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No words


CarlHoliday

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Okay, I haven't written much more than nothing. I'm beat and I haven't done anything, not that I can do anything. I'm sleeping too much, then taking a nap because I'm too tired to do anything else.

 

Strange thing is, I don't feel particularly depressed, although being super lethargic and not giving a flip about anything is a classic symptom. Maybe it's just that I'm getting settled here, after all it has been nearly two months since I've been grounded. Or, maybe, just maybe, it's the three doses of the antidepressant doing their magic. Maybe I'm just chemically subdued.

 

I'd like to work on my three writing projects, but I look at them and nothing comes. Mostly, I think my filters are overpowering my need to write. It's damned near impossible to write when you keep filtering out the crap instead of leaving it for editing to tidying things up; oh yeah, that's right, I'm my own editor and have to remember to turn the editor off so the writer can write. When I'm feeling good, getting plenty of sleep, and getting up early in the morning to write, I'll write a thousand words or so, then go back in a few hours and edit the hell out of what I wrote. Maybe my editor is trying to be the author.

 

Of course getting up early means going to bed early. Other than last night when I stayed up until well past one, I've been waking up about 2:30 with my mind aswim with writing ideas. The night before last it was all a bunch of esoteric crap from when I used to be heavily into the spiritual realm. It's fun until you wake up at 2:30 to discover the bump in the night is sitting on your bed and wants to go play high and seek on the astral plane. I haven't seen the bump in years, but he (well, it comes across as a "he") is still around. I can hear him sometimes. Like right now as I'm writing this.

 

Yesterday I wandered over to the Argottean Federation and poked around on Orcol and Gurd trying to find a Schtickist for a story, but even that didn't last more than an hour. Boredom set in and I melted into oblivion.

 

I need to get Chapter 11 of The Pastel Cowboy finished and out the door. It's been a month since Chapter 10, but nothing plus nothing is still nothing. Chapter 3 of Flight to Syracuse needs to be started and the short story I'll be writing for the Spring Anthology needs to be put together, right now! But, other than this little missive, there is no interest in venturing forth.

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