I.
Am.
Angry.
There. I said it. I'm angry.
It is a righteous anger. A better-than-this anger. A get-out-of-my-way anger. A white-hot, searing, eff-you-and-your-horse anger.
That burns no one but me.
I suck it up rather than spitting it out. Then it rots my insides, eating away at my creativity, my motivation, my drive.
So I sulk.
Hide.
Mumble curses beneath my breath, calling things and people who don't conform to my expectations lovely names that would make a hardened criminal blush.
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I need space.
Quiet.
Alone time.
You get none of these when you live with someone. Which is all well and good, until it's not.
Yes, I love the not-being-alone part, and not having to be solely responsible for every little detail around the house. The feeling of belonging. Kinship. Family. And, love.
But I need to be able to spread out, to have room for all my (quite limited) stuff, to be slovenly for a day or two or five if I choose. Then there are the days (weeks, months) when I'm in writing mode and need total silence. To withdraw from all but my characters and their world.
Talking and/or listening to the living interrupts my process. And no, it doesn't matter whether the interaction is in person, online via email or social media, or by phone. ANY interaction flubs the dub.
Bottom line, I create better when left alone, when I am allowed to live in the world I'm creating. Each and every this-world interaction I have whilst in creation mode kicks me out of my fictional worlds.
And, THAT, dear rebels, is the root of my anger.
My life is in turmoil. I have a tiny writing area that is also my bedroom and my evening relaxation/TV-watching space, which is bad, bad, bad for productivity; and the outside of the house is being painted by a one-man crew so it seems to be taking forever.
On top of these daunting distractions, Covid renders writing in restaurants and coffee shops unsafe. My local library is noisy (don't even get me started on their lack of a no-noise policy). And wah, wah, wah, wah, WAHHHH!
THIS is the garbage going on in my head.
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Invariably, I give up and watch one of our many streaming services, taking solace in other writers' creations. I like to call this research, and it usually is, but there's that little thing called the Awen Trilogy that is clamoring to be finished. And I was recently reminded, not too subtly, that my readers are impatiently waiting for Book Three.
AND WAIT! Let's not forget the yet-unfinished Part III of the Awen Prequel, The Druids of Marduk: AboveEarth. Yes, let's throw that on the pile too.
So the push-pull, yank-tug is a real thing. One that has been kicking 'me arse' and setting off all sorts of passive-aggressive anger issues, mostly, thank God, between me and me.
But y'all know this scallywag rebel writer. Something always happens to pull my head out of 'me arse'. Let's just hope that something happens soon.
Y'all keep reading and I'll keep writing!
That Rebel, Olivia J. Herrell, writing as O. J. Barré
P.S. While this post is entitled "Dump and Burn", the term is normally used to describe: "a fuel dump in which the fuel is ignited intentionally, using the plane's afterburner. A spectacular flame combined with high speed makes this a popular display for air shows or as a finale to fireworks. Dump-and-burns are also referred to as "torching" or "zippos" ~ courtesy Wikipedia.
O. J.'s Awen Prequel novelette, The Druids of Marduk, Part I, is available as an ebook for purchase on Amazon (or free by signing up for her newsletter). The second installment, The Druids of Marduk, Part II: UnderEarth, is an ebook novella also available on Amazon. Part III: AboveEarth, is scheduled for a 2022 release.
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