too much.
One of the reasons i have trouble writing in here regularly anymore is because I feel like I have too much to say all at once. Part of that is due to ye olde information overload we live in now. It's hard to focus on one thing. Giving short summaries and lists of what I've been experiencing lacks any of the narrative joy I used to experience, and also cheapens the craft.
But here's something, because these are things I need to record now.
I have recently begun writing fiction again. It's fanfic, admittedly, but with my internal distress being so painful I can't even really write it down anywhere, my fixation has turned to cartoons and ideology... so it's easier to allow my emotional lability to interface with those externals more than my own disappointments and joys. Which isn't to say I don't think about myself, as I always have. I just can't let it manifest with the same freeness that I once did. I love emotions and interpersonal dynamics more than anything, so it's a pain to have so much trouble... reaching myself. Nonetheless, I've begun writing fiction with greater ease than before, and better Writing Hygiene. Less going back to self-correct, more ideas on paper. Less planning and presumption, more immersion in the material itself, and what "feels" right. It's interesting to realize how I've matured. And it's interesting to contemplate my influences.
I am almost done with the worst illness of my adult life. I had fevers up to nearly 105 (104.8) for over two days, among other unsavory symptoms. I haven't eaten a full meal of solid food in like six days. Fevers are controlled, other symptoms no longer feel like they might kill me, but have not abated.
I need to get around to writing about how much physical therapy is making me miserable.
This entry was originally posted at http://skellaxinscruples.dreamwidth.org/11150.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
But here's something, because these are things I need to record now.
I have recently begun writing fiction again. It's fanfic, admittedly, but with my internal distress being so painful I can't even really write it down anywhere, my fixation has turned to cartoons and ideology... so it's easier to allow my emotional lability to interface with those externals more than my own disappointments and joys. Which isn't to say I don't think about myself, as I always have. I just can't let it manifest with the same freeness that I once did. I love emotions and interpersonal dynamics more than anything, so it's a pain to have so much trouble... reaching myself. Nonetheless, I've begun writing fiction with greater ease than before, and better Writing Hygiene. Less going back to self-correct, more ideas on paper. Less planning and presumption, more immersion in the material itself, and what "feels" right. It's interesting to realize how I've matured. And it's interesting to contemplate my influences.
I am almost done with the worst illness of my adult life. I had fevers up to nearly 105 (104.8) for over two days, among other unsavory symptoms. I haven't eaten a full meal of solid food in like six days. Fevers are controlled, other symptoms no longer feel like they might kill me, but have not abated.
I need to get around to writing about how much physical therapy is making me miserable.
This entry was originally posted at http://skellaxinscruples.dreamwidth.org/11150.html. Please comment there using OpenID.