Oh, Look Who's Alive

A menagerie of stuff has happened since my last post. Unfortunately, that includes
1. I forgot my friggin' password for Google. How is this possible? I have no idea, because I basically use the same password for EVERYTHING.
2. School work has finally ended, grades are finally in, and after weeks of intense fear of college failure, I got some pretty decent grades. Crisis averted.
3. My laptop got some crazy virus where it tried to CLAIM I HAD NO "WIN 12 ANTI-SPYWARE PROGRAM" AND INSTALL NOW OR ELSE YOU CANNOT OPEN THE INTERWEBS. I was pissed. So I wiped my laptop.
3. b. Um, impulsively wiping a laptop? Bad idea.
3. c. Impulsively wiping the only object you wrote a semi-good novel on? Yea, no, you deserve to DIE.

Now, I could have made this list impractically long, but really, erasing my all my writing in a fit of rage? Never a good idea. DO NOT DO THAT. DO NOT DO THAT! I'm pretty sure I'm still in denial that it happened at all, but when I finally open up a new document on my laptop and start wondering why all my saved files are gone, my world will come crumbling down.

I dread the day.

NaNo 2011 part 2

Heh, I apologize for my sudden absence during the most important month of the typosphere's calendar, and I really don't have a reason for it except for sheer laziness.

Still, NaNo 2011? Finished. Won. 56,277 words! Holla back ya'll!

Now, excuse me as I whimper at the amount of schoolwork I have yet to finish.

NaNo 2011 part 1

Well, four days in and it seems I'll never get anything done. Writing is the last thing I feel like doing, which is a HUGE disappointment. Maybe something will spur me into movement, but right now, even writing this blog post is a test of my will.

Obviously, I'm failing.

I'm hoping I can pull myself up by whatever body parts necessary before the word counts leave me too far behind.

reOrganized

I've sorted out my desk space to fit my Underwood Blue-Baby next to my ever-illuminated computer screen. It's a bit inconvenient to type, as I'm slanted (pictures to come, surely), but it helps that I'll have to actually MOVE to try and type on my computer. I can only hope that it will at least stem my ever-present desire to procrastinate, especially since I can still look at the screen, instead of trying (and failing) to ignore the contraption completely.

While I'm on the topic of organization, I'm trying to get my mind sorted out. 6 more days until NaNo, 6 more days to get inspiration. But where does my sliver of metallic mind-taste come from? Depression.

Yea sure, I'm cool with the whole "tortured artist" stereotype, but I like to think that 95% of artists who claim to "suffer" for their art are liars. Unfortunately, my ideas are being twisted in the murky depth of my subconscious (or, where ever my moods are coming from nowadays), because I seem to be falling into that inevitable "suffering" trap. I can't write unless I'm suffering.

Seriously.

I know, it sounds asinine this far into the game, but unless I'm so anxious/depressed/emotionally deranged that I'm ready to a) throw up, or b)start some crazy habitual bloodletting for those hallucinatory endorphin rushes, I got nothing.

Intelligent thought? No way.
Witty remark? Notta.
Anything to say at all? Duuuuuuuuur.

You get the idea. It's horrible, and I know there are many a writer who would tell me, "force yourself to write," and the obvious "good writers can write in any state of mind, you just have to DO it," etc. And to all those writer who will look through their noses at me for being "one of those" creative types: pooh-pooh on you.

I'm a creature of habit, and ever since high school, when depression was cool and melancholy got you points in the emo-kid crowd, I've only ever written when upset (and boy, I was upset all the time). This makes me worry. Am I going to be stuck in a creative void every time I try to write when not the least bit emotionally disturbed? Am I going to have to resort to dark, sad, pre-college music to get in the mood? Will I have to stop drinking caffeine? Will I have to do drugs? OH GOD, WILL I HAVE TO HAVE EMO-KID HAIR AGAIN?!

I digress. What I'm trying to say is that it seems I've fallen into the "suffering for art" category, and I don't know if I want to laugh at the irony (as, I hate the stereotype to the nth degree), or put up, shut up, and just go through a self-induced literary boot camp--which will probably not happen before NaNo lest I hurt myself.

Suggestions? Critiques? Words of wisdom?

O Holy writings God(s), You're unworthy child is lost!

Everything is Happening at Once

Papers to write for the end of the semester? Check.
Weekly discussion questions? Check.
Two presentations for the month? Check.
Tons of ceramic objects to make before the final crit? Check check check!
I could go on, but, it's ridiculous.

And, of course, what I'm doing instead of getting all that done before November and having a breakdown before the end of NaNo (will that get me out of school? Because, I damn well will fake it if I can just finish my novel and show up in December), is naming my novel, and making pretty (ugly) covers for it. Not to mention I can't even be bothered to map this novel out. Also, I tend to spend my days procrastinating on everything, (except work because I have to go to work) so, NaNo is already going to be a mess. I can feel it.

Oh, also, since I have a title for the novel that has yet to exist, I might as well share it.

Epithets for the Lonely

Sounds pretty, yea? I'll probably hate it later.

Oh, and Speegle, if you are reading this, I AM SO ENTERING YOUR COVER ART CONTEST (eventually). I swear. For reals (I hope).

Oh, How I Wonder

Sometimes, I sit and wish I had much more deep, intelligent, provoking thoughts to put in my blog.

And then I remember I'm a college Senior and I don't give a damn.

Yup.

I've been brainstorming for NaNo, and I'm worried already. Though, to indulge the problems that are soon to arise, I've made it my mission to write a collection of interrelated short-stories that will make up a nice length novel. Somehow.

I like to create characters.

Also, I've been itching to drag out my typewriters that have ended up under my bed. I then wonder which one I'm going to use, of if I should just buy another one. Decisions.

Of course, I'm still pretty mad that that old guy messed up my Underwood Blue. I might suck it up and type with it anyway, but I have a feeling that ribbon feeder will get the best of me. Maybe I'll interchange machines?

I should really set up a writing table in my room. Or like, move my desktop onto the floor so I'll have a desk to type at. Less internet distraction as well....

I'm a Film!

Ignored the random floor-cleaning commercial reference.

I'm suddenly re-infatuated with my film cameras, and I've rigged my lovely VivitarUWS for double exposures. I'm not against hacking a plastic camera I spent too much on YEARS ago (and which, apparently, all the hipsters finally think is cool)

Just as suddenly, I've made it my mission to develop my own color film. Black and white? That's so high school! (no really, I did it in high school)

I need money. Oh boy.

Regardless, when I finally finish a roll, get my chemicals, or get a roll back form Wal-Mart, photos will ensure! Promise!