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I took the What Mythological Creature Are you? test by
peacefulchaos !

Another Afternoon

Ana is sick again, and I'm keeping her home today. I have a doctor's appointment set up for later today, just in case she seems to still be in bad shape. She's been much happier today, but she's still tired and she won't eat.

I finally sent my request off to Ave, asking her to consider drawing some of my main characters and maybe some cover art, too. I think it would help keep my mind on track. Although, every time I look at the pictures of Eiri Yuki on my wall, I think of Aithne, and feel the pain of loving a fictional character all over again.

Gahh! It's so frustrating! And I don't really want to work on the story again until I have a computer to work on regularly. After the previous frustration of finding out that months of handwritten material was practically useless (from all of my screw-ups), that I haven't done much actual *writing* of the story since November.

Of course, I have been re-organizing, I'm placing sections of language and slang in their own notebooks, I've got a long outline of the main storyline up on my wall . . . I'm doing everything BUT writing the damned story! ::laughs:: I did get the rough draft of the intro out of the way, but I look up into Eiri's eyes, and I feel so unworthy to be writing about Aithne, Eila, and the rest of them. At this rate, The Taking of Eila Corbin may not take off, it's somewhat timely since our timeline happens not too far from 2000.

I need someone to whip me along, forcing me to pour out what I know is in me . . . somewhere DEEP in me . . . When I tap into that well I can create magnificence, but lately, it's drudgery, trying to get through part two of a book I find so painful. But it HAS TO GET OUT! The following books we have ideas/plans for are so wonderful, but it doesn't do me any good to try to write them until I have the first one out and over with. I have to make sure my continuity checks don't bounce.

And, ohhh . . . I think pretty-Raoul has a LiveJournal account, but I'm waiting for an e-mail response before I can confirm it. Mmmm . . . he's so "tasty" (as Roy would say), and I loved each and every time I got to nuzzle/snuggle him. I wish I weren't so damned afraid of Canthe? Is he still even with her? ::reality slap:: Oh, yeah, Ana . . . like I have time to be that social right now, anyway. Phooey! Ah, but the thoughts keep coming . . . ::purrs::

Yes, Mom, I do need to get laid! Got anyone in mind? I mean, besides the pretty boys in Germany and Monaco you keep mentioning, anyone in say, the greater Seattle area? ::wink, wink, nudge, nudge:: Promise, I won't hurt them . . . much. ::smirks:: I don't think I could remember to be gentle at this point. ::giggles::

Somehow, I don't feel like I've said what I really must, and yet I'm not sure what it is. Everything above feels so trite right now, and I'm feeling jittery. Wonder why. ::shrugs:: If my throat didn't hurt right now I might go meditate and find out, but, blah! I keep swinging from powerful goddess mode to confused mortal, from shinging bright within my centre to worthless obsessive freak. Maybe I should take Eiri Yuki's picture down from my relationship corner. I find myself looking up and feeling totally worthless. God, but that's insanity! I'm worried what the picture of fictional character thinks of me! ::shakes head:: I can't wait for Ana to wake up, I could use the hug . . .

And no, I'm not depressed, just . . . wandering around in my thoughts and emotions, trying to find my balance.

Squeak, squeak, squak

Well, I just got my hug . . . ::sighs:: A certain little Squeaker, caming (literally) squeaking into this room (she insisted on sleeping with her squeaky shoes on). She's wearing a pale pink onsie, a hot pink scarf, her dark blue mittens, and her white and red Hello Kitty shoes. I've talked to her about her fashion statements, and though I make suggestions for a different combination of clothing, she coordinates the way she wants to sometimes. Silly baby. ::smiles::

I shouldn't put myself down too much... I may not have been working on *the* story, but I'm two-thirds of the way through on the Hotel California story. I just have to work out an ending that makes sense . . . and isn't too cliche. Hmm . . . endings are such a bitch! But I'll get through it, really. I knew I could do it when I wrote a short story (beginning, middle AND end) and sent it into a contest. No, I didn't win, but I FINISHED THE STORY. That's the important part. We'll look right past the fact that the Stranger's editorial staff loved my story but still didn't choose it. Why? Not for me to question. But if you'd like to write letters of protest, feel free. ::smiles wickedly::

Why are we put here, filled with all of these stories and ideas, and then find our writing implements (namely our brains) broken and lacking in the connections needed to take what's inside and present it to the world exactly as we envision it? I feel the same way about my drawing, my dancing. Is it just me? I mean, there's a reason writers are driven to drink and use drugs, right?

It's all words, all meaningless, so why the persistent push to write? Maybe some of us don't want to worship at the altar of words, and yet I feel myself being made to kneel, to light the incense, to pray to the holy gods of language. Bah! I feel like such a Tomfool! Where's Enaen when you need him?