>Talking about writing is something that’s hard to do without sounding extremely pretentious. There are different ways people write. Some people plan. Some people are methodical. Some people write out whole plots, do character explorations, and nail down fine points. Some people do research, not just for details, but to look at how they want their story to go: how do other stories in this genre go? How does pacing work? Some people try to come up with ideas and some people are delievered ideas by their minds.

Some people set out to write–they try to write. Some people just write. There’s something to be admired in supposed dedication; there’s something to be envied in the supposedly intrinsic talent of some people.

Sometimes, I sit down to write determined to write. I plan and plot and contrive. I do research. I make outlines.

But sometimes, sometimes I become this manic monster. I no longer feel like a person; I feel like I am posessed and suddenly nothing else in the world matters, nothing else is important, and not writing makes me ache with a depression and longing I can’t imagine ever falling in love with anyone or anything else.

Right now I feel the latter way and I write this to try and center myself, to try and create an excuse for my poor show at work, my poor show among friends, and my poor show at blogging.

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