(no subject)
Today's plans:
+ trim hair
+ dye hair
+ draw new avatar
+ research & plotting
Today's achievements:
+ trim hair
+ dye hair
+ post-apocalyptic mori waistcoat thing, shorts with mesh side panels, underwear, progress towards fixing canvas shorts, progress towards modular t-shirt thing.
+ long conversation with boyfriend about how much I am not enjoying all the parts of writing that are not writing itself; set off by the desperate need to work out if anyone could actually HEAR ME AT ALL when I mentioned having problems with this (basically, I cannot handle the amount of research I need to do and keep drowning in both it and the constant inner monologue that I am going to horrifically offend everyone with what I am writing, which has partnered up with continual anxiety over being unable to edit or publish NBO because the person who is going to tell me whether I have fucked up all the science/HPA bits is both busy and bad at communicating, and asking for things/mentioning things and never getting a response + not knowing when something is going to happen + having to leave something with someone else when I am ultimately responsible for it ALL MASSIVELY SET OFF STRESS FOR ME TO A DISPROPORTIONATE DEGREE so I am slowly going ABSOLUTELY FUCKING CRAZY about this). Whenever I mentioned, alluded to, or outright broke down about this anywhere on social media or EVEN TO PEOPLE'S FACES recently they've completely avoided saying anything, even so much as acknowledging the contents of what I was saying. Linds, on the other hand, has form with "this hobby I care about a lot is becoming extremely unfun and stressful" and reminded me that if I am putting in a disproportionate amount of effort into something for virtually no reward (nothing I have written has sold as many copies as I have Facebook friends, and I am not exactly wildly popular on Facebook; almost 10% of the people who HAVE bought things have ever said anything about them, etc, etc), then what I should be doing with this thing that is never going to make me money (especially as no amount of enthusiasm on the part of people who DO try to promote stuff for me, god bless them, nor increased effort and improvement in quality on my part, make ANY DIFFERENCE TO SALES OR INTEREST EXPRESSED) is to concentrate on the parts that I actually DO enjoy, ie, the writing.
We returned to the "desert island" argument: if you were alone on a desert island, would you still write? Yes, I said. But I wouldn't edit, and I wouldn't plot, because the only person I would be writing for would be me.
Having reached the conclusion that today, when I had too much damn shoulder pain to do any exercise and was too tired to do anything and too fucking stressed to concentrate, I wasn't going to be doing any research (I can't even do my usual "talk to people with my mouth about the book" thing because, IDK, I still don't feel like this idea has captured anyone's imagination as much as it has mine). So I made some stuff, clotheswise, and have written today off.
I will now be consumed by guilt and try to exorcise it by claiming I'm never writing anything again anyway. Maybe I could just release my entire backcatalogue as is, call it a day, and go live in a minimalist mansion full of bears.
+ trim hair
+ dye hair
+ draw new avatar
+ research & plotting
Today's achievements:
+ trim hair
+ dye hair
+ post-apocalyptic mori waistcoat thing, shorts with mesh side panels, underwear, progress towards fixing canvas shorts, progress towards modular t-shirt thing.
+ long conversation with boyfriend about how much I am not enjoying all the parts of writing that are not writing itself; set off by the desperate need to work out if anyone could actually HEAR ME AT ALL when I mentioned having problems with this (basically, I cannot handle the amount of research I need to do and keep drowning in both it and the constant inner monologue that I am going to horrifically offend everyone with what I am writing, which has partnered up with continual anxiety over being unable to edit or publish NBO because the person who is going to tell me whether I have fucked up all the science/HPA bits is both busy and bad at communicating, and asking for things/mentioning things and never getting a response + not knowing when something is going to happen + having to leave something with someone else when I am ultimately responsible for it ALL MASSIVELY SET OFF STRESS FOR ME TO A DISPROPORTIONATE DEGREE so I am slowly going ABSOLUTELY FUCKING CRAZY about this). Whenever I mentioned, alluded to, or outright broke down about this anywhere on social media or EVEN TO PEOPLE'S FACES recently they've completely avoided saying anything, even so much as acknowledging the contents of what I was saying. Linds, on the other hand, has form with "this hobby I care about a lot is becoming extremely unfun and stressful" and reminded me that if I am putting in a disproportionate amount of effort into something for virtually no reward (nothing I have written has sold as many copies as I have Facebook friends, and I am not exactly wildly popular on Facebook; almost 10% of the people who HAVE bought things have ever said anything about them, etc, etc), then what I should be doing with this thing that is never going to make me money (especially as no amount of enthusiasm on the part of people who DO try to promote stuff for me, god bless them, nor increased effort and improvement in quality on my part, make ANY DIFFERENCE TO SALES OR INTEREST EXPRESSED) is to concentrate on the parts that I actually DO enjoy, ie, the writing.
We returned to the "desert island" argument: if you were alone on a desert island, would you still write? Yes, I said. But I wouldn't edit, and I wouldn't plot, because the only person I would be writing for would be me.
Having reached the conclusion that today, when I had too much damn shoulder pain to do any exercise and was too tired to do anything and too fucking stressed to concentrate, I wasn't going to be doing any research (I can't even do my usual "talk to people with my mouth about the book" thing because, IDK, I still don't feel like this idea has captured anyone's imagination as much as it has mine). So I made some stuff, clotheswise, and have written today off.
I will now be consumed by guilt and try to exorcise it by claiming I'm never writing anything again anyway. Maybe I could just release my entire backcatalogue as is, call it a day, and go live in a minimalist mansion full of bears.