Deb, long and probably rambling response backflung.
The Great Write Way, Chapter Two: Twice upon a time...
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
Ugh. I just wrote most of a chapter, and realized it's so slowly paced it's boring even to me.
So much for an afternoon of work. I seem not to be in a "creating sexual mood" at all.
So much for an afternoon of work
I'm pounding away at a few tweaks to Cruel Sister. Jenn and I agreed I can just send it straight on to Ruth, which gives me time, but I want it done and gone and off my desk and on its way.
It's due November 1, right?
Me, too, actually. I wish I was at the "just tweaking" stage instead of pulling this novella out of my ass whole. One day I will get to the bottom of my deadline psychosis.
Nope - due 15 November.
Fucking Farrowen will not let me use both hands to type. Bad time for that.
Yeah, you're way ahead of schedule.
Damn you, I say with affection.
Getting it off your desk will free up time for London Calling, though, I agree, and you know I'm all for that.
What I want - seriously - is a few days of zero stress.
Well, that, and for Lyssa to buy the Kinkaid Chronicles and fall at their feet and adore them.
I want my agent to be wrong about a few things, damn it. And that is NOT the way it should be.
Need to pack and finish laundry and go mail a quarterly health insurance cheque ($1604.70, OUCH).
What I want - seriously - is a few days of zero stress.
Those days happen all too rarely in my world. And a big-ass OUCH to the health insurance check, indeed.
This is seriously infuriating.
I wanted to work on London Calling today. Instead, two hours behind on packing and errands, no shower yet, forget the hair colour and the manicure I wanted to get done for the trip, need to come back and do more on Cruel Sister instead....
GAH.
Taking a break from Cruel Sister to drabble.
Overlay
ab•re•ac•tion: release of emotional tension through recalling a repressed traumatic experience.
Is love traumatic? I don't know. It was certainly an experience, and emotional tension, well, now. I do know that the "release" part of this definition is horseshit. I've released nothing.
Maybe I need a different word, like Lillian Hellman's pentimento: peeling away top layer to reveal what's beneath. Old paint, pictures that scar the heart.
Or maybe there's a word I don't know, definition: past and present converge, until one is as vital and real as the other.
This is where I live. And the present?
Masks nothing.