Sep. 6th, 2016

rynling: (Mog Toast)
Last night I had an incredible dream that I think might translate well into my first "real" novel. I woke up and went to work and sat down at my desk and wanted to put together a chapter outline, but instead I had to do... you know... my job.

More on this project later. (ETA: Here is later.)

Meanwhile, I've got a professional piece of writing that's way overdue. I've reached the point at which writing literally one sentence in the next 24 hours would be more progress than I've made in the past week. I said I'd do it, and it's already half done, and I'd like to get paid for it, but knowing that it's utterly meaningless and that maybe only two or three people will ever so much as look at it is stifling any drive I might have ever had to finish the damn thing.

It's so weird that the prospect of writing the story is holding me back from writing the report, while the necessity of writing the report is holding me back from writing the story. I am such garbage at being a writer, it's not even funny.

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