Intrusive Plots - Ex Libris

It’s almost 4 a.m. and I began a new project. I’ve barely broken ground on the old project: I can see 10k, right around the corner. If I’m up at night writing, it should be building on what I already have.

Can’t have that. Might finish something, god knows. Might shuffle our career forward, god knows, heaven forbid. Instead, I’ve lanced a blister.

My psyche was scored deeply when young, rerouted into a craggy tangle of traps and jagged rocks and rotten vines, and then awful things kept happening, and peace is a relatively new state of being for me. Most of my time is therefore spent navigating the maze of my own neurology, with a faintly annoyed air.

This is one of those moments: yes, I will stay up past 4 a.m., thank you, if it stops the obsessive loop whining in my ear. Someone let me know if such indulgence is a bad idea.

I cracked open a shrink-wrapped 400 page Leuchtturm, which I’ve been saving for years. That took more effort than most people would understand. Sounds ridiculous; it’s not. Next year I will likely seek an OCPD diagnosis.

Check out this first line, though:

‘It was 12:41 p.m. and the dead rat hadn’t begun to smell yet, which meant some sinister current was building.’

Good hook, not perfect, not bad for a neurotic insomniac on a neurochemical bender.

Tomorrow I’ll be back at the old Tyrant grindstone.

Bisous,

Alice