I had a poem...

...but I misplaced it. Really. I have no clue where it went.

I feel awful for neglecting this space, but frankly, I haven't been writing much of late. Between the stress of preparing to move and malware infections from the depths of the internet hells and life in general, I've kind of had all the creative goodness sucked out of me. Admittedly, a fair portion of my creativeness has been taking a detour through fanfiction, but even that has been difficult to do over the past month--month!--since I posted last. I've slowed to a crawl on all my writing projects.

This is, as it turns out, a stupid thing to do. After a full day yesterday of packing boxes and cleaning, the writing bug bit me. Hard. At two in the morning. (Granted, I was sitting in bed trying to ease into sleepytime, but still. I was reading a bedtime story and was just getting toward the end of it.) This is why I keep a pen and notebook by my bed. In fact, I've been cultivating the habit of always wearing clothing with pockets so that I can carry tiny pads of paper and pens at all times. I was a bit put out, though, because all I wanted to do was finish reading and go to sleep. I was hijacked. I was compelled to scribble out a page-ish of dialogue and possible-prelude-to-porn before I could relax.

Now, to come back around, I'm fairly convinced that because I have been bottling up my writing, it comes spewing out at terrible, random, useless times. However! It's not like I can be doing my usual four/six/eight/ten/twelve hours a day right now. I just can't. (Yes, I often do write for eight or twelve hours a day. Not all at once, but in three/four hour chunks.)

I'm not having much luck finding a middle ground. I'm just going around exhausted from everything else I have to do, and so when I do sit down to write, when I make time for it...nothing happens. I just sit there, dumb, and nothing comes, even when I try. I know I probably shouldn't be taking this so hard, but I know that I've got this terrible fear in the back of my mind that maybe, just maybe, this lack of writing isn't situational. Maybe the words have left me entirely...again. That scares the crap out of me.

I've been trying, desperately, to lay the foundations for good writing habits and consistency and all that. I can be honest: I am a lazy, undisciplined writer. I have been so all of my writing life, and I've been trying to change that so that I have a decent flow of work most of the time. There have been periods of months, even years, where I don't write a single sentence. And I don't think I can take another dry spell. These days, where I've been so phenomenally productive, I'm always looking ahead and dreading that it could come to an end. So I keep pushing myself.

I'm coming up empty today. There's a project I'm stalled on, and another that's perilously close to that edge. I want to be able to move beyond the sticky parts and just do what I want to do.

Argh. I wandered off and lost my train of thought. I suppose I should just put in that I'm more or less on hiatus for the next couple weeks.

~Later