My life is settling into a very simple routine. I get when I get up (I haven't quite regulated that) and then I have coffee. I give O'Malley his urinary tract wellness supplement along with treats for him and the other cats. I go and check my messages on facebook and tumblr. I bail water out of the leaky sink every three hours. I clean the cat boxes every day at three. I drink a bottle of water at noon, four, eight, and midnight (because I'm trying to stay hydrated and it's hard in the winter). In between those times, I try to write. When I'm not doing that, I'm wasting time on tumblr and/or Flight Rising. I have at least one meal a day (dinner) and I feed the animals before I eat. If I'm lucky I leave the house once a week.
It's terribly repetitive and dull. But hey, I'm getting by. That's pretty good for me.
The writing is going... okay. Sometimes I'm so fired up about this story and I feel like I can do it and I have all these ideas and they all seem perfect. Other times I don't want to do it at all. Every word feels stale. The whole thing feels flavorless and devoid of any skill whatsoever. But you say that to anyone and it's like, "well, you've got NaNo blues" so you don't even get to feel like your angst is special. Writing isn't for the faint of heart, yet here I am, and I don't know how to explain that.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment