The other part is that I just wrote a book in eighteen days. So while I'm sorry that I haven't said anything, and I'm sorry that this post does not shine with the stellar randomness/awkwardness you all know so well, I will not apologize for needing a little recuperation time.
Since I really don't know what else to say, here's a song a friend showed me the other day.
Behold: Christina Perri's The Lonely
Isn't it incredible? I admit it -- I have a thing for haunting music. I'm also one to be instantly captivated by phrases that aren't quite explained. Dancing slowly in an empty room ... let the lonely in/to take my heart again ... These are the phrases that stick in my mind and create an obsession. And, in this case, a story.
That's right; I wrote a story yesterday. It was only eight hundred words, so I suppose it's more flash fiction. This song was too much for me -- I couldn't find anything in my current writing to identify it with, so I had to produce something else.
And I did. I produced dusty chandeliers and hidden dreamworlds, ballgowns and a character whose broken heart consumes her being. I fell completely in love with the idea. I sat down to write it.
The sad thing is, my failure wasn't even exciting. It was 'meh'. The story was meh, the writing was meh, the characters were meh. Right then, that seemed like the worst word in the world. But today, I see things differently. I do, after all, have three other projects underway. This idea has great potential for blossoming into a novel, but I can't let it do that right now. I need to focus on the things I already have. At this point, the meh of my writing isn't important. What's important is that I wrote down the idea. I saved it. Someday, I will write it again.
Be prepared. It's going to rock the world.