|Posted by [email protected] on May 15, 2014 at 12:50 AM|
Writing is sometimes a comical, torturous thing. A weird and twisted exercise. Such a buzz getting new ideas, naming characters, world building--we're all aglow. *type*type*happness*type*
And the next day....
We're trying to drag the Muse out of her beachside hammock, pry the booze-filled coconut shell from her hand, chain her reluctant ass to the chair and prepare to spew massive quantities of prose onto the writing screen. Where's the glow? Why the fight? It's a GREAT story! *sigh*
We love it. We dread it. We're challenged by it. Chastened. Exhuberant. Despairing. And that's just in the first five minutes.
I had a great writing day yesterday. Made a double goal--word count and finished a chapter. Plus, I'm wriing about ghosts, and reluctant psychics, and hot sexy men. Aaaah... there's that glow. *ehem*
And yet today I'm more this:
Writing is a fickle pursuit. I love it so.