In the absence of productivity…

[bodlon]

...I think I'll just post dodgy cell phone photos of myself with a decorative motherfucking gourd.

Tis the season and all that.

Writing at night is hard. I'm so trained to use this time to refuel with a view toward getting out of bed in the dead of night to hit whatever I'm working on like a bullet train of creative awesome that sitting at my desk with a cup of tea at 8 PM feels wrong on every level. Worse, I've had plenty of time today to get knocked out of whack by the various slings and arrows of my day-to-day life that I'm rocking some serious anxiety and frustration. Surely I used to have a trick to wringing this out of myself?

I mean, I remember one story that I had to write by string-light, and how I prepared for it by laying on the floor eating honey straws and listening to the Pixies, but that's something of a statistical outlier.

So yeah, I'll just be here with my gourd if anybody needs me.

Also! Let's have a contest. If you can correctly identify three or more of the objects visible behind me (books must be specific books, not just "books"), and I get five or more people doing that, I will do a drawing and send the winner one of my author copies of Well Versed 2011. You have 24 hours.

And...go.

This post has been mirrored from Christian A. Young's Dimlight Archive. To see it in its original format, visit dimlightarchive.com

Comments

[bodlon]

Yeah, I can't bring myself to let go of the vials. They're tiny little magic things.

And yeah! The Mr. Brains box is proudly displayed where I can see it every time I sit at my writing desk.

[contrarywise]

They are magic! Plus, tiny bottles! And yay for the Mr. Brains box! I am full of exclamations tonight! W00t!!