Distracto-piece Theatre

Welcome to a blog in which I continue to avoid working on a fiction project because my brain just starts screaming whenever I consider picking it up. Why? *shrugs* Who knows? I was informed yesterday by a younger family member that I was no longer allowed to blame anything on the pandemic...so let's just say my writing schedule has been thrown off by rain, heat, and the general desire of my brain to go on periodic screaming jags.

Change of seasons are always tricky for me--what I want to work on varies with my ability to enjoy reading and writing outside and whether we're trying to cram activities into less-hot parts of the day and so I've been feeling the pull of different projects to begin with. Then the rains came. I have a dog who gets shaking and trembling nervous when the thunder begins. We're not in a flood zone but he also objects to going outside when it's wet. So he's under the desk right now, panting. And my brain is taking a deeeeeeeeep breath.

What I need is a good, physical book on writing the fantastic so I can be "on task" and curled up with the dog.

And that's the distraction for the day! Not as productive as laundry but more pup-friendly.

-- Chrissa

Comments

Once Upon a Future Past

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #204 . It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening ran behind me dragons, demons, and the sleeping world; afraid to turn, to wake me. Power needs its horror stories, its ghosts. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening followed close; a fantasy of goodness, where the gold is always covering bones. Power needs its fairy tales, its witches. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening treads my hem, like an army from the dragon's teeth and all the lies therein. -- Chrissa

On Bad Days

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #186 . Sorry. Probably best to skip this one. On bad days I argue with the void: it is empty; I call it full of nothing made pathological; therefore it obsesses to possess mass, to be something arguing with the universe but shouting in the mirror black as starlit backdrop, as stars that fall deeper and deeper into time until they drag everything into the void and are empty, wrung out of needing to have an argument and then we look at each other, deep in the black fallen forever of our gaze. I wasn't going to post this week. But that probably doesn't matter...because here is a post. This has been a weird week and, in the midst of much more important things, my NaNo project just [temporarily] self-destructed. There will be a return to that project and I'm already sharpening the knives for it. Just need to let a little off-topic anger abate so that everyone doesn't get flamethrowers and a crazy 80's soundtrack. AAAAAAAAEEEEEIIIIIIIIIII!...

Fearsome by Survival

Sharing today with T he Sunday Muse #189 , where Shay is hosting. Come and read and share a piece! On a web-white, wool-quiet morning I found the girl our stories gave us The one who survived She wore the meadow, carded and sewn Long since burned for field Still, she knew me Her stories named me fierce, feral She might have feared The one who devours Neither of us spoke, patient at morning Breath, warmth, silence Innocent of power We know the stories kill us both We know that we become Fearsome by survival Hello and welcome. It's 67 degrees outside this morning and a warm December weekend might seem like the kind of thing that would prevent me from following through on a plan to hibernate with a good book for the rest of the weekend...but it's the doomscrolling that's run down the charge on my phone that's preventing me from doing that. Also, I may have developed an intolerance to long stretches of quiet during the past year and a half. Anyway. Looking forward to r...

A Weed on The Curb

Search This Blog