Alas, poor Yorick,,,,

I'm pretty much not using this blog any more. Sorry about that, but things don't always turn out as I plan.

You can find me at Archive of Our Own. I don't do much original writing these days, and it's really not anything I want to share at this time.

Thanks for reading!

Hi!

Somehow, you've stumbled across this blog. It is a place where I post my writings: original poetry, fiction, and nonfiction; and the occasional stab at fanfiction. The original premise was to kind of...retire finished works here, but I seem to be putting up partial, unfinished, and ongoing stuff here too.

That being said, I should probably plug some disclaimers in here. In the case of fan works, I do not claim to own the characters, the settings, their universes, etc. Those rights remain with their respective creators. I'm just a fan doing this for fun, not profit. (If you should run across something that does not have a disclaimer but should, please let me know. I don't want anyone thinking I have rights over something that belongs to someone else.)

As for original works...well. That's fairly self-explanatory. The original stuff is mine. Always has been, always will be. Should you, for some bizarre reason, want to archive something, please drop me a line so I can go check it out!

Anyway, happy reading!

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

Written in a Car

I was in a car the other day, going from my grandparents' house to my mom's. And suddenly, I really started to notice the shapes of the trees. Weather-wise, there's no snow obscuring the branches and trunks, but it's still early enough that there aren't any leaves either. It's been rainy the last couple days, too, and the contrast between the wet, black bark and the grey of the sky blew me away. I noticed that so many of the single trees I saw (whether by nature or by human artifice) had branches that absolutely spiraled out from the trunks. I could look at the trees and see movement. You have no idea how much I A. wished I had a camera and B. wished I could capture on film what I was seeing.

So instead, I cobbled together a haiku and recited it silently until I could write it down.

Here it is. I know it's a paltry offering, considering what I was trying to express, but I worried that if I tried to make a longer poem, not only would I forget half the lines by the time I recorded them, but that the poem's impact might be diminished.

----
The tree: twisted, gnarled
Bent from seasons in the world.
Still, in spring it buds.
----

Argh. I wish I was a better....poet? Writer? Something, anyway.

~Later