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rushthatspeaksI have no flippin' time to write.
Correction. I have plenty of time that I spend writing. It is only that I spend ninety percent of it on various academics and the other ten percent on extremely important correspondence (feeling guilty about not spending that on academics, too). The difficulty with Greek is that it is entirely possible to feel guilty for doing *anything at all* other than Greek, because, man, I could always be studying more. There's no 'I'm-done-now' factor. There is only when my brain gives out.
All of which means my fiction writing time is nonexistent, because even when I get myself sitting down to work, I am either so tired that I fall over or feel so guilty about not doing more Greek that it doesn't work. I am going to spend this *entire weekend* doing Greek, and then hopefully I will feel sufficiently like I know Greek that I can do other stuff. However, my characters are screaming at me about my not writing, and so I'm taking some time and doing an internal roll call, just so I'll have written something about each of them and they'll all shut up and let me get on with my life so I can clear space to actually write. This should also answer the interesting questions of how many there are in here anyway and what the gender mix is and so on.
So. The ones who are quietest first. As a reward.
Elsayan. My darling alter ego. He's the husband of the heroine of my novel, and, since she's a pretty straightforward reflection of what I would be in that world, he and I get along very well. He's not sure if he's divorced or a widower; I keep telling him it's that he died and she didn't, but that just means there's death like a wall between the two of them and it doesn't really matter so much who's on what side. He keeps having this nagging feeling that if she really wanted to she could come and see him. It's not true. Still, he seems relatively well accustomed to being in my head. And gods know it's useful to have his perspective on things. He's a very together person. I am not sure what it says about me that the realest of my characters is six feet tall, male, and blond. Frankly, I don't much care.
L'artiste, from Conte de Fee. Gets honorable mention here because she only sticks her nose in to say she wants the story published. This is good. Her voice is not one I need in my head. I am not a murderess. Her husband seems to be gone entirely, which is also good, as he was very strange to have around.
The narrator of The Crying Queen is right where I last left him, in a little catatonic ball. He seems happy. She has left my head for parts unknown.
Libros, the protagonist of my novel. Me/not me. Mirror image/otherself/person I don't know much about. Very quiet because she only turns up as a shade of feeling in my own thoughts, but she is very gently insistent about wanting the novel written. For one thing, she's been seven months pregnant since I thought her up my sophomore year of high school, and she's really sick of it.
Adreyan, my D&D character. Wants to have more interaction with the outside world. When pigs fly. Or when he learns to be a tactful person.
Obsidian Butterfly, my other D&D character, is relatively satisfied, as C. has been being Barbezat sufficiently recently to keep her from being bored. Gods forbid Her Majesty should ever be bored.
Aileen, who lives on a version of Mars I spent a summer coming up with, is bubbly and happy and bouncy and thoroughly delightful except if I'm tired. She says 'Honest, girl, it's if you spend all your time being evilly working you get sick of me. I am just on my crusade. You had ought to deal well with ambitious women, child.' Except a lot of that ought to be in Ashanti, which I don't know, because she cusses people out in Ashanti. Sheesh.
The Ending does not want to complain, but points out that it is physiologically incapable of sleeping in the same spot for more than one night, and that consequently, winter coming on, we ought to be stocking up on better clothing and/or writing it a nice road trip. I point out that I am not the one keeping it from going anywhere, but it says that Jeanna has not yet finished reading *everything* in her father's library and isn't going anywhere until she has, and so. Mentioning that Jeanna wouldn't care if it dropped itself off the nearest cliff would probably be counterproductive; people in love never listen to reason.
The Arthurian court for the Arthurian novel and the various people from my juvenilia are all in hibernation because it is too bloody cold, and I am grateful for small mercies.
It's the people from the newest story, K'i-lin, who are really giving me trouble. They never shut up, and I can't write a thing about them without having to write down the entire story, which I can feel percolating somewhere between my elbows and fingertips. I dream in images from it. It's really, really aggravating. Them and Libros' kid, except Elsayan babysits for him every so often. K'i-lin will be marvelous, it really will, if I can get the flavor of it down.
I want more free time.
Right, and anyone who has gotten to the end of this entry probably thinks I'm completely and utterly off my rocker. No more so than usual. It's winter and I have a fever and I ought to be doing Greek.
Damn it.
Frustration: Through the roof.
Correction. I have plenty of time that I spend writing. It is only that I spend ninety percent of it on various academics and the other ten percent on extremely important correspondence (feeling guilty about not spending that on academics, too). The difficulty with Greek is that it is entirely possible to feel guilty for doing *anything at all* other than Greek, because, man, I could always be studying more. There's no 'I'm-done-now' factor. There is only when my brain gives out.
All of which means my fiction writing time is nonexistent, because even when I get myself sitting down to work, I am either so tired that I fall over or feel so guilty about not doing more Greek that it doesn't work. I am going to spend this *entire weekend* doing Greek, and then hopefully I will feel sufficiently like I know Greek that I can do other stuff. However, my characters are screaming at me about my not writing, and so I'm taking some time and doing an internal roll call, just so I'll have written something about each of them and they'll all shut up and let me get on with my life so I can clear space to actually write. This should also answer the interesting questions of how many there are in here anyway and what the gender mix is and so on.
So. The ones who are quietest first. As a reward.
Elsayan. My darling alter ego. He's the husband of the heroine of my novel, and, since she's a pretty straightforward reflection of what I would be in that world, he and I get along very well. He's not sure if he's divorced or a widower; I keep telling him it's that he died and she didn't, but that just means there's death like a wall between the two of them and it doesn't really matter so much who's on what side. He keeps having this nagging feeling that if she really wanted to she could come and see him. It's not true. Still, he seems relatively well accustomed to being in my head. And gods know it's useful to have his perspective on things. He's a very together person. I am not sure what it says about me that the realest of my characters is six feet tall, male, and blond. Frankly, I don't much care.
L'artiste, from Conte de Fee. Gets honorable mention here because she only sticks her nose in to say she wants the story published. This is good. Her voice is not one I need in my head. I am not a murderess. Her husband seems to be gone entirely, which is also good, as he was very strange to have around.
The narrator of The Crying Queen is right where I last left him, in a little catatonic ball. He seems happy. She has left my head for parts unknown.
Libros, the protagonist of my novel. Me/not me. Mirror image/otherself/person I don't know much about. Very quiet because she only turns up as a shade of feeling in my own thoughts, but she is very gently insistent about wanting the novel written. For one thing, she's been seven months pregnant since I thought her up my sophomore year of high school, and she's really sick of it.
Adreyan, my D&D character. Wants to have more interaction with the outside world. When pigs fly. Or when he learns to be a tactful person.
Obsidian Butterfly, my other D&D character, is relatively satisfied, as C. has been being Barbezat sufficiently recently to keep her from being bored. Gods forbid Her Majesty should ever be bored.
Aileen, who lives on a version of Mars I spent a summer coming up with, is bubbly and happy and bouncy and thoroughly delightful except if I'm tired. She says 'Honest, girl, it's if you spend all your time being evilly working you get sick of me. I am just on my crusade. You had ought to deal well with ambitious women, child.' Except a lot of that ought to be in Ashanti, which I don't know, because she cusses people out in Ashanti. Sheesh.
The Ending does not want to complain, but points out that it is physiologically incapable of sleeping in the same spot for more than one night, and that consequently, winter coming on, we ought to be stocking up on better clothing and/or writing it a nice road trip. I point out that I am not the one keeping it from going anywhere, but it says that Jeanna has not yet finished reading *everything* in her father's library and isn't going anywhere until she has, and so. Mentioning that Jeanna wouldn't care if it dropped itself off the nearest cliff would probably be counterproductive; people in love never listen to reason.
The Arthurian court for the Arthurian novel and the various people from my juvenilia are all in hibernation because it is too bloody cold, and I am grateful for small mercies.
It's the people from the newest story, K'i-lin, who are really giving me trouble. They never shut up, and I can't write a thing about them without having to write down the entire story, which I can feel percolating somewhere between my elbows and fingertips. I dream in images from it. It's really, really aggravating. Them and Libros' kid, except Elsayan babysits for him every so often. K'i-lin will be marvelous, it really will, if I can get the flavor of it down.
I want more free time.
Right, and anyone who has gotten to the end of this entry probably thinks I'm completely and utterly off my rocker. No more so than usual. It's winter and I have a fever and I ought to be doing Greek.
Damn it.
Frustration: Through the roof.
