Let us celebrate the mundane...

I got my inspiration back. It took a lot of screeching, smashing head against table and reciting the two-times table, but I caught it by the tail and dragged it home kicking and screaming. I sat in the canteen for four hours waiting for my brother to finish his workshop. Finally, when the canteen was devoid of most life I felt the urge to write. And I did. It's half-assed, yes, but hey. Still needs to settle.

But, damnit. It was a Mary-Sue. A damn PWP. Whatever happened to the kickass novel I was supposed to write?

I do feel better, though. Writing Mary-Sues is good therapy.

I've never had a good relationship with my writing. The characters simply won't do what I want them to do, and I always end up editing the stuff heavily over and over. I often feel drained after writing a piece. Bit like looking after spoilt children.

Writing was my first love though, and I'll never give it up. Drawing is more like a surface thing, won't ever replace writing.

So tired.
But I can't fall asleep.

Cheese + chess + chestnuts = Me und Mein Engel...