(no subject)
I had a very quiet, somewhat productive day today.
Had quite a strong cleaning urge come over me at 7:48 this morning and I cleaned the living room. Then I read some fics as I took a little break. Wrote a bit for a sequel to Not Quite There. It's up to over 10K and I'm quite impressed. But there's still a lot more to come. I don't like posting stories unless they're finished so I don't have to worry if RL interferes, or if the idea fizzles away. Because I tend to go in spurts where I'll write and write for a story, and then I'll leave it for 2-3 weeks feeling absolutely nothing for it. Then, suddenly, I'll open it up and write some more. Sometimes I'll open it, stare at it for two hours, and then close it because nothing comes to me. Not today. Added another 3000 words to it.
It's not an easy story to write. I keep having to go into a part of me that doesn't always want visitors and prefers to remain in its dark place in solitude. But it's coming along and I'm feeling good about it.
Then I tackled the kitchen--it's not done yet. I hate doing dishes. Loathe it with a passion. Because it never ends; there are always dishes to be done. And I have to wash my floor.
I also have to take apart a metal shelving unit with eight shelves. Unload another metal shelf. Put all the stuff onto a wooden shelf and then disassemble that metal shelf. And then find someone to give it to. It's a canning shelf, meant to hold jars of food, eight shelves of it. Pretty cool, but I prefer wood.
And then suddenly the writing bug hit me for something other than the sequel. Of course, I didn't have any focused plan on where it was going. But I began anyway, as I'm wont to do. And it flowed so well, I was in the groove and it was smooth and oily and slide so well from my mind. Then I had to go into work, stayed there for 30 mins, came back and finished it in a relatively similar groove. Now I have to title it. I hate titling things. I mean the gist of the story is smut, that's it. Pure PWP, guys.
And now, my daughter is upstairs blaring her music. I can hear it plain as day in the living room. Her room is directly above the living room, where the computer is.
I'm trying to write some more for the sequel to Not Quite There and I can't concentrate when I've that kind of music pouding thickly through the ceiling and the walls.
I am happy, though, that I got something written for the hd_365 challenge, to be posted tomorrow. Yes, I regularly wait until the last minute to finish projects. But this one came out so easy, slide right out, no lube needed. And I think it's bloody hot and can only hope that it comes out like that as well, and it's not just my own writer's perspective that sees things that might not have made it to the paper/screen. It's as close to romance as I can get.
I feel accomplished, though I still need to go back into the kitchen.
Had quite a strong cleaning urge come over me at 7:48 this morning and I cleaned the living room. Then I read some fics as I took a little break. Wrote a bit for a sequel to Not Quite There. It's up to over 10K and I'm quite impressed. But there's still a lot more to come. I don't like posting stories unless they're finished so I don't have to worry if RL interferes, or if the idea fizzles away. Because I tend to go in spurts where I'll write and write for a story, and then I'll leave it for 2-3 weeks feeling absolutely nothing for it. Then, suddenly, I'll open it up and write some more. Sometimes I'll open it, stare at it for two hours, and then close it because nothing comes to me. Not today. Added another 3000 words to it.
It's not an easy story to write. I keep having to go into a part of me that doesn't always want visitors and prefers to remain in its dark place in solitude. But it's coming along and I'm feeling good about it.
Then I tackled the kitchen--it's not done yet. I hate doing dishes. Loathe it with a passion. Because it never ends; there are always dishes to be done. And I have to wash my floor.
I also have to take apart a metal shelving unit with eight shelves. Unload another metal shelf. Put all the stuff onto a wooden shelf and then disassemble that metal shelf. And then find someone to give it to. It's a canning shelf, meant to hold jars of food, eight shelves of it. Pretty cool, but I prefer wood.
And then suddenly the writing bug hit me for something other than the sequel. Of course, I didn't have any focused plan on where it was going. But I began anyway, as I'm wont to do. And it flowed so well, I was in the groove and it was smooth and oily and slide so well from my mind. Then I had to go into work, stayed there for 30 mins, came back and finished it in a relatively similar groove. Now I have to title it. I hate titling things. I mean the gist of the story is smut, that's it. Pure PWP, guys.
And now, my daughter is upstairs blaring her music. I can hear it plain as day in the living room. Her room is directly above the living room, where the computer is.
I'm trying to write some more for the sequel to Not Quite There and I can't concentrate when I've that kind of music pouding thickly through the ceiling and the walls.
I am happy, though, that I got something written for the hd_365 challenge, to be posted tomorrow. Yes, I regularly wait until the last minute to finish projects. But this one came out so easy, slide right out, no lube needed. And I think it's bloody hot and can only hope that it comes out like that as well, and it's not just my own writer's perspective that sees things that might not have made it to the paper/screen. It's as close to romance as I can get.
I feel accomplished, though I still need to go back into the kitchen.