Category Archives: depression

A little stool in every room…

So I’m just killing time (and I’m a prolific murder of time) and so I stopped by the ongoing Russian translation of Lazarus Machine to look at the comments.  The translation is currently on chapter 27, just around the wedding. if you’re interested.  I view it through Chrome, which will automatically translate the page (thought it comes out mostly unintelligible).  I like to look at the comments, just as I like to look at the comments on any of my other posted sites.

At times, the comments cannot even seem to translate properly, in the case of my favorite reference to umnichka John.  Looking it up separately, it’s a term meaning clever, in an endearing way.  Makes me melt.  Today, the thing that made me laugh was the translator replying to a comment made about the line where John is too short to kiss Sherlock without Sherlock’s assistance.  She said that (cleaning up for the choppy translation) John would have to put a little stool in every room so he could more easily kiss his husband.  Awwww.  LOL.

Anyway, I’m killing time I could be spending either job hunting or writing new chapters.  I feel past the hysterical sobbing stage of my depression and have passed into the utterly lethargic stage.  I did manage to write and post a chapter of the completely episodic series Experiments in Warmth within the last couple of weeks, and have one more chapter in that series done but for a paranoid series of adjustments I can’t stop making.  I was doing that with the chapter I posted, never feeling it was done, never feeling it was as good as it could be.  Every final pass I made changed things, then again, then again, and I finally posted it so I would stop torturing it.

Right now I have a couple hours before having to get ready for work, and several years of NaNoWriMo have shown me how much I can accomplish in a mere couple of hours, but I’m still having a hard time settling down to it.  I suppose part of the problem is my weakness with plot and, while I do know in a general sense what is going to happen through to the end of the story (stories) I’m not quite sure what happens in detail.  I find indecision rather plaguing.  So until I make the decision, I avoid it.  Which is a useless circle, really, since the more I avoid it, the further I get from the story in my mind.

I don’t want to be the writer who dries up for months and months, only to abandon the work entirely.  I want to finish.  The same problem applies to John’s Gamble, which I had originally said I didn’t even want to post until it was nearly done or done, and which now languishes in the same cesspool of depression as everything else, half-finished.

I’m hoping that NaNoWriMo invigorates me, but I’m just not certain this year that it will.  I’m still not certain what I want to do, with little over a week to figure it out.  Last year I started late and did not finish because of indecision.  I hate to think the same will apply here.  I suppose, though, I need one good thing to set me on a happy mental path rather than this spiraling doom I feel when I think of current events in my life.

Before I forget, I did stumble upon a delightfully apt Sherlock crossover fic with Neil Gaiman’s Fortunately the Milk, the very existence of which made me chortle with glee.  🙂  So I suppose the world is not all bad.


Posted by on October 24, 2013 in depression, Writings


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Missing persons (ie, more depressing shit, ignore me)

I’m not sure where I’ve been lately, but it hasn’t been in my writer-head. During my early-June vacation, I had (as always) hoped to write and get some stuff done. I wrote, and got stuff done, but not nearly what I’d hoped or planned. That is fine, and quite expected. I stated before that I wanted to finish two things (any two things) during my vacation, and I didn’t really come close. However, I did push myself after my vacation was over to focus on Sherlock and the Huntsman, a shorter piece that I was within sight of finishing. The next couple weeks saw two chapters posted for that story, but it meant The Lazarus Machine went without updates. I was okay with that.

And then. I was a bit stuck on Huntsman, knowing I only needed a chapter or two to finish. I’d overcome the plot hurdles and now just needed to write the climax and the happy ending. That’s still all I have left to write. And still, The Lazarus Machine languishes. I managed to skip over where I’d been a little stuck and write a good page or two towards my ending, but the last week and a half, I’ve been terrified out of my own head.

Depression, folks. Should have been an excellent week. Tuesday the 16th, some friends of mine and I were going down to Chicago to see Neil Gaiman, which is exciting. I was a bit stressed about it because money has been an extremely stressful thing for me lately, but arrangements had been made. It was a miserably hot day, but it was a fun drive down. And then I twisted my (already not-great) knee on the way to the signing. Sucked it up, hobbled along, because what else could I do? We were on the middle of a street in Chicago.

Came home the next day and after four hours in the car, could barely hobble ten feet. Went home. Called in sick for work the next two days. Cried in bed because if I can’t walk, I can’t work, can’t get paid, can’t afford to live or take care of myself or be in any way an adult. As it is, I can’t do that. Injured, I’ve no hope at all.

I won’t recount all the swirling shit in my head because I don’t really want to work myself up about it again, but it was definitely a final straw in the stresses I’ve been fighting off. The only recourse I had was to stay out of my own head. TV and books are generally the best at doing that, for me, so I refused to be left alone with my own thoughts. Which also means no writing, which is 95 percent in my head (so filled with landmines that I could pretty much only stand still and cry).

Thus, it’s been a good five or six weeks now since I’ve updated The Lazarus Machine, quite without meaning to let it go this long, and I don’t have a completed Huntsman to show for it. It would have made so much more sense to use my off-work recovery time to write, but it was like the only way to survive was to stuff cotton balls in my ears, cover them with my hands, and scream LA LA LA LA LA as loud as I could to drown out the bad thoughts.

As for the moment, my knee is improving, but since that was only one of several worries, it only eases the panic a little bit. The awful heat has relented for a day or two, which also helps, because I certainly don’t need the added misery. Everything else? I can only shrug.

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Posted by on July 20, 2013 in depression


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