amand_r

Okay. So.

I opened a document to start a new story (in which vampires are normal and humans are the myth. I'm working on it.), and I couldn't face the whiteness. So I opened episode 8 and corrected the grammar there, and then. Then. I looked down.

There, from under the L key—dust. I saw that.

So after about twenty minutes of tweezing clumps of cat hair and dust and detritus from my keyboard, I stopped to consider that I might have a small problem.

Writer's block.

It's not like I haven't had it before, the erectile dysfunction of the literary world (can you tell how desperate I was to make that joke?), but this comes at a time when I am teeming with ideas. I have about a dozen scenes in the season 4 that I'd love to put down. I have about thirty short stories in various stages of development. I have four stories that I should edit and resubmit.

I'm going to have to drop out of the tw genfic fest. I know it's not going to be done. It's not even started. It's planned. I could start it and get myself rolling, but I can think of so many other things that are more important, like the stories for money. I can't make myself work on fanfic because I think I have to get more stories done so I can sell them.

I have to relax.

Here's how bad it is: I get Poets and Writer's Magazine, and I use the back to mine for submissions, and I haven't opened the last 2 (it's every other month, so that should tell you something) because the Jan/Feb issue is titled 'The Inspiration Issue'. Look at that cover and tell me that's not intimidating. Or it could just be me.

It's not a new thing that I don't like to listen to other people talk about their writing. And I don't mean in a "this is my plot" way. That's okay. I don't like to listen to meta about writing. I don't care about why someone writes, or how they do it, or what drives them. Because it makes me think about what drives me, and I don't care about that either. Everyone seems more together than me. Everyone seems to think this is…important enough to talk about (I think I'm doing that now). All I know is that the more I think about my process, the worse my fic is received, the less it's liked, so I don't LIKE to think about it. So, there.

Also: everyone I know is writing a book. One of them sold their book. Others are submitting theirs. I don't even have a short story to send anywhere. Every time I try to sit down and edit, I think, "God, what's the point, editing isn't going to make it better." /whine (If you are one of those people reading this, I sincerely wish you nothing but the best, really, I do.)

Anyway, I am blocked. I even have an idea for a two-column poem about a man licking the print advert for gum in the subway car. See? Ideas. Still. Who's going to buy/print that shit? My gum poem? Fuck that shit.

Part of it is this doubt that I know where to submit my stuff. I don't know. It's not like the shit I read in the samples, and I can't find a place that has stuff like mine. And that bothers me, or something. Or maybe I think it's interesting. I dunno. I just have to find the place.

I feel better just writing all this.

Fuck all that. Okay. Coconut Man, Moonheads, and P.



Next on Amanda blogs: I have discovered how to exercise, and nyah nyah nyah, you bastards. Also, Cashmere Mafia was the worst trainwreck of a show I have watched since The L Word, but I couldn't stop watching.

1. GAH.

ME: Blah blah blah.
THERAPIST: Blah blah BLAH blah. ::eyebrows::
ME: Blah Blah. ::wavey hands::
THERAPIST: AH HAH. THERE IT IS!
ME: Whut?
THERAPIST: There's your problem! Your issue!
ME: ::smacks head:: GODDAMMIT.
THERAPIST: Ha ha ha! Found it! NOW YOUR REAL THERAPY CAN BEGIN.
ME: SHITBEARS!
THERAPIST: YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD HIDE IT.
ME: SHUT UP, RAFIKI.
THERAPIST: Same time next week?
ME: Yes please.


2. MBABB IS AT 137,350. That sounds impressive until you realise that on 6/27 I had 125,242, so this month I have only done 12,108 on it. SHITBEARS.

3. I'm going to start taking my prozac at night and see if that doesn't cure my exhaustion during the day.

4. Because I can't leave well enough alone, the current ep I'm working on:

They both jumped into the SUV and Maggie started the car, turning the heater on full blast. It hadn't been off long enough to have completely cooled down and the warmth spread across Lois's hose-covered legs. Bliss.

"Lo," Maggie said, tucking the tickets into the sun visor, "please tell me you packed denims or some other heavy work trousers."

Lois shrugged. "I have slacks and a pair of coveralls."

Maggie sighed. "Okay, we have a little bit of time, and the Quay is open." She pointed to the hulking shopping arena that boasted hundreds of outlet stores. "Lois Habiba, you need to dress for a mess."

"Dress for a mess," Lois deadpanned as she pulled her shit coffee from the cup-holder and took a sip. Absence did not make the tongue grow fonder. Maggie started the SUV and pulled out of the Wightlink lot.

"I bet they have a Starbucks," Maggie sang.

Lois gestured at the windshield with the cup. "Sally forth, my good woman."

That is all.

ETA: IT WAS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME.

today that weren't really that big a deal in an of themselves, but served to make me feel meh about today:

1. Some fandom shit I shouldn't have read. I need to use my filter, otherwise I just get agitated.

2. My doctor's office called and they want to do more blood tests. Apparently, I am anemic. Orly.

3. I sold a whole box of books at Half Price for 5.50. Usually I get about 20 bucks, and I know it's all subjective and shit, and the guy was like, "Well, we have a huge backlog", and also hey, free money, gift horse, me. It was still less than I expected. Likewise at Once Upon a Child, where I got 11 bucks. Still, I don't really know why I should be bitching about this, but something in me was disappointed. They never offer me less than 20 bucks.

4. I'm not going to be finished with the MBABB by August 30. I'm at 111,149, and I'm just about to finish part 5/14. This does not bode well (only 10K of that is forward writing). I don't know what I'll do about it. People don't want to read a WIP, but I don't know if I can not start posting it then. Because so much of it will be done. And they're episodes, so they're encapsulated.

5. My insurance company sent my monthly bill, and there's a note at the bottom saying, "Highmark has submitted a filing to the PA Insurance Department requesting a rate increase." I don't know what that means. It could be routine, insurance premiums go up every tear, it feels like, but this time I just read that horribly.

6. I just keep focusing on all the bad things. None of these things is bad in and of themselves, but they just added up to create a spiral of thinking in my skull.

1. So last night I'm writing a check to the cemetery to put a summer box of flowers at Tianyu's grave, and they ask for the location, and I don't know what the fuck that is. I'll have to dig it out. But I'm sitting there filling out the rest of the goddamn form, and I find myself crying and apologising to Tianyu, and I don't even know what the fuck for. For the flowers, maybe. That that's all I can give him now, maybe. That I rarely go there. I can't look at it. I don't know what to say to it. It's just kind of there. That stone isn't for me. I would have cremated him and sent his ashes to George Takei to dispose of as he saw fit. Or Christopher Lambert. NO NO. JET LI.

Dear Mister Li:

Enclosed is your future.

Sincerely,

Yul Brynner's Rotting Corpse


2. ENOUGH OF THAT BULLSHIT. DON'T ASK ME TO EXPLAIN MYSELF TO YOU, WARREN.

(NSFW)



I missed you, threebrain.

3. apparently Scott Baio just went insane, which I am surprised at, because really, Goats has been making fun of Scott for a while.

You know what I'd like to see? Certain celebs given a twitter and free time to use it and get all wrapped up in it, so that we can see the meltdowns we really deserve. Candidates are: Mel Gibson, Debbie Gibson, Naomi Campbell (we might have to supply additional phones), Kirk Cameron PLEASE GOD KIRK CAMERON. Maybe the youngest kid from Hanson.

4. How a shark gets ready.

5. Lastly, let us all take a moment to appreciate the fine lyrical genius of Salt N Pepa's 1993 masterpiece, "None Of Your Business":

I never put my nose where I'm not supposed to,
Believe me, if he's something that I want, I'm steppin' closer,
I'm not one for playing high-pole
Like the house of ditty 90210 type of ho.
I treat a man like he treats me;
The difference between a hooker and a ho ain't nothin' but a fee.

I feel as if I have been enlightened. I'd also like to mention:

So, yo, so, yo, ho - check it, double deck it on a record butt-naked, but you really have to listen to it: at 2:36

It's also worth it to note that dating the song in the text of the song does not do the song any favours, except that I think that it's charming in a way (1:20). Also, let's give the ladies props for putting a same sex couple in a video back in 1993 (3:14), nicely placed during the line about how no one has the right to judge others. I know it feels like a pittance, but one thing I always admired about SnP was that they were always open minded and fairly liberated in some ways. (Heaven and Hell passes the Bechdel test in a time when most songs were about relationships. The last track on the album is a short skit about HIV from an inner city improv group).

SO, YO, SO YO HO.

( Bonus! )