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Blurred around the edges
Jan. 12th, 2005 01:08 pmVery, very tired today. Sleepy and a little ill. These are the perils of too much Jameson. I've only myself to blame.
Skipped rehearsal last night, desperately needing a break. A. was beyond pissed, but well, I needed it. I still got home at 1 because we sat at dinner, talking and talking then moved over to the bar once the sushi chef started giving us the evil eye. Drove home, got all the way to the top of the canyon, had to turn back around. I don't think a sign at the bottom would be too much to ask, do you?
The freaking out of applying to the MFA program has turned into full scale deer in the headlightitis. I'm inert, so stuck, and so scared that it's not only the struggle to put the application together, but the very real fear that I may not be accepted if I manage to get my shit together. My writing seems to pale in the face of my better fic, and I know why, but it's still sort of horrifying. It's why I stopped writing 8 years ago, and didn't start again until fic lured me in like a twitchy fish in a crowded pond.
That fear is debilitating, and I see trickles and traces of it all around, and I see it in my fellow Great Novel Writing Adventure participants, and god it's insidious, isn't it? I know the solution. Write, nothing more. Just write, let the details sort themselves out later. If I don't get in to grad school, don't get it together, apply next year, move on move forward, but god it's just so hard.
The Not Sex is now done, and in need of beta and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
crankygrrl indicates that her highlights have comments attached. I have a feeling that many of them are of the, "Dude use a frickin' pronoun already" variety:)
Skipped rehearsal last night, desperately needing a break. A. was beyond pissed, but well, I needed it. I still got home at 1 because we sat at dinner, talking and talking then moved over to the bar once the sushi chef started giving us the evil eye. Drove home, got all the way to the top of the canyon, had to turn back around. I don't think a sign at the bottom would be too much to ask, do you?
The freaking out of applying to the MFA program has turned into full scale deer in the headlightitis. I'm inert, so stuck, and so scared that it's not only the struggle to put the application together, but the very real fear that I may not be accepted if I manage to get my shit together. My writing seems to pale in the face of my better fic, and I know why, but it's still sort of horrifying. It's why I stopped writing 8 years ago, and didn't start again until fic lured me in like a twitchy fish in a crowded pond.
That fear is debilitating, and I see trickles and traces of it all around, and I see it in my fellow Great Novel Writing Adventure participants, and god it's insidious, isn't it? I know the solution. Write, nothing more. Just write, let the details sort themselves out later. If I don't get in to grad school, don't get it together, apply next year, move on move forward, but god it's just so hard.
The Not Sex is now done, and in need of beta and
crankygrrl indicates that her highlights have comments attached. I have a feeling that many of them are of the, "Dude use a frickin' pronoun already" variety:)
