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I was invited to join ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
thesovereignty, so I did, though I'm not sure how long I'll remain a member. I was intrigued until I perused their newbie guide and discovered their obsession with "eye-catching" posts, with lots of huge font and sparkly text and other human cat toys designed to catch the attention of the ADD generation. Either they'll want to reply to my post about guilty pleasure songs, or they won't. Why should I waste time decorating it with sparklies and blinking text?
My first fic of 2010 is almost finished, and I might work on it today, or I might get distracted and spend hours noodling aimlessly around the Internet. I can't wait to finish it and unveil it, but at the same time, I'm spectacularly unmotivated to work on it. Part of the bewildering ennui can be attributed to the lack of a private computer on which to work. Publishing a fic might be a public affair, but writing is an intensely private one. Before, I wrote at a desk in my bedroom, hidden from Roomie's eyes and shielded from the squawking lure of the television by a wall and a door. Plus, I had my own computer, so I could write all day without fear of inspiring a major round of butthurt and bitchface from Roomie because he couldn't get his Facebook fix.
Now, I'm writing at a table in the sunroom. The setup is uncomfortable, and anyone can wander over and see what I'm writing--Roomie, my mother, the red-necked angel. The TV is always on, and people pound back and forth over the faux wood floor, opening the refrigerator and washing dishes. Roomie is incessantly blathering at me about commercials or what's on or the random thought that's infested his brain like a botfly. Since we have to share the computer, I can't write all day without causing resentment, and since Roomie gets up and goes to the computer before he gets me out of bed, he gets to decide when I get time. Sometimes, I get no time at all because he's chatting or role-playing, and nothing kills creative momentum like having to wait two days to resume your train of thought because someone else needed the computer. By the time I pull up to the keyboard, I've lost my train of thought, and by the time I find it, Roomie is hovering over my shoulder like a winded buffalo, demanding his turn.
Another reason for the decline in output is the realization that it doesn't matter when I finish a fic, or even if I finish. Fandom doesn't give two watery shits if I post fic or not, and even if it did, it hasn't imposed a deadline on it. There isn't a breathless horde of avid readers hanging out for my every word. My fic has a narrow audience, one that dwindles with every contribution, and most of said audience have better things to do than wait for my work to appear. They're mothers and wives and students. My fic isn't necessary to the fulfillment of their lives. It doesn't influence their worldview or make them glad that it's in the world. If it had gone unwritten, its absence would not have changed the fannish landscape. It'll be there until it isn't, and no one will mourn when it's gone. It's just there. Literary meatloaf. So, if I'm not somebody's hero and what I write doesn't help someone having a bad day or a crisis of faith, why should I hurry? While I'm still receiving dividends from writing fic, posting it has seen scarcer and scarcer returns for my emotional investment. So why write every day if I don't want to, or if I'd rather surf Youtube and crank Rammstein until my ears itch?
It will be interesting to see if this attitude shifts when I get my laptop and can make a writer's nest for myself again. I miss my privacy fiercely; if Roomie talks too much, I get very snappish and nettled. I need a daily dose of quiet, a period of solitude in which I can daydream without someone clamoring for my attention like an impatient toddler. Roomie can't stand not to be the center of attention, and sometimes, the only way to escape him is to "take a nap" in the afternoon. I go to bed and lie there and drift until I no longer want to bludgeon him to unconsciousness with a box of Ritz crackers. As soon as I get my laptop, I'm going to see if I can set it up in the library, where I can shut the door and be left the fuck alone for a while.
Movie rec: I can't believe I'm going to type this, but if you're a horror fan and get a chance to see House of Bones on Syfy, give it a look. It's not great cinema, and the production budget was twenty bucks and a bag of weed, but it's a serviceable Bad Place yarn. The characters are remarkably human and likeable, a rarity in most horror. and there are some legitimately creepy moments. Yes, it cribs elements from every horror story ever, but it uses them well, and the actors make an effort to serve the story, such as it is. Had they a bigger budget, it might have been worthy of a theatrical release, and if it ever gets a DVD release, I'll gladly pick it up.
Corin Nemec was in it, and though this has nothing to do with the movie proper, the man still looks scrumptious. In fact, he looks sexier now than he did twenty years ago. Longer hair suits him.
thesovereignty, so I did, though I'm not sure how long I'll remain a member. I was intrigued until I perused their newbie guide and discovered their obsession with "eye-catching" posts, with lots of huge font and sparkly text and other human cat toys designed to catch the attention of the ADD generation. Either they'll want to reply to my post about guilty pleasure songs, or they won't. Why should I waste time decorating it with sparklies and blinking text? My first fic of 2010 is almost finished, and I might work on it today, or I might get distracted and spend hours noodling aimlessly around the Internet. I can't wait to finish it and unveil it, but at the same time, I'm spectacularly unmotivated to work on it. Part of the bewildering ennui can be attributed to the lack of a private computer on which to work. Publishing a fic might be a public affair, but writing is an intensely private one. Before, I wrote at a desk in my bedroom, hidden from Roomie's eyes and shielded from the squawking lure of the television by a wall and a door. Plus, I had my own computer, so I could write all day without fear of inspiring a major round of butthurt and bitchface from Roomie because he couldn't get his Facebook fix.
Now, I'm writing at a table in the sunroom. The setup is uncomfortable, and anyone can wander over and see what I'm writing--Roomie, my mother, the red-necked angel. The TV is always on, and people pound back and forth over the faux wood floor, opening the refrigerator and washing dishes. Roomie is incessantly blathering at me about commercials or what's on or the random thought that's infested his brain like a botfly. Since we have to share the computer, I can't write all day without causing resentment, and since Roomie gets up and goes to the computer before he gets me out of bed, he gets to decide when I get time. Sometimes, I get no time at all because he's chatting or role-playing, and nothing kills creative momentum like having to wait two days to resume your train of thought because someone else needed the computer. By the time I pull up to the keyboard, I've lost my train of thought, and by the time I find it, Roomie is hovering over my shoulder like a winded buffalo, demanding his turn.
Another reason for the decline in output is the realization that it doesn't matter when I finish a fic, or even if I finish. Fandom doesn't give two watery shits if I post fic or not, and even if it did, it hasn't imposed a deadline on it. There isn't a breathless horde of avid readers hanging out for my every word. My fic has a narrow audience, one that dwindles with every contribution, and most of said audience have better things to do than wait for my work to appear. They're mothers and wives and students. My fic isn't necessary to the fulfillment of their lives. It doesn't influence their worldview or make them glad that it's in the world. If it had gone unwritten, its absence would not have changed the fannish landscape. It'll be there until it isn't, and no one will mourn when it's gone. It's just there. Literary meatloaf. So, if I'm not somebody's hero and what I write doesn't help someone having a bad day or a crisis of faith, why should I hurry? While I'm still receiving dividends from writing fic, posting it has seen scarcer and scarcer returns for my emotional investment. So why write every day if I don't want to, or if I'd rather surf Youtube and crank Rammstein until my ears itch?
It will be interesting to see if this attitude shifts when I get my laptop and can make a writer's nest for myself again. I miss my privacy fiercely; if Roomie talks too much, I get very snappish and nettled. I need a daily dose of quiet, a period of solitude in which I can daydream without someone clamoring for my attention like an impatient toddler. Roomie can't stand not to be the center of attention, and sometimes, the only way to escape him is to "take a nap" in the afternoon. I go to bed and lie there and drift until I no longer want to bludgeon him to unconsciousness with a box of Ritz crackers. As soon as I get my laptop, I'm going to see if I can set it up in the library, where I can shut the door and be left the fuck alone for a while.
Movie rec: I can't believe I'm going to type this, but if you're a horror fan and get a chance to see House of Bones on Syfy, give it a look. It's not great cinema, and the production budget was twenty bucks and a bag of weed, but it's a serviceable Bad Place yarn. The characters are remarkably human and likeable, a rarity in most horror. and there are some legitimately creepy moments. Yes, it cribs elements from every horror story ever, but it uses them well, and the actors make an effort to serve the story, such as it is. Had they a bigger budget, it might have been worthy of a theatrical release, and if it ever gets a DVD release, I'll gladly pick it up.
Corin Nemec was in it, and though this has nothing to do with the movie proper, the man still looks scrumptious. In fact, he looks sexier now than he did twenty years ago. Longer hair suits him.
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