writing

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I’m pretty sure that there are tiny naughty elves or pixies living in my computer, who change letters in things I write from ‘send men with carts’ to ‘send men with cats’ and such, after I’ve already checked it at least 5 times.

… 
and then I just can’t get over those ‘men with cats’ that were being sent somewhere

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when I miss dead people very much, I steal them and write them into my book
though secretly, so that hardly anyone but me can tell who they are
and yet, I then have them. And they live in my world.

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One of my worst ‘diggin’ your own grave’ writing habits is the one where when I need to write something now, I write it in a hundred different places and then just forget about it. 
I remember reading Joan Didion saying that she was the type to carry a notebook for these purposes, while her husband carried writing cards. 
I have a notebook. I have a notebook for writing and then I have a schedule book where I also end up writing ‘writing things’ when the other one is not right under my hand. And then there’s a notebook that was supposed to be only for work things. And then I also write on the backs of old work documents, napkins and random scraps of papers. 
What’s worse, is that even if I have a computer under my hands, I can’t be logical and consistent about it, and write in a various places in Scrivener, Ommwriter, typwrittr, something else… and then save it on a dozen of tiny documents I forget exist. And it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose. I’m a child of chaos and when I need to write something I have no time to think about it. And afterwords I either deflate or need to run to do something else.

Why am I complaining about this now? That’s because the worst part about this is when I vaguely remember writing some scene… and have absolutely no friggin idea where did I actually write… And I need it.

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Sometimes I get so carried away making up fictional languages I spend hours trying to straight out things like gender and quantity related verb forms (and prefixes/suffixes).

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writing is when you find yourself researching stages of death, rigor mortis and severed extremities while eating lunch at work

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I’m having a hard time learning how to describe a specific face.
I’m having a hard time in general, but also with the point of not making it sound like a dictation for a suspect sketch. (Yet, the biggest problem is still that the sketch artist would not be able to draw what I mean, because I can’t describe it correctly)

And every time I say this, people are like “But you don’t need do describe it.”
And I’m like “But there are times when I want to!”

I mean, there are times when you can be all vague and artistic and let people use their imaginations, and there times when you need a character to face this. specific. face. nomatterwhat.

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It would be a lie to imply that I do not feel envy
towards people so easily touching and being touched.
So easily welcoming each other
and being comfortable in each other’s light.
It would be a lie to say I do not wish 
I could try being a part of it too.
Yet, to say that I believe myself able,
would be an even bigger untruth.

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yes, sometimes I write sentences full of words that kind of sound like the words I actually intended to write but are not, and it takes me a while to notice that ‘cool’ became ‘could’ and ‘black’ became ‘lack’ and ‘palace’ became ‘please’ and generally it’s hard to see what I was trying to say since half the words are wrong, and ofter wrong in such a way that it would be hard to simply ‘mistype’

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There are two types of horrors.
And I do not like horrors made for the sake of creating a horror. 
I only like horrors created for the sake of showing how to defeat them.

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The mistakes I sometimes have to correct after translators often make me think that they do this on purpose… just to make my working day a little more fun )

  • how big and busy that beard is!
  • might be both of our densities.
  • If that is the case, when how where you born with it?
  • However, If you fish for that world to
  • Fight with an awareness of facing from here on out!
  • Next, all of your atats will fall
  • Advancing face will bring us into contact
  • very same mare of strange-coloured eyes
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2-3 times a week I tend to have rather strange waking-up thoughts. 
My favourite to this day is likely the “If you poke a vampire with a stick he will become dry and delicious” one, which I voiced to a friend who was waking me up after 4 hours of sleep many years ago.

Recently, I woke up with a thought about “whether a person who did not grow up with parental love (let’s define this parameter as ‘an ideal healthy family situation with 2 caring parents present’) can truly write from a perspective of a person who did not, and vice versa.”

I also dreamt about a discussion of responsibility of adults towards those around them vs. towards only themselves.

Can I please sleep without being so busy?

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sometimes I can’t help but wonder if I would actually be able to write down all the stuff that circles in my head if I had the health for it and my mind was clear enough… and what shitload of stuff that would turn out to be. 
But “what ifs” are illogical.

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rain. aroma diffuser with woody and foresty oils. hot cocoa. ambient fantasy soundtrack. 
Sunday.
I’m out.

it’s kind of pathetic to need all this, if you think about it, but we won’t think about it 
We do what we’ve got to do

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sometimes I just forget to tell myself that I’m crazy, 
when I’m writing this story and struggle with some part and think “I can’t just change this! Because that’s how it happened!“

I also wish I could just see in other writers’ heads, to find out why writing some things feels like making up things any way you want, and writing other things feels like you’re trying very hard to ‘novelise a movie’ from memory (and a very old memory at that)