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Blocks?

I’m on vacation from work this week and, as usual, I’m staying home for it.  I’m not even sure I’d travel if I could, honestly.  Usually by the time I hit vacation, I’m so burnt out that I just want to be left alone in more or less absolute solitude for most of that time.  Has to do with being introverted, I suppose, this need to refuel and savor the silence.

And this week has been good so far.  I’ve been sleeping in, watched the entire final season of Dexter, the new episode of Downton Abbey, and several episodes of Star Trek: Enterprise.  Sunday was my lay-in-bed-do-nothing day, except I may have put gas in the car and gotten Panda Express around 9pm, so that’s sort of doing something.  Monday, I did five loads of laundry, as well as stopped at the bank (credit union, they were open even though it’s a federal holiday) and the store to pick up some odds and ends.  I also did dishes.  Today, I went to the grocery store and put washer fluid in the car.  It’s getting colder out, so that wasn’t quite as pleasant as it would have been if the temperature was over 20 degrees F.

What I haven’t been doing, however, is writing.  I feel nothing quite so severe as dread or anxiety about it, but I’ve been doing anything else at all.  I think I could plot out the last couple chapters of Lazarus, which has been on hiatus far too long and I do dishes.  I think I could just jot down that scene running through my head so I don’t forget it, but that is quickly followed by after I make hot chocolate and clean my craft room and watch one more episode of Enterprise.  I mean, it’s ridiculous.  I’m trying not to put stress on myself about it, but I’m stressed.  I feel bad that I haven’t been writing for months due to work and depression, but even when I have time or energy, I simply can’t do it.

This isn’t new for me, but I’ve yet to figure out how to combat it.  I mean, just sitting down and writing isn’t doing it for me.  I sit down.  I’m sitting now.  Have been for three hours.  My notebook is here and I could even find a few pages I just have to type in, no real thinking involved, and yet I’m avoiding it like it’s a jab at the doctor’s office.  I usually avoid things that are unpleasant until I have no choice, yes, but this shouldn’t be unpleasant so why am I avoiding it?

 
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Posted by on January 21, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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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.  http://ficbook.net/readfic/693739 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.  🙂  http://archiveofourown.org/works/1015760  So I suppose the world is not all bad.

 
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Posted by on October 24, 2013 in depression, Writings

 

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