Letting the Rest Roll

Let it be known that I’ve been slacking off.  Really, I have.  I feel it.  Because I’ve needed to slack off, to be honest.

One, I’ve been tired a lot.  The last couple of nights I’ve taken sleeping pills–just one each night–to help me get through the night and not wake up at three-thirty AM with no chance of getting back to bed.  I’ve managed to get some sleep out of these nights, and even though I was awake at four AM needing to use the bathroom, I went right back to sleep and woke up only moments before the alarm went off.

Two, I’ve been distracted of late by wanting to do things, be it watch TV, read, get out of the house and travel–anything.  I’ve needed to change up my routine for some time now, and it’s great for recharging.  Tonight I’ll go out and do a little grocery shopping, and when that’s over I’m going to stop at Panera, get something to eat–probably a big bowl of soup–and then set up my computer and write.  I did this last week and plopped down a thousand words; I want to finish this scene I’m in, start on the next, and maybe finish it as well.  Because I’m moving ahead.

Annie's letting me know I better get her scene finished, because . . . well, because.

Annie’s letting me know I better get her scene finished, because . . . well, because.

And, admittedly, I enjoy the break.  Which leads into–

Three:  I’ve been feeling a lot burned out.  I’m two hundred and thirty thousand words into the novel, maybe two-thirds of the way through, and after ten months I’m ready for something else.  This is the doldrums part of the story, where you want to keep pushing, but you also want to do something else.  You’ve lived with these people for so long it’s like having guests who never go away, and just like you want the Guests Who Wouldn’t Leave to pack up their shit and move on, I’m ready for another project.

Not that I hate what I’m doing, but like anything else where you do it over and over every day, it starts to wear you down.  I feel that what may be needed is an adjustment of schedules.  Set aside the time I need to do something, and do it then.  I’m thinking Wednesday afternoon is going to become a new writing time for me for the next few months.  After that I’ll find something else to help with the time.

My fear is taking a break from writing for a week or two.  I’ve done that in the past, and when I have I’ve managed to take a month off and get back into things without a problem.  Then again, I’ve also taken a break that lasted years, and I don’t want that to happen.  Because I’ve got the story where I want it, and I don’t have time to take a year off from this project.  Sure, I might be able to get other things done, but I want to finish this story.

Let me correct that:  I need to finish this.

Because it’s too damn important to put to the side.  No matter how I feel right now.

Conversing Round the Rotunda

A lot of strangeness this morning–starting off with waking up at 3:30 AM, laying in bed for ninety minutes before deciding that I needed to get up and do something.  Said something involved finishing up a scene I sort of stumbled through last night, which I mean with all sincerity, because I didn’t have my head in the story last night.  Some of it had to do with watching TCM last night while I made my way through some five hundred words of conversation between Annie and a fellow student from Lesotho, but the truth remains I’ve been tired most of this week, and writing at home is boring the hell out of me.

It’s nice to have a routine.  Writing is my routine; has been for a while.  But the last year, most of which has been spent in hotel rooms and a small apartment, have taken their toll.  I’m finding that changing things up a little here and these gives me more productivity, and that’s something I require at this point, because five hundred or so words a night ain’t cutting it.  Time has come to rev things up.

Really, though, it’s not usual.  Whenever you spend a lot of time working on the same project, doing the same thing over and over, in the same place and location for months, it seems natural that you’ll find a little burnout creeping in from around the bend.  Now if I was only like George R. R. Martin and I could take five or six or seven years to write a novel.

That would assume I’m making money from my novels, first . . .

"Also, I could write some hot, kinky, dragon action.  Just as long as I leave their mom out of it.  Right?  Right?"

“Also, I could write some hot, kinky, dragon action. Just as long as I leave their mom out of it. Right? Right?”

But I wrote this morning.  I managed almost six hundred words this morning, because when there isn’t anything on television to pull you away, and no one on the Internet to distract you, it’s easy to get things done.  I might even be able to snap out another five or six hundred words later today, or maybe even a thousand.  You can’t tell, can you?

Here’s the last part of a three-way conversation between Annie, Nagesa Okoro–the aforementioned student from Lesotho who has two friends out flying the same patrol as Kerry and Emma are flying–and Lisa, she of the Bad Attitude and the Magical Ownage during Sorcery class.  Needless to say, Lisa’s trying to break bad on Annie, and Annie is not digging it in the least . . .

 

(All excerpts, this page, from The Foundation Chronicles, Book One: A For Advanced, copyright 2013, 2014, by Cassidy Frazee)

“I’m surprised you’re not out with Kerry.” Lisa looked over her right shoulder. ‘Then again, he’s gotta flyin’ partner—” She turned back to Annie. “Ain’t he?”

Annie slowed her breathing so as not to lose her temper. “Emma’s with him, yes. They volunteered together.”

“An ahm sure they’re havin’ a great time.” Lisa rubbed her hands together slowly. “Is that why you’re doin’ triage? ‘Cause if anythin’ happens, you’ll be here when he’s brought in?” The smirk returned as she looked around the Rotunda. “Those guys flyin’ around by the wall, they’re gonna be the first to get hit if there’s trouble—”

Nagesa laid a hand on Annie’s; she sensed the girl was about to explode. She turned on Lisa. “You are not helping with this talk; you are trying to upset us.” She twitched her head to the left. “You should rest—this may be a long day.”

For a moment Lisa didn’t appearer willing to take Nagesa’s advice, then shrugged. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” She waved at Annie. “See ya ‘round.”

Annie waited for Lisa to head up the stairs to the First Floor before speaking. “Thank you.”

Nagesa removed her hand from Annie’s. “I sensed you were about to say things that would have resulted in an argument—”

“Or worse.” Annie set her hands in her lap.

“Or worse.” Nagesa rocked her knees back and forth. “We do not need that sort of negativity here. We need to stay focused on our duty.”

“I agree.” Annie sat quietly for nearly thirty second, her mind swirling around Lisa’s comments. “Are you here because of your friends?”

“No—and yes.” Nagesa slightly turned her head so she could look at Annie as she spoke. “I am here to help anyone needing help. And were my friends brought in, I could help them as well.”

“What . . .” Annie didn’t want to ask the question, but found she must. “What if you can’t help them?”

“Then I would have the chance to say goodbye.” Nagesa patted Annie’s hands. “Don’t worry: your boyfriend will return safe. Professor Salomon would not have allowed him to fly with the patrol if she didn’t feel he could make the right choices when necessary.”

Annie squeezed Nagesa’s hand briefly before looking up through the skylight. “I’m not worried about him . . .”

 

Of course you aren’t, Annie.  You’re worried about someone else, aren’t you?

And speaking of Kerry and that girl . . .

Toil and Bubble

Into each life comes a little depression now and then–or, if you’re me, it sort of hangs around waiting for me to leave the front door cracked a bit so it can come stomping in and make itself at home.  That’s how yesterday afternoon was:  I’d finished my blog post, I’d finished laundry, and I was going to sit and work on an article . . . and I couldn’t.  The old depression had kicked in and I didn’t feel like doing much of that.  I also didn’t feel like watching TV, either, because I’d sit and watch a couple of my favorite movies, The Bridge on the River Kwai and Laurence of Arabia, and after fifteen, twenty minutes of sitting I had to get up and do something else.

Part of it is this feeling of wanting to “do something”, to have other things going on besides sitting in the apartment and staring at the walls.  Money has been tight of late, and that cuts down on getting out, but there’s also this feeling of isolation I’m experiencing.  Now that I’m not writing–or at least actively working on a story–the old feeling of sameness and routine has once more taken over, and it sucks.  It sucks bad.

I really need something new in my life.

Tonight I’ll start in on some editing.  I have something that’s been sitting in my queue for a bit and I’ll jump into that and work out getting it out, but I’ve also the inclination to get back into some of slush pile as well.  I have tons of stuff waiting, and there’s so much editing to do, it’s hard to know where to begin.  Some of my shorter things is really the best jumping off point, but I have a couple of novels that need this attention as well.

It would be a bit easier if I had one of the witches from my Salem school to come and help me.  Maybe they could cook up something that would help get out of these feelings–though we know from experience that my Professor Sladen doesn’t like cauldrons, and she’d probably go after a poor witch with her magical Super Soaker if she caught them using one to mix up a product.

"Any minute now that crazy lesbian is gonna come along and whack me . . . And why am I holding a lantern?  Can't I just like put light in the air?  *sigh*  I shouldn't have skipped Spells that day."

“Any minute now that crazy lesbian is gonna come along and whack me . . . And why am I holding a lantern? Can’t I just like put light in the air? *sigh* I shouldn’t have skipped Spells that day.”

Editing is a good thing to get into.  I have too much stuff laying about, and it’s a great way to get out the old.  Plus . . . I’m considering setting up an account on Durotrop and sending out stories for sale this time, and not just working towards self-publishing.  It’s great experience to get rejection slips, but even greater experience if you make the sale.  A full year’s subscription there is $50, and one could blow that much at Starbucks in a week, so if it opens up a new beginning for my stories, it’s well worth the money.

If I’m going to find myself in a routine, it may as well be one that I enjoy.

Dipping Away From the Well

Well, then; that was a problem, wasn’t it?

Last night was a moment of dead reckoning that I couldn’t blow away.  When I mean dead, I don’t mean that I was literally pushing up daises, but rather I had nothing.  When I came to the computer, I couldn’t work up enough enthusiasm to do anything.  The ennui I’ve mentioned the main character in my current WiP is suffering from must have jumped out of the computer and grabbed me, because that’s what I had in large numbers.

Or it could have been something else, something that hasn’t actually bothered me for a few months–that something being depression.  I do think I have a touch of that, because I am not taking care of myself, and that’s always a sign that you’re care and concern are at an all time low.

The thing that helped out, however, was that I had the chance to chat with a couple of people last night.  Online, of course, because this is were most of my life exists there days.  My friend Kim reminded me that I’ve been working quite a lot the last few weeks:  I’ve been getting up at five-thirty every morning, coming home at five PM every night, and then finding an hour or two to crank out a thousand words–usually finishing up that last right before I head off to bed.  She told me I needed to find the time to relax, to take care of myself.

Then there was my friend Ruena, who started chatting, and ended up talking girl things for about an hour.  Though I wasn’t able to get into my story, her words did lift me up considerably, and by the time we were through I was in a much better mood–though by that time I was also falling asleep at the keyboard, testament to what Kim said about me likely being exhausted.

Despite all the things I thought out there about getting to it and writing, there are times when the well is completely empty.  You can go to it as much as you like, but eventually that damn thing is going to be completely drained, and you’ll have to wait a spell before water begins trickling in again.  Maybe it’ll take a couple of hours, or maybe a day, but most of the time it’s going to take a good night’s sleep, and some time away from the inanity that is social networking, to get things back on a even keel.

A change in the routine helps as well.  As I write this, I’m sitting somewhere with a coffee by my side, sitting in a chair, instead of camping out on a floor waiting for my daughter’s morning martial arts class to finish.  I’m considering getting out tonight, just for the hell of it, because It would be nice to leave the house behind and venture out into the wilds of the fair community–which is neither wild or all that fair.

It’s not the environment, however:  it’s the doing.  It’s cracking the code that is your life and turning around so that it works for you.

As for my story?  It’s the weekend–

Word counts are made to be adjusted.