mouserism

I haven't been writing.

Too busy dealing with the stress of mice.

Little bastards.

That I'm unsure if that was a mouse that just scurried over my body almost 2 hours ago was real or a product of my imagination is testament that the mice are winning this war.

Okay so I'm not writing because I jumped the plot shark but it's hard to concentrate when my sanctuary has been invaded.

Little bastards.

I'm bigger, I should be winning this war.

I'm not. I'm tired. I'm cranky from not writing when I was bleeding out the words prior to this invasion. "It's mental warfare," I told my brother. "Mouse terrorism." "Mouserism," he said then howled with laughter. Big bastard.

I want to write. I want to create, I want to not wonder what that noise over there was.

The Truth...Hurts

I'm feeling sulky.

I had a friend (though is he really...is he really?) read a completed story of mine. It's been awhile since I had a critique.

And well...

Hell.

Damn him.

How dare he not tell me my story has no plot holes, every word is awesome, the sex scenes were hot hot hot (funny...he never said anything about those), that pacing is too fast (I'm a fast girl) and "Gee, where's the friggin' looooove?" and that I should stop dithering and submit that bad boy because it will sell sell sell.

How dare he tell me the truth.

Feeling very sulky. Very. Sulky.

Facebook

I decided to bite the bullet and there's now a Facebook profile for me.

I couldn't resist. It's all about procrastination folks.

Returning to the Fold

After an absence of almost 3 (or is it 4?) years I returned to the RWA. I need to be around writers again. I need to be back in the goo of it.

Awesome, eh?

Methinks so!

Now to just join some chapters.

The Bright Side?

My writing tends to veer towards the dark & twisty. I'm find with this. I like reaching into my own dark & twisty and using it. Nice to know it's good for something.

At this moment though (this one...right now) I'm wanting to write something not so dark & twisty. I think it's because my current frame of mind is, I hate to say it, a little bouncy. I'm all giggly on the inside. As I sit here I'm fighting a smile and I'm not sure why. It's not like today has changed all that much from yesterday. All I know is that I was looking at my works in progress and felt a heavy sigh because while I love the stories I don't particularly want to go into the dark & twisty.

I'm not saying I want to crack open my funny bone and spill out a romantic comedy - been there, done that, ain't going back - but I want a story that's...kinda...fun. Oh god, that made me a little sick. Okay maybe not fun but not so serious. Not so dark.

Maybe that's my challenge. To write something I normally don't write. I can do that. Right?

*eeek*

Surrounding Myself

This is a solitary business. I've lost touch with a lot of writer friends over the past few years and find myself wanting to be surrounded by writers again. I've found myself clicking old familiar links then doing the math as I contemplate rejoining those writing organizations I left.

It isn't their knowledge I seek (though that is a bonus), it's their company...their energy. I want to talk writing to those who know what the hell I'm talking about. I want to embrace the craft I left to heal. I'm done healing, it's time to emerge from my self-inflicted cocoon. It's time to find my peeps again.

It's time.

Yes.

Out of the Woodwork

It was rather surprising, I must say, when as I lay listening to the hum of the a/c unit and trying to sleep when they prowled to the surface.

Characters from a long long time ago. I'd say 1994-ish. I haven't given them much thought since I abandoned them years ago. Not even when I picked up the old unfinished manuscript to read. Last night though, they reappeared slipping through the cracks of my Dagger Boys and shapeshifters.

It's always a little surreal when that happens. Old, forgotten creations return.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it. I'm mixing up who got who and I'm not sure how long they'll stick around before they become forgotten creations again. But if nothing else I'm writing. Which is the hole point, n'est-ce pas?