Story of my life: I am trying to work on "Secrets." I am a horribly slow writer -- not because I write slowly, but because I am so easily distracted by other things (namely, reading), so whenever I get inspiration I try to jump on it and ride it as far as possible so as to build up a surplus of words against my next apathetic spell.
I wrote a thousand words last night. The problem is, I wrote them for "Undertow," and that story has less than nothing to do with "Secrets." It is, in fact, the very delayed semi-sequel to Tides, a kind of patchwork Naruto story I wrote four years ago, and which quickly became AU as canon went off in a different direction. It will be a relief to get "Undertow" off my to-do list, but still.
I am trying to write a Harry Potter story. Why will my subconscious mind not cooperate with me?
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In other news, the second day of the recycling sale went well. I worked in the clothing section again, but this time, once I'd helped open the boxes of Day 2 clothes (we do not put everything out all at once, you see, if only because we don't have space), I commandeered a chair at the check-out table and spent the next three hours bagging clothes and figuring prices. Since I was not constantly flinging clothes about, I released much less cat dander into my face and consequently did not suffer much by way of allergies. Yay!
I wrote a thousand words last night. The problem is, I wrote them for "Undertow," and that story has less than nothing to do with "Secrets." It is, in fact, the very delayed semi-sequel to Tides, a kind of patchwork Naruto story I wrote four years ago, and which quickly became AU as canon went off in a different direction. It will be a relief to get "Undertow" off my to-do list, but still.
I am trying to write a Harry Potter story. Why will my subconscious mind not cooperate with me?
---------------
In other news, the second day of the recycling sale went well. I worked in the clothing section again, but this time, once I'd helped open the boxes of Day 2 clothes (we do not put everything out all at once, you see, if only because we don't have space), I commandeered a chair at the check-out table and spent the next three hours bagging clothes and figuring prices. Since I was not constantly flinging clothes about, I released much less cat dander into my face and consequently did not suffer much by way of allergies. Yay!