I haven't posted since Monday. Way to be consistent, right? I've still been writing this week, though - our deadline for the Australia Flood Relief project is coming up this weekend, and I think we have somewhere between 5-10 pages to go? I'm not sure.
I don't know. My mind has just been on other things. A lot of it is close to home - family conflict, trying to get a car to replace the two that winter so handily destroyed this year, the upcoming move, trying to deal with my best friend, writing partner, and roommate moving halfway across the country. That one is probably the biggest. Like, no matter how much I understand that we have a lot to do before the end of March, I still want to put off packing as much as I can, because if we leave things alone, if the way the apartment looks doesn't change, I can pretend that nothing else will. For a little while. And it sucks. We'll probably never have a writing situation this good again. That might be too pessimistic, but seriously. I just don't understand how it could happen (though if it ever did, I would be so incredibly, ecstatically thrilled).
So we're going day to day, doing the things that we love to do, like getting coffee and watching TV shows and writing, and the end of March is just looming there the whole time. Like something that you can't avoid seeing, no matter how much you want to look away, but you pretend that you can't see it anyway because it's just too much to deal with. (Oh my god, on that note, why did I look up anything having to do with The Human Centipede. Seriously, why. Nightmares forever. If I ever see that movie, which I won't, I may actually expire from terror.)
Anyway, the point of all of that was that of the big changes coming, that is the one that I'm the most not okay with, and it's messing with my concentration and everything else.
When I think about trying to write anything original, I feel like I've hit the edge of the world. You know how in Coraline, when the Other Mother's world starts to unravel and Coraline finds herself walking through nothing? Everything is just gray or white and blank? It's like that. I have nothing new in my brain to work with, and nothing new to say. I know that you're "supposed" to just plug away and keep working through periods where inspiration is lacking, but...I can't. At least right now, I can't. So instead, I'm going to read. That seems like a much better use of my time. I'm in a bit of a YA kick right now, and I'm fully planning on unashamedly enjoying it. Here's my list for the next couple of weeks (some of the books have been ordered but haven't arrived yet, and some I still need to track down):
Salamandastron, by Brian Jacques
Sisters Red, by Jackson Pearce (Holy crap, this one came in the mail today, and best cover art ever or best cover art ever? I love it.)
Tender Morsels, by Margo Lanagan
Living Dead Girl, by Elizabeth Scott
The Sky Is Everywhere, by Jandy Nelson
The Things a Brother Knows, by Dane Reinhardt
I also just finished Anna and the French Kiss, by Stephanie Perkins, and it was a whole lot of fun, though it made me sad that I am not, nor will be in the near future, in Paris. Damn it all.