To start, let it be known that I have depression. Technically, it’s “Major Depressive Disorder,” but, whatever.
Here’s the thing about depression: It’s not “being sad.” Depression describes the sensation of utter apathy toward everything. Eating, drinking, watching your favorite television show, writing, drawing, being awake—everything. When I’m in a depressive episode, I just want to sleep and ignore the world. If I miss my medication, not only does it make me feel like my skin is about to crawl off of my body, but I feel like nothing. I feel like, not only do I not matter, but nothing around me matters. I simply exist, and I loathe myself for taking up any amount of space.
He’s twelve inches tall and cost me a big chunk of my paycheck.
What’s worse? I bought him a suit. And since you can’t take off the armor, I bought him another body. Then I was like: why even screw around with removing his head? and I bought him a second head. So, essentially, I bought two Loki dolls. Right now, I’m waiting on an auction to end for his shoes. And I’ve been thinking about getting him the little scarf, too. Since I got a full-sized one for myself.
You know what, though? This is probably the coolest thing I’ve ever owned. And I earned the money I used to pay for it.
On a related note, after watching Thor: The Dark World, I’m convinced that they need to make a movie all about Loki.
I lie here in the darkness now
Head full of pain
And I think of times in the past
And when I’ll see you again
I know you may not love me
As I do you
But as I lie here in the darkness now
I feel any love will do
So, I’ve fallen behind. Quite a lot, actually. I had everything planned out; plot, rising and falling action, character biographies, locations, all that research, and so much more. I had a mental picture of the main character and the minor characters. I had plans.
And so far? I’ve only written about 1,500 words.
That’s so much further behind than I wanted to be by the middle of November.
I have my excuses. I’m busy with work. I’m tapped out creatively. I’m not motivated.
But really? I don’t want to be constrained to just one month of work on this story. I’ve already put so much into the research portion of writing that I feel like only a month of writing won’t do it justice. So I will keep writing it. I’ll just keep writing it at my own pace. There’s no hurry, really. In fact, if I do hurry it along, I feel like I’ll lose the feel I’d been going for with it.
I know I have a lot of unfinished writing projects strewn about the four corners of the Internet. Those, however, don’t hold the same meaning to me as this novel. Sure, they’re important to me—I’m not giving up on them—but they’re not all mine. They’re fanfiction. This? This is my own creation. I want to do it justice.
And I don’t think that this mad dash to write 50,000 words will do it justice.
That’s my excuse.