Oh, what a wonderful feeling!
I wrote a snippet of fic this evening, scribbled on a paper carrier bag because that was the only paper I had upstairs and if I don't write things down the instant they come to me, they tend to be gone for ever.
I don't know if it'll ever become anything, still less whether I'll ever post it anywhere, but for the record, it's Freddie and Bel from The Hour. And I'd forgotten what a high I get from writing dialogue when it flows almost effortlessly, when it feels like the characters are writing the lines and I'm just transcribing.
And now I want to stay up all night to see whether I can write more of it, and I can't. I have to be up at a reasonable time tomorrow morning to go and make mince pies with my mum. Why does inspiration strike at impossible moments? I suspect it's part of the perversity of life.
PS Hello, flist! Am I back? I really wouldn't have a clue.
.
I don't know if it'll ever become anything, still less whether I'll ever post it anywhere, but for the record, it's Freddie and Bel from The Hour. And I'd forgotten what a high I get from writing dialogue when it flows almost effortlessly, when it feels like the characters are writing the lines and I'm just transcribing.
And now I want to stay up all night to see whether I can write more of it, and I can't. I have to be up at a reasonable time tomorrow morning to go and make mince pies with my mum. Why does inspiration strike at impossible moments? I suspect it's part of the perversity of life.
PS Hello, flist! Am I back? I really wouldn't have a clue.
.