Rant Ahead - Read At Your Own Risk
Jul. 5th, 2010 03:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
schadenfreudeLast fall, before I lost Cathy, we started the annual NANO together. We had clear ideas on what we wanted to write, and on November 1, we started with both guns blazing! After a week or so, when it stopped being exciting and turned into work, we decided to put the stories on hold until we were inspired once again. Well, everyone knows what happened: Cathy, both stories and both computers ceased to exist.
About a month ago, right around our birthday, my story started niggling at me. I could remember entire passages almost word for word. However, my head was in a really bad place for the entire month, so I kept assuring the story that I would write it. I promised that I would start again, I just had to wait until I felt better.
Last Friday, I began the research, all the grunt work before the actual writing process. I was able reconstruct the outline, character bios, even thought of a couple of new twists, etc. By late Saturday night-early Sunday morning, I was done.
Yesterday, I sent the grand babies home, did my housework, showered, and decided it was time to write. I set up my workspace: icy cold Coke, fresh pack of cigarettes, clean ashtray, some popcorn and chocolate to snack on, then, when I opened a blank document in Word, I immediately felt nauseous and dizzy.
I tried walking it off, tried talking myself through it and finally decided I'd try again today. Guess what happened?
For the past six months, I've had to accept that I am no longer one half of a whole. I've had to adjust to not just living alone but being alone. And for the most part, I must say I'm doing it. But, an activity we enjoyed so much, something I could really use right now to feel closer to her, overwhelms me to the point of physical symptoms?
What the fuck? I mean, seriously: What. The. Fuck?
About a month ago, right around our birthday, my story started niggling at me. I could remember entire passages almost word for word. However, my head was in a really bad place for the entire month, so I kept assuring the story that I would write it. I promised that I would start again, I just had to wait until I felt better.
Last Friday, I began the research, all the grunt work before the actual writing process. I was able reconstruct the outline, character bios, even thought of a couple of new twists, etc. By late Saturday night-early Sunday morning, I was done.
Yesterday, I sent the grand babies home, did my housework, showered, and decided it was time to write. I set up my workspace: icy cold Coke, fresh pack of cigarettes, clean ashtray, some popcorn and chocolate to snack on, then, when I opened a blank document in Word, I immediately felt nauseous and dizzy.
I tried walking it off, tried talking myself through it and finally decided I'd try again today. Guess what happened?
For the past six months, I've had to accept that I am no longer one half of a whole. I've had to adjust to not just living alone but being alone. And for the most part, I must say I'm doing it. But, an activity we enjoyed so much, something I could really use right now to feel closer to her, overwhelms me to the point of physical symptoms?
What the fuck? I mean, seriously: What. The. Fuck?
