August 6th, 2004

consider it dug

karma's gonna get to you too

The funny thing about my writing flashes is that they happen at the most inopportune times.

Like... now. I have 25 chapters to go in this fanfic that I'm reading (having read 80 over the last few days) and I just knew I was going to have that urge to write before long. All the signs were there: the constant thinking about writing and plots, the creation of characters, the coming up with scenes and lines for whatever story that would burst out. I couldn't write before this urge, because whatever comes out when I'm not in that stage of writing is rotten, and I never finish it.

(Yes, the following will read like a non-sequitor. Just go with me on this.) This summer, I have been going to bed later and later - about 2:30 this morning. I wake up pretty much every day at 8:30 to 9:00, and then I lay back down in bed for another hour or so.

This morning, I woke up at 8:00 and was unable to go back to sleep, no matter how hard I tried. I got out of bed, defeated, to take my last pill (hallelujah!) and got on the computer.

After reading over a few of my past stories, and feeling giddy over how one of the best writers on fictionpress reviewed one of my stories (and added it to her favorite's list!)... the idea struck.

Would it have struck if I hadn't been up and about at the time? I don't know, and I'm not certain I completely care.

The idea, needless to say, has absolutely nothing to do with any of the plots I had been coming with. No fantasy, no science fiction - hell, not even historical fiction. No, this son of a bitch came to me without any encouragement. It has completely different characters than what I had originally planned, it has a plot that I never planned, and, worst of all - it's a motherfucking romance.

GODDAMN.

I'm not a big romance writer, to tell the truth. Well, okay, I just lied: the majority of my stories involve suicide or some chocolate-y sweet romance. Or a mixture of the two. On the other hand, I am a big romance reader. I like reading them, regardless of the genders involved; I enjoy finishing and sighing and thinking, "Holy shit, I want something like that!" and then I realize that I have no childhood friend who is likely to fall in love with me, so there goes that hope.

So I'm a pussy. Big deal.

I have a plot and I have the characters and I have the urge to write. Just how it's supposed to be.

Oh, and did I mention that I have NO MORE PILLS TO TAKE? No more waking up at five in the morning! No more tasting that godawful taste! FREEDOM!

... until I have my surgery, at any rate. Oh well. That excitement was good while it lasted.
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