the things in my head
You know you are losing your touch when:
You write approximately half of a fic you have been trying to write without any success for about a month. You go to bed, and by the next morning have no memory of having done this.
Yeah.
Also? I have been procrastinating about this for quite a while, because I'm sort of worried that if I talk about it too much, I will have to write it, and if I write it, it will EAT MY BRAIN, and tuesday_skyline will disappear into The Black Hole of Banui Where Stories Go To Die. However, Skyline seems to be going strong (too strong! ack! despite the fact that it is still missing a plot), and I really can't procrastinate much longer, or one of these days I'm going to make a reference to the bloody thing and no-one will understand what I mean and think I've gone mental(er).
So, the Story That Ate My Brain. I suppose you've all gathered by now that this is a work of fiction. What you do not know is as follows: Once upon a time there was a copper-haired librarian named Evangeline. In her spare time, and mostly by accident, she hunted vampires. Then there's this whole theorising on the actual nature of vampires, because I can't buy the idea of anything that used to be human being soulless and utterly irredeemable. (Neither can Evangeline. This leads to Interesting Things. I have no idea what they are, though.) This sort of stemmed, in a way, from my frustration with gothic novels and how they're either mocking the cliches and, while being utterly delightful, just don't have enough of that dark-cathedral asethetic I'm craving, or they are stupid and contrived and have teenagers in them and I want to throw things at them. (I haven't read the actual content of most of these, just the summaries and, occasionally, Amazon reviews.) Then the rest of this happened because Evangeline hopped into my brain and attempted mutiny. Apparently, she lives in 1913 or so. She's been rabbiting on about odd things like the dark and...I seem to remember something about brooches or something equally mundane recently. I don't write it down (it's too weird), i.e., I don't remember it. We're going to have a nasty row about this eventually, I'm sure: she'll tell me in biting tones that something tangled up in a long spiel about winter or organising books was Very Important and I ought to have paid attention.
Getting headache. Must go read. (I am aware that the one does not necessarily cure the other.)
P.S.: I could do this for hours. Yes, really.
You write approximately half of a fic you have been trying to write without any success for about a month. You go to bed, and by the next morning have no memory of having done this.
Yeah.
Also? I have been procrastinating about this for quite a while, because I'm sort of worried that if I talk about it too much, I will have to write it, and if I write it, it will EAT MY BRAIN, and tuesday_skyline will disappear into The Black Hole of Banui Where Stories Go To Die. However, Skyline seems to be going strong (too strong! ack! despite the fact that it is still missing a plot), and I really can't procrastinate much longer, or one of these days I'm going to make a reference to the bloody thing and no-one will understand what I mean and think I've gone mental(er).
So, the Story That Ate My Brain. I suppose you've all gathered by now that this is a work of fiction. What you do not know is as follows: Once upon a time there was a copper-haired librarian named Evangeline. In her spare time, and mostly by accident, she hunted vampires. Then there's this whole theorising on the actual nature of vampires, because I can't buy the idea of anything that used to be human being soulless and utterly irredeemable. (Neither can Evangeline. This leads to Interesting Things. I have no idea what they are, though.) This sort of stemmed, in a way, from my frustration with gothic novels and how they're either mocking the cliches and, while being utterly delightful, just don't have enough of that dark-cathedral asethetic I'm craving, or they are stupid and contrived and have teenagers in them and I want to throw things at them. (I haven't read the actual content of most of these, just the summaries and, occasionally, Amazon reviews.) Then the rest of this happened because Evangeline hopped into my brain and attempted mutiny. Apparently, she lives in 1913 or so. She's been rabbiting on about odd things like the dark and...I seem to remember something about brooches or something equally mundane recently. I don't write it down (it's too weird), i.e., I don't remember it. We're going to have a nasty row about this eventually, I'm sure: she'll tell me in biting tones that something tangled up in a long spiel about winter or organising books was Very Important and I ought to have paid attention.
Getting headache. Must go read. (I am aware that the one does not necessarily cure the other.)
P.S.: I could do this for hours. Yes, really.