Life of a Wannabe Author

No two writers work the same way. Some see characters and worlds as tools to create. I used to be one of those people. Then Ikedo introduced himself to my horrendous life, and here we are now.

I no longer see them as tools. My characters are my family now. Children artificially created to show the world. (Although, I have all the plans in the world to adopt an actual child. Or two. Adoption is good, people.) I worry over them. Fuss over them. They live in my heart and brain. Some sleep until they're called upon by me, others occupy their time doing other things. (Autumn, stop duct taping the doll in the box. It isn't going anywhere.)

That's a story you'll read in her blog at another time. I hope you all enjoy that plot line, and if you have Twitter accounts, if you would kindly follow the lovely Autumn Eve Trinity on Twitter then Friday, I will direct you, on that account, to who else you should follow. And even if not, I can point you to a list to watch and read over and you'll see all of the Marvel Role Players in that group.

That aside. I have projects I am working on, yes. A short story, titled Where Will You Sleep, may be running to publication soon. War of Flames is still being worked on, as is The Arcana.

I also am contemplating a few other projects to take on at this moment. I am planning on doing some writing exercises. Already, I have two art trades planned. I am writing Dragon Age II fan fictions, two of them, for two pictures. I just need to get to work on that. Fenris is a difficult character to write for, despite my love of the elf. (And hatred of Anders. He reminds me of Edward Cullen with his dialogue.)

Alright, it is time I return to my craft. I need to finish Where Will You Sleep before the end of the week, so I can send it to my personal editor. (I love you, my darling one!) Then off to Beneath Ceaseless Skies it goes after revisions are made.

I love you all dearly. My friends, my peers. Even just the passing by strangers. Future readers of my stories, I hope.

Also, I figured I'd actually talk about my life away from writing for a moment without divulging too many details.

Like many living beings at the moment, I work, minimum wage, at a restaurant. I will not tell you which one, just know we lie. All restaurants lie. End of story. If we all told the truth, you would never want to eat in the establishment again because you would feel betrayed.

And also, yes, we grow weary of your need of "extra napkins". We give you what is advised. If you are "so messy" no amount of our napkins will help keep you clean. Trust me.

Screaming children are the bane of my existence and the reason I understand why anyone would bury their sorrows in the drink. Rude customers do it to me, too. Why be rude to the people serving you food? It makes little sense to me. You are no better than us, we are no better than you. Act rude one more time to the poor little thing at the cash register who's feet are already killing her, and she's going to shank you.

I kid, I kid. Possibly. I am a very disgruntled employee. But the customers are not the only ones who anger me, it's the owner of our particular store. I'll leave you to think on that.

I have been spending more time out in the woods, enjoying nature. Feeling free for the first time in ages. It is spring time now, and everything shines like an emerald. For fantasy writers, scenery matters, and getting to study nature without having to leave home is a wonderful joy. I just wish I had the guts to go farther out on my own. Perhaps this summer, I will build the courage to venture out and see what awaits me.

My sleep patterns have not improved. I only really sleep anymore when I have no energy to do much else, or am sick. I fear sleeping lately. That dream... I am horrified it will come back.

Returning to my writing life. Or rather, discussing how these characters of mine "live" in my head. It is sort of comical in ways that they interact. Especially when you consider some of them. My lovely Anastasiya, who was nearly comatose since my mother's passing, seems to have stirred and woken. And no one is pleased about it. In fact, I read over the drafted material for her story and figured I could salvage it.

Judgment. It will be the first time I venture out of my comfort zone. What do I mean? A mixture of SF, and horror. But how far can I take that, I wonder? Perhaps just pick one or the other.  Meaning it has to be horror.

Also. I think I need a new email address...

Enough of my rambling for now.