This is what having no life does

So I wrote 4,600 words today. I don't even feel happy about it. I'd so much rather be out having fun, but oh well. A lot of crankiness is also caused by body aching because I'm stuck in the house all day. Less writing means less aching because I'm less time in the chair, while more writing means more pain. I can't win.

I didn't even finish watching Sleepy Hollow. I need to finish this story. 3,700 words this time, total. It looks like I'm finally learning how to write short stories. Of course, it's basically smut and not anything plot related, so I'm not really sure if I've learned anything new.

So wrong

Why am I feeling jetlag in my own home? I haven't gone anywhere, crossed any time zones. The time zone crossed me. Since I like to enjoy my extra hour of productivity by working (yes, I am weird) instead of sleeping in (did I mention that I'm weird?) because I always feel so guilty about losing that hour, I don't change the clocks until after the time change, so now my biological clock is on the fritz. Not good.

I've concocted almost an entire plot for a myth/legends/fables anthology that I want to submit to. Unfortunately, the deadline is in exactly one month, so I have to hurry up. I'm almost done with another story that fits within the general theme, but unfortunately, it doesn't satisfy they're "happily ever after" requirement. It does have a happy ending, just not that kind. It's got ghosts. And magical candles. And another story I wrote yesterday has the Devil. So I'm going to end up with belated Halloween stories. Like always, I come up with some Halloween idea a tad too late.

The muse is a weird thing

You know how writers go through periods of alternate splendor (or so I hope) and mediocrity? I hate that. It makes no sense. Not that I should wonder, at this stage in my life. It's things making sense that stand out as odd. But from one day to the next. From one hour to the next? Once, I started out writing really sloppy sentences. They just wouldn't come out right, then as I was writing, suddenly something shifted and wonderful stuff started coming out. Then it went away again. Why can't I stay with the wonderfulness all the time?

In other news, I finally saw the third Ice Age movie. Two and a half times. That thing is hilarious. Cute baby dinosaurs. A deranged weasel. Mad laughter. Peril galore. And Sid being Sid: goofy, foolish, not very smart, but the result is great stuff.

ETA: I took a peek at the Doctor Who episode that's on TV right now, but it's that weeping angels one. I am not watching that again. That thing really scared me!