If one does not blog,
Is one still a blogger?
It’s been, yikes, four months since there has been any activity on this blog. I haven’t been reading. I got Vassa in the Night by Sarah Porter for the October Owl Crate box and I was trying to read it but just couldn’t focus enough. I think it’s still sitting on a shelf, book mark half way through. I’ve gotten a couple of books since then that I haven’t even opened. Some of them look really interesting but it doesn’t seem to help.
This happens sometimes. You might call it depression or ADHD or whatever you like. But I go through periods where my brain just does not want to function correctly. Other times I read a book in a couple of days and it’s no problem. Then there are the times where it’s a struggle to even watch TV because I can’t focus or have any desire to pay attention or care at all that I’m missing something that I might at other times really enjoy. I can almost never finish TV show seasons because of this. I just can’t stick with it. Movies are a little better. Shorter timeframe, really. But a Netflix movie could languish in my possession for a couple months or more before I can dredge up the desire to watch it. Even then I might pause it and wander off a couple of times to do the dishes or tidy up or annoy the cat.
Then there are the things I obsess over. Like fandom. I read fanfiction. Adore it, really. Once I have an interest in a fandom, that’s it. It rules to the exclusion of all else. A little over a year ago I loved the Avengers Steve/Tony ship. My love for the Avengers was total, all encompassing. I devoured fanfic and fanart for Avengers like my life depended on it. I could read fanfic all day and all night long. It was hard to stop but I had no trouble focusing.
Then I saw the new Man from Uncle movie, which lead to discovering the Man from Uncle TV show from the 60’s and the lovely, beautiful ship of Illya/Napoleon. I was hooked. Now I devour fanfic and fanart for the Man from Uncle fandom. Which really sucks because it’s a substantially smaller fandom than Avengers was. I’ve already gone through the Archive of Our Own fanfics and now I’m desperately looking for more to read.
But now I have no interest for Avengers. Just Man from Uncle. My brain is fucked up.
I can read and read and read fanfic but I can’t do the same for original books. I don’t understand why, either.
I also try to write in my chosen fandom but that’s another thing I can’t focus on. I obsess over Man from Uncle but it’s a struggle to focus and complete fanfic ideas. I have a lot of started ideas but very rarely complete anything to post. You would think my ability to obsess over a fandom would carry over to writing fanfic for it but my motivation kind of trickles away.
I have two Avenger fanfics that I started posting and now I fear I’ll never finish them because my interest has moved on. I’ve sworn to never post anything that wasn’t already done because of this. Those two fanfics will probably languish forever.
Does anybody else experience this? Can you just obsess over something, absolutely adore it, but not be able to focus on other things? Or lose interest and motivation on projects? It’s not like I don’t have time to read books or write. I have loads of time. Just no follow through on projects. Is it ADHD? Depression? Hormonal? Anybody have any advice?
How is it possibly possible that a short week can feel so bloody long! I can’t believe it’s only Thursday. It should be Friday. This is the longest week ever and we weren’t even at work on Monday. (Memorial Day. It rained. I stayed inside and read.) Ugh. There is some sort of time bubble going on here. I know it. However, it is time for Booking Through Thursday! Enough procrastinating! Let’s book it!
Our prompt for this week is: If you could write a book, what would it be about, and why? (Though, of course, some of you already HAVE.)
I’m a wanna-be writer. (hangs head in shame) I have lots of ideas but rarely ever finish things. I do write fanfiction and I’ve finished a great many of those stories. But for every fanfiction story I finish, there are about 3 others languishing as half done or just a nice idea. It’s the same way with original fiction. Every year in November, I participate in National Novel Writing Month. NaNo, for short, is a month long game, I guess you could call it, where writers write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. Or at least we try to. I’ve participated the last 5 years and I’ve reached the 50K mark 3 times. These stories are at least half done. But, inevitably, I lose interest or don’t know what to do with it after that and the story will languish in that state forever more. (headdesk) God, I suck…
Almost all of my fiction stories feature witches or some sort of paranormal element or character. During NaNo I’ve written a Banshee story, 3 different witch stories, and one ghost story told from the ghost’s point of view. I have no shortage of ideas; I just lack a drive. Maybe I need a cheerleader? Somebody to crack that whip and make me finish things! This is probably why I’m more likely to finish a fanfiction story than an original story because I post the fanfiction pieces on the internet. Even one comment is pretty much enough to keep me writing something. (See, dear fanfiction readers? Your comments do matter!) All of my stories are fantasy or paranormal.
Why? Well, that’s just how my mind works. I have a very active imagination. (An imagination I wished would slow down because it’s always racing to the next idea before I get a chance to finish with the current idea. I have the shortest attention span and I bore easily.) I read to escape. So the further away from the real world a book can take me, the better I like it. All my story ideas function the same. They are created for the sense of the fantastic and unreal. I don’t read much contemporary fiction for this reason. If I wanted realism, I’d stay here. But here is boring with work and bills and leaking faucets and humidity that is killing my hair. So, I read and write fantasy. As for why I write at all? Well, if I didn’t write at least some then I’m pretty sure my head would just explode and nobody wants to clean up that mess.
Not only do I read, I also write. I write because if I don’t do something to get all these ideas out of my head then I will explode and nobody wants to clean that up. There are so many ideas rolling around my head that it’s hard to get one complete idea done before another takes over. I have a lot of half-finished projects that mock me with their incompleteness. I have notebooks and pens all over my apartment from the bathroom to the kitchen just in case an idea strikes and I need to write it down. If I don’t write it down, then there is a chance I will forget it. I’ve forgotten more stories than I have useless college math.
But, writing is like herding cats. Or kindergarteners. Just something unruly and temperamental. I have major plot points written down and I know that all I have to do is get the characters to that point so that such and such event can happen. Does anybody cooperate? No! My characters are running all over the place and nobody is doing what they’re supposed to do. I think I have everyone going in the right direction only to turn around and find a couple characters off making mischief that is not part of the story. I’m almost ready to introduce the second bit of conflict in the story I’m writing now but the main character wants to run away from the feast and is it really too much to ask that she just sit her ass down so I can get this one revealing conversation done and then she can run off to have her hissy-fit? I don’t think so!
Then I thought up this new idea over the weekend and plot from that story has been crowding the plot of my current story and I think I’m developing a split personality. That’s the only explanation. There are two people in this body and they both hate each other and wont’ shut up. I think writing is a symptom of insanity. Or insanity is a symptom of writing. Whatever. I’m going to make myself some tea and maybe get another bagel. Hopefully I won’t be attacked by a wild, rabid plot bunny looking to eat my brain. Dangerous things, those plot bunnies.