The Blank Page...

You know, it's tough enough being a writer, but right now?  Being a writer is almost impossible.  It's so hard to focus.  I'm still working on the flu story... at least the research end.  The working title is still "The Pestilential Adventures of Mrs. Osgood Peabody," but when it comes to thinking of what the actual title should be, I'm kind of at a loss.  Originally, I intended to have zombies in it... well... not real zombies, more like people having an weird interaction with high fevers and a new antiviral medication but... I can't make that work, so... I think I'll just play up the "return of the 1918 pandemic but worse" angle. 

Still, it's difficult to find the energy to work on it.  I spend so much time worried over the Husbandly One, trying to get him to eat, or trying to help him over the next hurdle, that I have very little left over for writing.  Even fanfiction is difficult right now.

I spent a great deal of last night crying, but that's basically my emotional settings rebooting, you know?  I cry, and cry, and get it out of my system, and then I feel better.  I absolutely hate crying, though. 

But writing.  I need to be writing.  I really, really, really need to be writing.  Because writing is what I do and what I love and... I need to do this, for me and for him.  To show him that his faith in me has not been in vain.  I need to do this. 

I need to do this.

So... get over yourself and JUST FUCKING WRITE!