, and this morning, I woke up with painful, swollen glands, and feeling completely exhausted. Dragged self out of bed, collapsed on the couch, and decided that making it into work was not an option. Took me three hours to drag self off couch, into shower, and into the internet café.
I hate being ill. I hate it when I'm so ill/injured I can't physically do what I want. I only had that happen a handful of times in my life, which I suppose explains my inability to deal with it. Sure, i had that whole "six years of sinus infections" phase, and my knees, and the tention headaches, but the sinus problems only kept me out of circulation for a day or two, three in total, I dealt with the knees, and the headaches only kept me in bed for one day. I've never had an infectuous disease, despite trying my very best to catch the chicken pox off my brothers when they both had it, and all the other girls in my high school class getting glandular fever in our last year. I don't get sick, I don't do sick, and I get really cranky when I'm forced to. Fucking body.
</whining>
I think I'm about a third into the Evil Het story, at nearly 1,200 words. I keep having to type/write in bursts of a few paragraphs at a time, because I can only silence the little voice crying "OOC!" in my head. Note to self: Write this for yourself, and if it's OOC, that can be worked out in beta, and if it's really badly OOC, you can just file it and it doesn't have to see the light of day, ever.
I've been whining to Ruth in e-mail about how I'm no longer really enoying the writing part of writing. I used to love that; the writing itself was my goal, not the finishing of a story, not the realisation that I'd written something good, just the process of stringing words together and telling a story. I know that I've improved a lot since getting into slash, that Evitar and Polar and even Sin are lightyears from the first stories I wrote, and even from stories I wrote two years ago, but the more I improve, the more I feel this pressure to stay at the same level, to only write stories with a meaning, deep, "real" stories, not just stuff that I enjoy. I want to post the war!M/L drabbles to silverlake, but I feel too ashamed because while I like the actual writing/style, the pairing and premise are ridiculous.
</whining, again> </rambling> </wanking>
I wish I had the energy to go watch TTT again for inspiration.
