2010.09.13

(This post was originally written on 750words.com. It has been edited.)

I’m going to try typing one handed and sideways tonight. i think i might forego capital letters, too. not worth the effort and who cares, right? but i need shift to get a question mark anyway. i’m writing this with about forty five minutes to go. i know it’s going to take longer.

I’ve just switched to two hands, laptop propped up on my hip, because that first position was already starting to kill my shoulder. I hurt all over. I can’t really tell if it’s the job or something else completely. My horrible mattress, my flat pillows, my nowhere decent to sit in my room, my prevalence for laying on my stomach while on the computer. I don’t know what I did, but I have a spasm in my back that won’t go away. Another hot shower is in order. Today, I might to sit and soak in a hot bath for an hour or so, but I just didn’t feel like moving. I didn’t feel like doing much of anything, just screwing around on the internet. I didn’t even do the writing and organising I had planned. I just want to lay in bed for a few days.

I have two days off this week, and they’re not even real days off because I’m going downtown to see Bard. Which is awesome, but sometimes I just want to do nothing. I’m a very do nothing kind of person. It’s my favourite hobby. If I can combine it with reading a good story, I’m so happy. Happier than ever. Instead, I have to get on transit and go downtown and wait in lines and sit in an awful chair, but hopefully I get to see some good Shakespeare. I’m expecting good things. I don’t want to be disappointed.

somehow, that’s only 300 words. it felt like more. maybe because i was typing faster. i can’t quite get comfortable, so i’m trying my side again. my shoulder is already aching. let’s try the other side. the other side makes my back hurt more. i just have to find the right position, i just have to make it through this week. i’m starting to live my life in sections. i sleep, i eat, i go to work, i work, i come home from work, i go on the internet, i read. on a good day, i write. there’s nothing more to it. it doesn’t feel good, but i’m getting through. i haven’t had enough good days, though. i don’t think we can call this writing. it’s not. it’s typing. it’s words, but no structure. no underlying themes, except maybe that i’m depressed and lonely. but, oddly, i’d rather express that in fiction than rambling journal entries like this. i do this because habits are good to have. habits about writing are better. it’s building discipline. 750 words every day mean i’m that much closer to being able to write a novel.

speaking of writing a novel, i finally read [REDACTED]. it was awful. even worse than great fan fiction, because at least great fan fiction has depth. there’s always stuff there that isn’t spoken. this story was all surface. i felt like i never really connected with any of the characters, the conflict was contrived and telegraphed, and there was never any urgency. you knew they would get back together, and you pretty much knew how, too. i want something more for my novels. (it wasn’t even a novel, more like a novelette. i don’t even know if you could call it a novella.)

but that’s my problem, isn’t it? i have great ambitions, but not the discipline to pull them off. i have great ambitions, but i’m also smart enough and self-aware enough to recognise when they’re not coming together. that’s when i quit. that’s the kind of perfectionism i have, a kind that a lot of people don’t believe exists and certainly wouldn’t call perfectionism. it’s not about over-achieving. it’s about wanting to over-achieve and knowing you can’t. i always stop before i really get started. i use other projects as distraction and excuse. this is the one. this is the one i’m going to focus on, but there’s always another one. i’m smart enough to predict criticism, and my brain’s just trying to protect me. it doesn’t want me to get hurt, so it stops before i can start, definitely before i can finish, before i can put something out there and actually see the response.