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Every so often, most usually in the middle of ravenously consuming my library book pulls, I get this overwhelming sense of "What the fuck are you sitting here reading this shit for? YOU COULD BE WRITING IT. Seriously, if fucking Stephanie Meyer can get published..." Blah blah blah. And then I tell the little voice attempting to shame me to shut up and let me finish my book in peace. But yeah. I hate that periodic YOU COULD BE WRITING guilt I get. It's like, oh come on, I have too many other projects on hold right now all clamoring for attention. Why should I drop everything and write? I mean, I could just as well be beading or working on SQWRRL. Or you know, any number of a billionty one project that could use the attention that I squander on things like, oh, Bejeweled Blitz and reddit. Cue feeling guilty about "wasting my talents" or some shit. And then I shake it off and go back to reading my damn book.
Slightly more insidious is when I'm minding my own business over nyah doing things that need doing (or even just reading a book) and either a character or a plotbunny that I've worked on before or even more infuriating something ENTIRELY new and cool will be all like "ahem, I'm sorry to bother you?" and launch into this whole door to door salesman routine as to why I should give itmoney time and attention and spoons that I don't have. And since it's all up in my own head, I can't nod and smile and say politely but firmly that I'm not interested in supporting the Clean Water act. It's more like if Jehovah's Witnesses reached out, facehugged you, and forcibly downloaded a year's worth of Awake! magazines into your head the second you opened the door. Thankfully my powers of Oooh Shiny! distraction are strong, but that initial attack is... wellp.
Anyway, much to my exasperation, a plotbunny from a couple of years ago decided to up and bother me a few days back. Tonight, after getting frustrated by moderating a quarrel my computer and my stereo seem to be having (intermittent bursts of static in the middle of music are quite mellow-harshing) I decided to indulge the bunny rather than rot my brain on Reddit, which involved hunting through my computer for the snippets of things I'd jotted down the first time around, including at least four or five pages of a couple prologues in the same universe and a livejournal post from around the same era (It's here if you wanna peek; it's since been expanded upon quite a bit). Pleasantly surprised that they aren't entirely shit, and amused that even though I theoretically know what happens next (It is my universe, after all) I wanted to know what happened next... You know, actually read it, as opposed to, you know, just nebulously knowing.
I've... just got so many other irons in the fire, you know? Except, considering I'm not working on any of them either, that's kind of a hollow excuse. Maybe if I just say I'll work on some of this shit for an hour at a time? Except I won't. Blasted distraction.
Feh. I'm just... frustrated with myself. I'm gonna address this by glomphing the Manbeast and whining at him to cheer me up like a five year old. Seems to be a bit of a theme today. :/ Or, you know, read my library book so I'll be able to return at least one when I meet my photographer at the library on Tuesday.
Slightly more insidious is when I'm minding my own business over nyah doing things that need doing (or even just reading a book) and either a character or a plotbunny that I've worked on before or even more infuriating something ENTIRELY new and cool will be all like "ahem, I'm sorry to bother you?" and launch into this whole door to door salesman routine as to why I should give it
Anyway, much to my exasperation, a plotbunny from a couple of years ago decided to up and bother me a few days back. Tonight, after getting frustrated by moderating a quarrel my computer and my stereo seem to be having (intermittent bursts of static in the middle of music are quite mellow-harshing) I decided to indulge the bunny rather than rot my brain on Reddit, which involved hunting through my computer for the snippets of things I'd jotted down the first time around, including at least four or five pages of a couple prologues in the same universe and a livejournal post from around the same era (It's here if you wanna peek; it's since been expanded upon quite a bit). Pleasantly surprised that they aren't entirely shit, and amused that even though I theoretically know what happens next (It is my universe, after all) I wanted to know what happened next... You know, actually read it, as opposed to, you know, just nebulously knowing.
I've... just got so many other irons in the fire, you know? Except, considering I'm not working on any of them either, that's kind of a hollow excuse. Maybe if I just say I'll work on some of this shit for an hour at a time? Except I won't. Blasted distraction.
Feh. I'm just... frustrated with myself. I'm gonna address this by glomphing the Manbeast and whining at him to cheer me up like a five year old. Seems to be a bit of a theme today. :/ Or, you know, read my library book so I'll be able to return at least one when I meet my photographer at the library on Tuesday.
