Well, shoot. I missed Wednesday again. I worked in the morning, then had to come home and eat something, then go grocery shopping, then go help at the youth group, consequently, I didn’t get home until around nine, and didn’t remember to update until it was already Thursday. I stayed up until two last night making Christmas presents and working on various other crafty projects. I always seem to be more creative late at night. Luckily, I didn’t have to work today, so I actually could afford to stay up that late.
Anyway, I’ve been losing the poetical motivation lately. Well, I’ve been less motivated in all my writing really. I’ve kind of gotten to a point living here that it’s not new anymore, so I have to learn how to be inspired and challenged by something other than newness. I think I have gypsy syndrome, which is a condition I just now made up in which the subject always wants to go to different places to see new things and hates being stuck in one place. Yup, that’s what I’ve got. Except that I get really stressed out at new things too….it’s a strange paradox.
My book seems like this enormous, looming pile of stuckness that is hanging over me. It keeps getting bigger and more complicated and more difficult to put into words. And then I keep researching more about the brain and its functions and thinking of more ways that my story could be scientifically inaccurate so I have to look up things about the fusiform gyrus and the prefrontal cortex, and whatever else about the brain I see mentioned in any of the research I’m doing….ARGH.
So there’s my week so far.
Oh, and here’s a poem.
There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, ‘It is just as I feared!
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
Have all built their nests in my beard!’
Poor guy. Also, if he feared that happening, why did he let his beard get so large? And how the heck did all those birds get in his beard without him noticing until that moment?