Top.Mail.Ru
? ?
bear by san

December 2021

S M T W T F S
   1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
262728293031 

Tags

Powered by LiveJournal.com
writing gorey earbrass conscious but ver

morning has broken like the first morning.

The slouch to awareness today is slow. I did sleep well last night--well enough that my first alarm woke me up out of REM, which almost never happens, so I even remember bits of an interesting dream involving being on the ground crew of a volcano-assisted space launch, and then trying to escape (remember the philfoglio cartoon from back in the day, about the minigame entitled Escape from Cthulhu? Yeah, just like that. Only with a volcano.). I almost never remember my dreams. In fact, I mention it here every time I do remember one.

And then I slept until 8, which also almost never happens. But apparently I needed it.

I blame the Greg Bear book I'm reading, which has a lot of explosions but no volcanoes (so far). Apparently my brain needed to one-up him. I'm trying to explain to it that this is one fight it's never going to win.

Spring is springing out there. It's sunny and beautiful, and a balmy 49 degrees, nonsensical American system. (This is not particularly balmy, for those of you who use the other system with the boiling water and stuff.)

There's no sign yet that my brain is regenerating. I expect that means that today will be another day of wandering aimlessly around the house forgetting cups of tea to cool in various neglected corners. For example, I've been meaning to listen to Morning Edition for an hour now, and also get some food in me, and it hasn't happened yet. The tea did get made, though, on the third attempt.

That's one thing they don't warn you about with regard to the Itinerant Novelist thing. You remember what the week or two after finals was like, when you were in school? Where your brain just stopped functioning? Yeah. Writing as a career means intentionally putting myself in that state of brain-scrapedy about three or four times a year.

At least I'm starting to accept that I'm useless for a week or three, and plan for it.

And now maybe I can get some food in me before I get distracted again.

What was I doing?

Comments

I'm so glad for you that you're back in a house so that you can leave cups of tea to cool in various neglected corners...
My mother would leave half-finished cups of tea around the house. This is how we discovered that the cat liked cold tea.
I still haven't decided if it was better for me to go into that writer state before or after I got married. Beforehand, I used to boil water from neglect, but at least no one was around to see me screw up. Nowadays, I feel guilty for unplugging from reality long enough to drop into Ideaspace and try to get work done, leaving Dawn to pick up after me. I have trouble imagining how much worse it will be if I ever do get published and set sail for the far shore

Fortunately, this isn't an immediate concern, as TOR has turned BRIDE down: Back to the rewrites.

Lee.
49F is perfectly balmy especially if the day before was below freezing. It's all relative anyway. ;-)
I can't wait to see what you do next.

And thank you so much for the reminder that this state of brain-slug is part of the process... I'm in my second week out of corporate America and starting to fizz at not having written even a short story yet. Useless, not-yet regenerated brain is part of the reboot.
"That's one thing they don't warn you about with regard to the Itinerant Novelist thing. You remember what the week or two after finals was like, when you were in school? Where your brain just stopped functioning? Yeah. Writing as a career means intentionally putting myself in that state of brain-scrapedy about three or four times a year."

Gee thanks.. thats a wonderful image to stick in someone's head.

And only 3 or 4 times a year. Are they very long 3 or 4 times a year?

Except, they did tell me about the brain scrapety -- I grew up on Amphigorey and knew Mr. Earbrass's career inside and out. I was quite pleased to grow up and discover that Gorey got it all exactly right.

What "they" didn't tell me was that you get that way after finals. Wasn't prepared for that.

---L.
Nobody warned me about the finals, either....
bavarian babushkas

Gee, thanks, Bear. Now I have Kate Bush singing in an awfully fake German accent in my head. 0.o

And I did somehow remember to thank Jonathan when I briefly saw him at the 'Con. His response was something* along the lines of "Bear's cool and it's a great story."

(*)In that general ballpark anyhow. It was days ago and in the middle of a Con. Mr Brain didn't attend nearly as much of the convention as the rest of me did.
Being at a convention is a lot like being drunk, I find.
That's one thing they don't warn you about with regard to the Itinerant Novelist thing. You remember what the week or two after finals was like, when you were in school? Where your brain just stopped functioning? Yeah. Writing as a career means intentionally putting myself in that state of brain-scrapedy about three or four times a year.

Eeeeewwww. Exams hurt. (Having to move right afterwards only adds insult to injury.)

I don't get the week-or-two postpartum depression, but I definitely spend a couple days after finishing a big coding project staring at my desktop wallpaper and doing anything that's not the next big project on my docket. (Sometimes this backfires -- last time the "anything that's not the next big project on my docket" turned into... the next big project on my docket.) Do professions not writing or coding avoid this experience?

temperature systems

Fahrenheit may be nonsensical, but at least it's a system. I seem to have ended up thinking of warm temps in F only and cold temps in C only, and not having any idea what to do with the in between temps we have now. Makes me feel so very clever indeed.