WiPpet Wednesday

It's fair to say I've done sod-all this week.

Well, no, that's not entirely true.  I've written 281 words.

I've fended off my depression plenty of times before but I've been feeling it gnawing at the edges of my consciousness and right now, on top of still being ill, I've not been able to deal with it.  I hate it.  I know it's there, a floating black cloud, but it makes me feel like a fraud on every level.  Not only does it remind me how incredibly futile everything I do is and how little any of it actually matters—and all the rest of it—but even feeling like that makes me feel like I shouldn't be feeling it.  That it's all just some massive ploy.  Despite the fact I think this is the first time I've actually written about it.

So every time I've sat down to write, I've ended up doing other stuff instead.  I've found a Commodore 64 emulator and have been playing digital versions of games we already have (without having to wait anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour for the game to load) and am now significantly better at Flip & Flop than I was as a child—which isn't hard.  I've been reading, and the book I'm on is significantly better once I got past the first chapter.  And I've been practicing calligraphy and general dip pen work since I found that Rhodia notebooks work just as well with dip pens as they do with fountain pens.

Unfortunately, you can see the extent of my attention span perfectly right at the end there.  (Autumn Oak is the name of that ink and the lyrics are courtesy of a few FiXT artists.)

I guess I'll get over it eventually.

WiPpet Wednesday

WiPpet Wednesday is K.L. Schwengel's work-in-progress blog hop.  You can find other authors and sign up for yourself just here.

Well, it's the start of a new month.  Based on the abysmal performance above, you're getting another bit of The Rose Queen instead.

Generic maths.  It's the 4th February, so you're getting four unedited paragraphs from chapter 2, following hot on the heels of the last section.  (Basically, you're getting the stuff I enjoyed writing.)

“Before I go with you,” the Rose Queen said quietly, catching Fayth’s hand, “tell me why I should trust you.”

His touch was soft, his skin cool and smooth, and Fayth really wished that he could stop imagining what they’d feel like touching his chest, his hips, his—  He swallowed and carefully prised the Rose Queen’s fingers away.  “I can’t tell you that.  I can tell you that I’m Admiral Fayth, and I can tell you that it’s taken me a year to find you, but tell you why you should trust me?”  He quashed his rampant imagination and laughed.  “You’re probably better off not doing that.”

But dear God those eyes were amazing as they stared at him, weighing and assessing.  How could one man’s eyes be such an incredible colour?  When the Rose Queen nodded once, as much to himself as to Fayth, it took Fayth a moment to realise that he was agreeing.  Agreeing to go with him.

The return journey was going to feel like an age.

Poor Fayth.  Cursed with an overactive imagination.