(no subject)
Aug. 14th, 2017 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ravenI am tired and wound up about my book, which seems to be my default state of being at present. (The book is now necessarily modified, "the stupid book", "the thrice-damned book", "the bloody book", "the book that I HATE and is DREADFUL and the BANE OF MY LIFE" etc.) Part of it is that my confidence as a writer has been significantly dented as everything else in my life has been, recently: I also don't think much of self as lawyer, friend, etc., and I'm working on it. (I am doing much, much better than I was. I'm very grateful. But piecing one's life back together turns out to take time.)
I'm also not doing well with reasonable self-care related to the book, which I should, because finishing the version that went on agent submission - in a several-month, every-spare-minute sprint - was what precipitated my last visit to the bottom of the well. (Perfectly nice as wells go, but not one to revisit.) But I keep wanting to just finish it and get it over and winding myself up in the process. And of course I'm aware that I have read it approx fourteen thousand times over the last two and a half years and naturally I'm seeing nothing but flaws? And perhaps other people might not think it is the worst thing ever committed to paper? In my more rational moments I think this. And yet, oh my god, I hate this book. I want to bundle it up and throw it into aforesaid well and write SOMETHING ELSE. It never gets less ridiculous. I spent four days trying to think of a 1940s-appropriate preferably-funny insult? And it had to be two syllables because otherwise the sentence wouldn't scan? And thentau_sigma suggested "strumpet", because she's a perfect human? And all of that hungama was about literally one word? etc.
Etc. Two months ago I was about as a far from a clean, well-lighted place as I could be. And now I'm not, but nothing terrible will happen if I don't finish this book soon. (Or ever? Like, it would be sub-optimal after two and half years, but I'm not writing Hamlet here.) And nothing terrible will happen if it's not as good as I wanted it to be. And nothing terrible will happen if I do it in ten-minute, 100-word chunks. This is quite a rubbish pep talk but there you are, it's what I've got, and it's better than the alternative.
In other news: I'm enjoying being back out in the world. I'm enjoying seeing friends and going for walks and learning to love this city again. I miss my legal practice and my Gaelic. I'm looking forward to returning to both in the autumn; I'm ready for the new terms and the start of the year.
I'm also not doing well with reasonable self-care related to the book, which I should, because finishing the version that went on agent submission - in a several-month, every-spare-minute sprint - was what precipitated my last visit to the bottom of the well. (Perfectly nice as wells go, but not one to revisit.) But I keep wanting to just finish it and get it over and winding myself up in the process. And of course I'm aware that I have read it approx fourteen thousand times over the last two and a half years and naturally I'm seeing nothing but flaws? And perhaps other people might not think it is the worst thing ever committed to paper? In my more rational moments I think this. And yet, oh my god, I hate this book. I want to bundle it up and throw it into aforesaid well and write SOMETHING ELSE. It never gets less ridiculous. I spent four days trying to think of a 1940s-appropriate preferably-funny insult? And it had to be two syllables because otherwise the sentence wouldn't scan? And then
tau_sigma suggested "strumpet", because she's a perfect human? And all of that hungama was about literally one word? etc. Etc. Two months ago I was about as a far from a clean, well-lighted place as I could be. And now I'm not, but nothing terrible will happen if I don't finish this book soon. (Or ever? Like, it would be sub-optimal after two and half years, but I'm not writing Hamlet here.) And nothing terrible will happen if it's not as good as I wanted it to be. And nothing terrible will happen if I do it in ten-minute, 100-word chunks. This is quite a rubbish pep talk but there you are, it's what I've got, and it's better than the alternative.
In other news: I'm enjoying being back out in the world. I'm enjoying seeing friends and going for walks and learning to love this city again. I miss my legal practice and my Gaelic. I'm looking forward to returning to both in the autumn; I'm ready for the new terms and the start of the year.
no subject
on 2017-08-15 12:35 am (UTC)no subject
on 2017-08-15 08:45 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2017-08-15 02:12 am (UTC)always find me in the driftoften find me on hangouts.no subject
on 2017-08-15 08:45 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2017-08-15 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
on 2017-08-20 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2017-08-15 04:45 am (UTC)I have one more assignment and one more exam for my OU degree, which has definitely been attracting modifiers for the last few months. I am very ready to Have Done it and very impatient with the actual doing of it.
no subject
on 2017-08-20 09:09 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2017-08-15 06:09 am (UTC)And yet, oh my god, I hate this book. I want to bundle it up and throw it into aforesaid well and write SOMETHING ELSE.
Not that it's much of a comparison, but I've got 50K of fic to edit and I swear I feel like I've been chewing the same piece of gum for a year, and I'll cry if I have to put it in my mouth again. A novel must be so much worse. So much chewing.
no subject
on 2017-08-20 09:08 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2017-08-15 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2017-08-15 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2017-08-18 10:20 am (UTC)no subject
on 2017-08-19 02:12 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2017-08-20 09:08 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2017-08-21 03:22 am (UTC)