I nearly ran out of juice near the end of this one. This was the sort of story I had to rip out of me and throw on to the page, squealing insect noises and all.
Taxes were a special kind of tedious hell this year and there was a fair amount of stress at work this week. So, once I hit the weekend, I was definitely ready for an actual weekend involving stuff I apparently don't allow myself anymore, such as sleep, video games and watching the clouds go by.
But it's turned out pretty awesome.
I'm pretty happy with it. It hit my goals for this story:
- We met Jeff and found out what Bo does for a living, and we met Bo's coworkers.
- I introduced a bit of background material on the setting, namely that it's post-apocalyptic
- I introduced Bo's Dark Story Arc (tm)
- Most importantly, I hit that balance of 50% Office Space and 50% Conan the Barbarian
But I was definitely dragging by the time I hit the second from last Act, during the A-Team style building scene. It was fun, but I found myself possessed of an unusual amount of inertia.
I would say that inertia is my own particular nemesis. Superman has Lex Luthor, Spider-Man has Doc Octopus, Santa has the Easter Bunny. Mine is inertia.
I don't mind working at all--in fact, I love it. I like doing nothing, too. What I really dislike is changing states. If I'm resting, then I want to stay resting. If I'm pounding out words, I want to keep pounding out words. If you plotted my activities during a working day, you'd see that I tend to stay on the peaks and dislike being on slopes.
There was definitely a point during the last bit of this story where I was running on momentum. I usually take care of all the tedious chores and what-not in my life around Sunday morning and early afternoon. There were more than usual that day. By the time I got to finishing up Turf Wars, I'd been up and running for quite a while. I was really starting to feel the marathon effect by the end.
When I've been writing for more than, say, 5000 words in a row, I tend to come out of it pretty foggy. If I have to grab a bite to eat, or go shopping, I'm fairly sure whoever I bump into thinks I'm stoned out of my gourd.
I call it "write-brain." I had this in spades yesterday. Bo tends to do that to you, I guess. Pesky clones!