What a Relief

Sketched out a couple of characters this morning. Haven’t done something like that in a minute, and it felt really good—honestly, I wasn’t expecting it to happen.

Writing fiction has been really tough for the last few months. There was my burnout in October, which led to me taking an unintentional break from writing (that didn’t last for very long, even though I really tried to make this one actually stick).

November was quiet. Didn’t do much actual writing, but I did a lot of journaling and tried to sort out my thoughts on a lot of things.

December was mostly the same as every other December—in a state of reflection over the past year, thinking about what happened, how I processed it, how I’m going to move forward, and what I can do to make that happen. I suffered a lot of stress, anxiety, and depression in 2017, and it only felt more intense and close as the calendar rolled over into 2018. Doki Doki Literature Club didn’t help either, but it’s actually helped more than hurt overall—but that’s for another day.

Things got really heavy in January and February. I was struggling to write, struggling to function in a way that wasn’t just surviving, and struggling to stay positive in a world that didn’t feel like it was going to get better.

I started therapy to help me work through my addictions and compulsive behavior, and unintentionally began a process that would lead me to where I’m at right now.

Which, obviously, I’ll talk about more another day. Maybe not tomorrow, but sometime.

I feel good when I get it out.

Worldbuilding sketchpad #1

(This will be an occasional feature of some small bit of work that doesn’t fall neatly into the wider narratives of my large projects, but I find amusing and important enough to share. They will mostly be very small peeks into the worlds I’m creating. This one is related to Children of the Godsteel/Terminaburg.)

“The Pamphleteer?” Joe chuckled at the name.
All activity at the table, situated deep in the darkest corner of Betsy’s Book Bar, stopped. Francine, Daniel, Erica, and Henry all went silent, turning their heads in unison to glare.
“What?” He said, chuckling again, with less spirit.
“Have you never heard of him?” Francine asked, leaning in.
Joe shook his head. “I mean, that’s kind of a dumb name, right? The Pamphleteer? C’mon.”
Henry leaned in, sidled up next to Joe. He gestured for the others to pull in. “Pamphleteer ain’t no joke,” he mumbled, jabbing his finger in Joe’s chest for emphasis. “Any history leaves him out is garbage.”
“We need to tell him now.” Erica’s tone suggested it was a command, rather than a request.
“Hell yes we do!” Daniel turned and waved to the bar. “We got a newbie!”
Brett, the bartender, let out a whoop of approval. “You’ve got the tab tonight, you lucky boy!”
“What?”
Henry pulled Joe in closer. “Relax, we’re drinking cheap.” He held his hand up, fingers outstretched. “Bottle of the cheap shit! Five glasses!”