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I only dance to songs I like so I was sat down most of the night [Apr. 27th, 2011|01:45 am]
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Fuck it's one of those super fucking restless nights where nothing is appealing at all ever. I'm listless and weird and want to do something but have started EVERYTHING and find it impossible.

I shouldn't be allowed to be "between big projects" ever. It makes me totally useless. It's like I sent Jonesy off and now I've been sat here all fucking day waiting for it to be May so I can work on The Resurrectionists. Yet I know I NEED to be between projects or I'll go insane(er)--

Oh, you know what I need?

The Sims. Yeah. That.

If even that'll do it... might need to start a new town or something so I don't just start it up and turn it off (like I've done 1412 times with LotRO today.)

Must. Resist. Siren. Call. Of. Becca.
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sneaking in the back door with dirty magazines [Oct. 18th, 2010|12:33 am]
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I'm home but I'm sleepy and achey and possibly full of hormones. I'm angry and a bit hateful--too tired to be anything else. Tired in weird ways you forget exist until you feel them.

But stuff in WV goes well. So that's what really matters. Nice to be home, too.

Some kind of detox/shut down day tomorrow. Normal service will resume shortly after. Assuming I can become less hateful by some alchemy of sleep and avoidance, anyhow.

Mostly I think I'm just ready for this dreadful fucking month to be over.
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turn yourself around, you weren't invited [Mar. 15th, 2010|02:11 pm]
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Hopelessly self-indulgent weekend, during which all I did was think about Plaguebringer (but not do anything about it, as it didn't seem all that pressing), have long rambly conversations with my husband about nothing, watch the new MST3Ks we got, and play LotRO. (Tom is 3/4 of a level from getting a horse. Yes, I'm easily amused. Thank Christ.)

It felt good, but it's time to light a fire under this motherfucker. This motherfucker being me.

In unrelated news, I still can't eat eggs. I had some at my parents' and they buy just regular eggs. As people who've been to my house know (don't talk about it usually, so it'd be hard to know otherwise), I am really neurotic about my eggs and dairy, and will only buy them if I know from where they came and that I'm okay with how they raise the animals. (You can argue this point with me all you like, but don't, because I don't care if you think it's dumb/pointless. Even if I could change this particular neurosis, I'm too old to give a fuck what anyone else thinks.) Balaji says this is because I don't like to buy sin.

I was aware of course that this sort of food tends to taste better than the mass produced chicken-in-a-1x1x1-cage kind-- better (god, oh god, vegetarian) chicken feed = better chickens = better eggs. Anyone who eats natural or organic meat will tell you the same thing-- it has flavor! Wtf!

But I ate an egg at my parents' anyhow, thinking I ought not to be a haughty bitch. (They already buy gelatin-free all natural sour cream because of me-- of course once they got it for my visit they realized it was actually much better and started buying it regularly.) And it was really, really gross. It had a weird consistency and tasted funny. I couldn't eat anything for the rest of the day apart from a bag of chips I forced down while driving home. And now every time I think about eating eggs I feel a little ill. Even the sin free kind.

I don't want to be the crazy person who brings her own food everywhere. I already take my own milk home (I don't even like milk, but I put it on cereal occasionally-- Nick drank it all last time, going "Man, this IS better!" Jerk) and am extremely weird about where I eat out. (Ate out at Chilis this weekend, first time at a place like that in ages. Was so sick-- our stomachs aren't used to junk food any more :/) Jesus fucking Christ, I get crazier every year.

Also, I realize I don't talk much about my food issues. But for anyone who doesn't know, I was actually vegan for a few years until the yogurt in Nepal knocked me off that. Now I'm just-- like this.
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'cause harmless medications abound, and you're not sick; you will make it [Sep. 11th, 2009|06:34 pm]
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I did sweet FA yesterday, and I have no real excuse. I was up til 5AM the night before reading Faro's Daughter (um, yes, love Max, love Deb, second favorite Heyer couple ever!) so I got off to a slow start, and managed somehow to piss away too much time composing a cop-out of a spec fic post... which admittedly, I'd been intending to do this month anyhow, but my state of mental disarray made it all the more necessary at the time. My brain was stuck in a loop where it kept writing the same scene over and over, and couldn't get rid of two songs on repeat in the meantime: Crying Lightning and Only If You Run. Again, over and over.

It started to feel a little crazy, to be honest, but mostly in an interesting way.

Anyhow, it triggered an adolescent urge to go to mad excess-- a common response of mine to almost any stressful situation-- so in the evening I got spectacularly trashed watching the Steelers squeeze out a win over the Titans in the season opener. Consequently, I wasn't too excited about waking up today. Nevertheless I did, and sent my husband off to Duke for two days, then sat down and finally forced myself to look at all the shit I have to do to finish writing the book I've been working on (with large gaps of interruption, admittedly) all summer. The good news there is that I do actually have my ducks in a row in terms of what wants done-- I know what to write and where to put it, which is the most important thing.

But it means so much re-writing of scenes I already had, and so much complicated weaving together of these four separate storylines, as they're now coming together for a massive pain in the ass explosion, that it's super fucking daunting.

I was discouraged, is what I'm trying to say.

But I listened to some random ass last.fm radio for a little while to knock the AMs and JP out of my head, fucked around as much as possible, and little by little woke up enough to begin processing. Then I put on Mozart and managed to script the majority of the scenes waiting to be written.

About 6PM I decided I could finish this book to my satisfaction after all, and that it was, in fact, going to be great fun.

I don't know why I feel the need to record this here, except that it's another example of how very, very easily I come out of a funk when I damn well please.
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love is a fantasy [Dec. 9th, 2008|04:03 pm]
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[Current Music |Oasis - The Shock of the Lightning (remix)]

Whoa dude. So I caved and bought the new I'm Outta Time EP from Oasis. It's not one of the stronger songs on the album, but I like the vocal track a lot. (Imagine that, I like Liam Gallagher's whiney fucking voice? What? Yeah, I'm sure you're amazed.) And dude, the remix is SO MUCH BETTER as a track-- the backup shit isn't cheesy at all and the vocal is so much clearer and... kind of freakishly pretty, really.

Also, the Shock of the Lightning remix, while droney as hell, is pretty sweet-- particularly when the drone resolves for a few seconds and lets you breathe again. And the To Be Where There's Life remix is of course brilliant, because I fucking love that song. Obviously. (I always end up loving Gem's stuff. He's amazing, really.)

And I get to see them again in about ten days. With my best friend ever in the whole world.

What the fuck is up with this month loving me? When is something terrible going to happen? I'm so goddamn nervous for the last few days, it's ridiculous! My back is actually fucking up because of it!

Which just goes to show that I'm being a terrible Buddhist. We're never happy when we have everything we want, because then we're just scared of it being taken away. I'm going to look at the little Buddha on my desk and think about that.

Not that I'm Buddhist, technically. But still, you'd think I would've learned a thing or two by now. I'm gonna work on that. Me and Buddha.

Also, I need some damn blank CDs so I can rip some of this stuff. This is annoying.
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[Dec. 4th, 2008|06:09 pm]
[Current Mood | crazy]

I have a worrying urge to go through and tag all the "short fiction" entries with the names of the actual stories to which they refer. When I started the tag, I didn't realize I'd actually turn out more than three or four short stories worth submitting at all ever.

Must. Resist. Urge. To organize. GAH!

This is why not being in the middle of writing a book is dangerous, man.
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