sick season and nanowrimo
H1N1 season! All right! It's now my second time being sick this semester. What happened to my robust immune system? Sickness used to mean throwing up not-nice ingestables, or seasonal allergies. But now I guess I'm one of the herd, with the same vulnerabilities.
Consequences of poor self-maintenance. :/
I'm trying to research for my Early Modern women's autobiography seminar. After every paragraph or so I pause to press my forehead and swear.
I remember saying at some point (in my never-sick past) that being sick was kind of cool, and it puts a twist on everyday life. No, yes. Uncool because it provides an excuse to not leave my apartment all day, which I do occasionally anyway just because. (Need to break that habit...) Yes my daily life has been twisted, since I now don't know where dinner is going to come from (I sure won't be making it), and I wouldn't be able to function at work, so effectually I'm losing $40.
Can't even down some kind of cold coma drug and sleep it off, because this work needs to get itself done'd. But instead of stressing I just want to say fuck it.
Now I'm back to an old thought. When I'm feeling achy for whatever reason, I usually wish for a device that could act like two heated pads pressing simultaneously on one's belly and lower back. Kind of like a warm sandwich, or a hug machine. Right now I could use one of those for my head. Do these exist? If they do, I have no idea how to find them. I don't have anything that could serve the purpose, either.
This November I was hoping to participate in Nanowrimo. Third year knowing about it, and it's the closest I have been to making an attempt. I have a list of events and a scribbled timeline, although the concluding bits really have me stumped. It seems that I can only halfway function as an author. I've got characters, I've got setting, I've got a vague premise for a plotline, but then... nothing. No conclusions.
Maybe my conflicts aren't as defined as they should be. In this case, I'm not sure how I want it to end though. I almost don't want to resolve the characters' issues because it would destroy the original panorama. The characters want to break out of their apathy, but can't transition out of the bleak, shoebox setting they were conceived in.
Does this mean I have weak characters? I really hope this isn't the case, because each one I "conceive" represents a significant emotional investment for me.
Ow. Ow. Ow. Sinus headache?
I guess I need to consider Matilda, Noah, and Amy more carefully.
One of my concerns this time around is to avoid the "Mary Sue" (a term I hate). Self-insertion has been a problem with me very much because my characters have been little explorations of myself. (This is my theory.) But when I try to take myself out of these beings, they start to feel mechanical and soulless. I stop loving them, and they are unrelateable. I hope I can solve this.
I've heard you're supposed to write what you know. If that's the way to go, then, if I want my characters to break free of their funk, first I have to get out of my own. Even if it's just to know what it feels like.
Consequences of poor self-maintenance. :/
I'm trying to research for my Early Modern women's autobiography seminar. After every paragraph or so I pause to press my forehead and swear.
I remember saying at some point (in my never-sick past) that being sick was kind of cool, and it puts a twist on everyday life. No, yes. Uncool because it provides an excuse to not leave my apartment all day, which I do occasionally anyway just because. (Need to break that habit...) Yes my daily life has been twisted, since I now don't know where dinner is going to come from (I sure won't be making it), and I wouldn't be able to function at work, so effectually I'm losing $40.
Can't even down some kind of cold coma drug and sleep it off, because this work needs to get itself done'd. But instead of stressing I just want to say fuck it.
Now I'm back to an old thought. When I'm feeling achy for whatever reason, I usually wish for a device that could act like two heated pads pressing simultaneously on one's belly and lower back. Kind of like a warm sandwich, or a hug machine. Right now I could use one of those for my head. Do these exist? If they do, I have no idea how to find them. I don't have anything that could serve the purpose, either.
This November I was hoping to participate in Nanowrimo. Third year knowing about it, and it's the closest I have been to making an attempt. I have a list of events and a scribbled timeline, although the concluding bits really have me stumped. It seems that I can only halfway function as an author. I've got characters, I've got setting, I've got a vague premise for a plotline, but then... nothing. No conclusions.
Maybe my conflicts aren't as defined as they should be. In this case, I'm not sure how I want it to end though. I almost don't want to resolve the characters' issues because it would destroy the original panorama. The characters want to break out of their apathy, but can't transition out of the bleak, shoebox setting they were conceived in.
Does this mean I have weak characters? I really hope this isn't the case, because each one I "conceive" represents a significant emotional investment for me.
Ow. Ow. Ow. Sinus headache?
I guess I need to consider Matilda, Noah, and Amy more carefully.
One of my concerns this time around is to avoid the "Mary Sue" (a term I hate). Self-insertion has been a problem with me very much because my characters have been little explorations of myself. (This is my theory.) But when I try to take myself out of these beings, they start to feel mechanical and soulless. I stop loving them, and they are unrelateable. I hope I can solve this.
I've heard you're supposed to write what you know. If that's the way to go, then, if I want my characters to break free of their funk, first I have to get out of my own. Even if it's just to know what it feels like.