I am a perverse writer
It’s finals time here at library school. I have one giant final project due Monday and another giant final project due after that, but all I want to do is write write write. I rarely want to write when I actually have the time to do it, but for the past week (during which time I was also working on a third final project, completed on Wednesday) I have been feeling the writing itch as I rarely have in the past. I want to finish revising a story that’s been bothering me (and that I think I finally figured out how to fix!), I have a brand new story idea that I’m quite excited about, and I keep being bombarded with novel ideas. How perverse is that? I’ve never really wanted to write a novel before-the idea of all the necessary research and planning fills me with horror. This is a very bad time for me to want to write anything other than final project write-ups, really. But I keep having ideas for characters and premises and little details like an embroidered white leather eye patch worn by a one-eyed woman. (I never have ideas for plots. Never ever. Plot is always the most agonizing part of writing for me. Even more so than endings.)
Hopefully this overabundance of inspiration will stick around for another few weeks so I can utilize it over my all-too-brief winter break.
How weird would it be if I actually started working on a novel? (Answer: Really, really weird.)
Originally published at ElenaGleason.com. You can comment here or there.