There weren’t any last evening’s activities. This whole weeks has found me struggling to stay awake after getting home from work, and there was no exception to this rule yesterday. Work was something of a mind bender, and I even came down with a bit of a headache from all the concentrating needed to figure out why a program wasn’t working.
It’s enough to get you drinking if you wanted to drink . . . and there are plenty of times I want to drink these days.
But I did have the ability to think, however. I couldn’t really write down what I was thinking, but I thought about thing anyway. I wanted to go on my character design; I wanted to think about starting to write something I have developed, in my head, for a scene–
I couldn’t. Not one word.
When those moments come around you begin to wonder “Is this from being tired, or am I ready to pitch this crap into the nearest bin?” Those thoughts do run through my head a little these days, because that precious ego that I never really had was bruised, and I take a long time healing. Not always a real long time, but it’s enough to push me into one of those quiet moments where I really want to walk away from things for a while. Though the last time I did that, it was like ten years before I came back, and I don’t think I have another ten years left in me.
It all comes down to a matter of adaptation. I need to make this character work, and I’m deconstructing her so I can put her back together. There are some things I don’t like, or that bother me, about her personality, but that’s part of the character. You have to work it out and own it, baby.
But in the haze that entered my mind about eight PM last night, I starting having my doubts if I could make it work. If I could have this happen right. Those doubty doubts: I hate them. You get them if you’re a writer, and when they come they play hell with you.
But then there’s the flip to that doubt. If I got up and walked away from it all, if I said, “I’ve had enough of this bullshit, I need a break, I think I’ll take the next year off and think about never coming back to my writing,” that wouldn’t set well with a few people. I can think of at least one person in particular who would react badly to that news, and all hell would break loose . . .
Okay, maybe not that bad, but there would be a lot of hurt feelings come out of it all.
I know what’s bringing on the tiredness I feel at night; I simply need to work through that. Once that’s out of the way I can get my mind back on other things–
Like reconstructing the deconstructed.