ginger: (writing)
When I went to bed last night, I was 894 words behind. I expect I'll probably stay about there through the weekend and catch up as I can - I anticipate that my Thanksgiving weekend (five days off in a row WOO!) will involve lots of staying up late, caffeine consumption, and bashing myself in the head to try to overcome writer's block, as I'd like to be back on track by then, if not a little ahead. (Whee, optimism.)

Heh. Writer's block. Problem I'm having is two-fold - I have a billion scenes I need to get out, and a rough 2-sentence description of each. But 2 sentences doesn't - or shouldn't, in a happy world - equal 1700 words, and the writer's block kicks in when I'm trying to expand past the two sentences. Transitions between the scenes I'm writing? Hah. You must be joking. I've spent a lot of time the past couple of days sitting at my laptop, staring at a blank screen going "..... huh? Heroic? Sure! Oo! Movie! WoW! Raid! NO! MUST WRITE! But oo, shiny!"

On top of that, three scenes in particular are giving me hellacious issues on sort of a personal comfort level, but they're scenes that are pretty damn important to the story, so I can't just skip them or "fade-to-black" them. Feh. (My brain suggests I should write them while tipsy.)
ginger: (dear journal....)
I hate writing dialogue.

Let me rephrase that.


That is all.

Edit: No, that's not all. When I was in school, I was taught that you don't start multiple sentences in a row with the same word. This, when writing in the first person, is bloody difficult.
ginger: (method to the madness)
Oh, Livejournal. I need your help.

Picture it:
The scene is early 2001. There's a little bar that, if you look around, you'll probably guess - accurately - that it's a gay bar. A little stage for *cough* event nights, and two dance cages on the dance floor, one probably occupied by a few chicks who, if you look closely, just may resemble [ profile] gwenivere, Jen and me. I wouldn't be surprised if we're being gawked at by fellows who are not terribly clean, don't speak English as their native language, and are too distracted by the trio of cute women grinding on each other to actually notice the whole "gay bar" thing. The dance floor is full of Theatre People with cosmopolitans.

And Livejournal, it is 80's Night at Paradise.

So tell me - what classic favorites is the DJ (who will sneak in some early 90s metal, if someone flashes him enough boob) playing tonight?
ginger: (writing)
I'm noticing a newly-developing interest (well, over the last year and a half, anyway) of accepting challenges I'm not entirely sure of my ability to meet. (See: The Knitting Olympics and the 3-Day.)

So, as I've hinted to all of you and discussed at length (haha! I'm so punny at 8am on a Friday!) with a few of you, I signed up for NaNoWriMo this year. In the realm of great dorkery, the resultant piece of writing-of-questionable-quality will be an "autobiography" of my current GenCon character - the one who's been eating my brain since August. (The character has been working on said journal for a month or two now. Poor thing is getting even more screwed up, reliving it.) I don't expect to be posting much of it here - not because I don't trust the larpers on my f'list to not-use the information therein appropriately, but because I don't figure most of you will have any interest in reading about a vampiric singer who doesn't talk anymore. :)

Just explaining in advance why my brain will be summarily devoured during the month of November :) Carry on!

PS. Dear Storytellers: I expect more than 2 XP for this background when it's done. :P Love, Ginger
ginger: (writing)
Every so often, I feel bad that I am engineering my poor girl's mental and emotional fucked-up-edness quite so gleefully.'s FUN!

T-27 days. *flexes typing fingers*


ginger: (Default)

December 2016

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