Just a come-on from the whores on Seventh Avenue
|One of the chief reasons for keeping a blog is to get stuff out of my system, so you'll just have to ignore me while I get all self-indulgent and not for the first time.|
In fairness, I am more tired than usual. I had a good ten hours sleep, but if felt more like two. Also I had run out of Earl Grey Teabags. In fact, horror or horrors, I can no longer get Tesco's Finest Earl Grey Teabags on-line. These are the best Earl Grey Teabags ever. They make Twinings taste like Co-Op Red Label. I have still have some Rose Pouchong Teabags left, but I think I'm more addicted to the Bergamot than the caffeine.
Anyway, the big issue isn't fatigue. I've had a couple of days solid writing (such as I ever manage anything solidly) and already my confidence is sinking. I get frustrated and my characters start swearing at each other and at me. Even now, so late in the day, one of them just did something completely unexpected. I was so angry with him, but really it does make sense and elliminates what was really a rather clumsy chain of events.
I also start worrying about all kinds of little things which become much bigger. Like for example, I have my token crip and I start to worry in one chapter about the response of another character to his crippiness; is that too strong? Is that too weak? Then I begin to worry about my entire presentation of disability, if entirely incidental to the plot. Then I begin to worry about all my characters generally and the plot and my ability to use the English language. And the whole thing gets quickly out of control.
Once one little demon gets in, he opens the door to a slightly larger demon who in turn can open the door to even bigger ones and so on. Pretty soon my head is full of demons (see right).
After all, I've never done anything my whole life.
What kind of statement is that? Oh God, I really ought to get myself some coffee or something. But it does take a lot of getting over, this whole void of achievement and despite my having sailed through the recent anniversary of my being ill, I am now thinking, "Shit, I'll be 25 in three months and three weeks time and I haven't achieved anything yet. I've never had a job. I've still only got three GCSEs to my name."
It is probably just today. Trouble is, I was just going to write, "and anyway, I'll probably have finished my book before my birthday" but given my past history of unmet deadlines I really ought to stop saying stuff like that.
I'll shut up now.
Labels: General Nonsense