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Just a few thoughts, I guess, because it's after the holiday and I'm feeling reflective, and somewhat less than pleased with myself. Well, my body.
I've been recovering from massive health challenges for roughly five years. I've also been writing very little during that time despite all the stories in my head. And the only reason I still have a job despite not applying for FMLA is that I have a super understanding boss who sees value in the work I do.
That said, I'm sitting here today with no excuse to not being trying to move stuff in, and I'm... recovering. I'm not putting together the poetry anthologies I'm giving as gifts this holiday season or writing the cards I've already bought for those I'm sending to. I'm not writing my Yuletide exchange fic or my Marvel is Marvel exchange fic, and I love both canons I offered but feel listless trying to do canon review.
I have stories in my head and I tried to dig deeper into them to write this November, and while I made more progress than I have in the last year, that was very little progress at all. I have been writing poetry, but that's like this, the spilling of my thoughts and feelings rather directly, and they're mostly tiny little things instead of the longer poems I know I'm capable of.
More interestingly to me, I started this November with the goal to write Collateral Damage, a story about healing and damage. I ended up obsessed with a side story about... recovery. A character who opts out of the other book to go deal with her own past and the person she's been that she loathes the most, trying to figure out how to stop being all the things she hated and how to stop wanting a battle to fight.
I like how this world keeps coughing up more and more to keep me fully engaged and interested but at some point I need to figure out how to write fast enough to get one story down and move on to the next, rather than having so many floating around unwritten. The universe is almost too big now and I don't even care. I love these characters so much. I've been rather hampered by my difficulty with writing actual plot rather than series of character moments, but that can be fixed, right? Just write. Just write stuff down.
Now if those bits and pieces would just come together into books, I'd be really getting somewhere. And if I could just get my moving in done and my laundry put away instead of piled up neatly in a chair I used to like to sit in before I turned it into a makeshift laundry table every time I'm not feeling up to it, and if I could finish some of these bug audits that keep dragging out so long while I work operational support in the busy season at work...
I'm grateful, I am. I'm alive. I have friends. I have loving family. I have cause for joy. And yet... I'm still recovering. Some day I'd really like to feel healed.
I've been recovering from massive health challenges for roughly five years. I've also been writing very little during that time despite all the stories in my head. And the only reason I still have a job despite not applying for FMLA is that I have a super understanding boss who sees value in the work I do.
That said, I'm sitting here today with no excuse to not being trying to move stuff in, and I'm... recovering. I'm not putting together the poetry anthologies I'm giving as gifts this holiday season or writing the cards I've already bought for those I'm sending to. I'm not writing my Yuletide exchange fic or my Marvel is Marvel exchange fic, and I love both canons I offered but feel listless trying to do canon review.
I have stories in my head and I tried to dig deeper into them to write this November, and while I made more progress than I have in the last year, that was very little progress at all. I have been writing poetry, but that's like this, the spilling of my thoughts and feelings rather directly, and they're mostly tiny little things instead of the longer poems I know I'm capable of.
More interestingly to me, I started this November with the goal to write Collateral Damage, a story about healing and damage. I ended up obsessed with a side story about... recovery. A character who opts out of the other book to go deal with her own past and the person she's been that she loathes the most, trying to figure out how to stop being all the things she hated and how to stop wanting a battle to fight.
I like how this world keeps coughing up more and more to keep me fully engaged and interested but at some point I need to figure out how to write fast enough to get one story down and move on to the next, rather than having so many floating around unwritten. The universe is almost too big now and I don't even care. I love these characters so much. I've been rather hampered by my difficulty with writing actual plot rather than series of character moments, but that can be fixed, right? Just write. Just write stuff down.
Now if those bits and pieces would just come together into books, I'd be really getting somewhere. And if I could just get my moving in done and my laundry put away instead of piled up neatly in a chair I used to like to sit in before I turned it into a makeshift laundry table every time I'm not feeling up to it, and if I could finish some of these bug audits that keep dragging out so long while I work operational support in the busy season at work...
I'm grateful, I am. I'm alive. I have friends. I have loving family. I have cause for joy. And yet... I'm still recovering. Some day I'd really like to feel healed.
