Creative Migraines R Us

And now ‘Witnesses’. To say Chuck was surprised by his own imagination was to be...

Fri, 04 Nov 2011 12:08:57 -0400

And now ‘Witnesses’.

To say Chuck was surprised by his own imagination was to be speaking an understatement. Though he was beginning to get used to the way his head took him at odd angles to his original plans.

Rubbing his face with a hand steadier than he would have believed, considering the amount of alcohol he’d imbibed recently, Chuck started typing. He needed to get these scenes out of his head, so they’d stop plaguing him, shifting and swirling and dancing in crimson splashed circles behind his eyes.

Contrary to what his fans, his publisher and even his editor thought, Chuck didn’t actually put everything he saw, everything he wrote, in the finished drafts. There were more than a few things he’d come up with that were part of the whole story, part of the overall plot, that were… not exactly necessary to further the plot.

Those things were written, obviously, but he kept them in a separate folder on his hard-drive, where only he could get at them.

Some of the things he’d written made him ill to even think about, let alone re-read, so he put them in the folder and tried to forget about them, to forget that he’d actually come up with them in the first place; there was no way anyone would want to read that stuff.

Some of the things were just a bit too raunchy, even for his books, so those went in the separate folder as well (those scenes just embarrassed him; if he attempted a re-read, it felt inexplicably like playing the part of a voyeur and that just made him squirm, so he cut the scenes down to what his publisher wanted and left them at that.)

What he was typing up now was interesting. He honestly wished he knew where he was getting all this stuff from, especially considering he hadn’t really read his Bible since he was a kid. But it was interesting, if a bit scary… and gory.

He wrote the deaths of the other Hunters, in all the detail he could muster, feeling strangely upset at their loss, and dreading writing Dean and Sam’s reactions when they discovered what was going on. That was going to be fun; he hadn’t come up with those scenes yet.

When he was done, he sat back, stared at what he’d written; a sense of horror slowly filtered through his senses.

Quickly, almost as if he were afraid someone was watching him do it, he cut out the worst of the scenes, copy-pasting them to a new file and saving them to the separate folder. There was just far too much going on that he didn’t want anyone else to have to read.

Feeling more than a little bit defeated by his own brain, Chuck saved everything and closed the laptop with a sigh.

clubbing-books: Banned Books #4 (by ellen.w)

Sun, 30 Oct 2011 16:11:06 -0400

clubbing-books:

Banned Books #4 (by ellen.w)

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Sun, 30 Oct 2011 08:05:06 -0400

vintageanchor: Where they have burned books, they will end in ...

Sat, 29 Oct 2011 16:15:05 -0400

vintageanchor:

Where they have burned books, they will end in burning human beings.
—Heinrich Heine (1821)

heartybooks: Book Page Pumpkin! This is a great idea. Now I’m...

Sat, 29 Oct 2011 13:08:35 -0400

heartybooks:

Book Page Pumpkin! This is a great idea. Now I’m thinking of all the things you can make like this…

Learn how to make one here.

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Sat, 29 Oct 2011 13:03:18 -0400

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Wed, 26 Oct 2011 08:05:05 -0400

undefined-obsessions: Traquair House library

Tue, 25 Oct 2011 16:10:06 -0400

undefined-obsessions:

Traquair House library

hellanne: Shakespear & Co. (by birkebeiner)

Tue, 25 Oct 2011 08:05:05 -0400

hellanne:

Shakespear & Co. (by birkebeiner)

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Mon, 24 Oct 2011 16:12:15 -0400

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Mon, 24 Oct 2011 16:10:06 -0400

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Mon, 24 Oct 2011 12:58:51 -0400

Chuck rolls out of bed - or in this case, tumbledown sofa and pile of dirty laundry, and as many...

Mon, 24 Oct 2011 07:40:08 -0400

Chuck rolls out of bed - or in this case, tumbledown sofa and pile of dirty laundry, and as many pillows and cushions as he could scrounge - at exactly 11.45 in the morning. The resounding thump reverberates through his head in ways he can’t even begin to describe, so he doesn’t even try.

Instead, he scrambles to his feet and heads straight for the kitchenette.

A small part of his brain tells him he should really clean up some time soon, before he catches bubonic plague or something. Another part of his brain tells the first part to shut up, and he pours himself a cracked-mug of water (mostly because he drank all the remaining alcohol the night before).

Shuffling back to the sofa, he turns the laptop round so it’ll be facing him when he flops down, then does so with a grunt. He’ll have to actually get dressed today, if he wants to replenish his stores, but it’s early enough that he can do that later.

The laptop powers back to life when he jabs at the touch-pad and - slowly and carefully, because his head really does feel like it might fall off - he re-reads what he wrote before passing out the night before.

It wasn’t much, just a couple new scenes; but what there was?

Sitting back, Chuck wipes a hand over his face, then through his hair.

“Really not sure I like where this is going, head,” he muttered quietly enough that he didn’t hurt said head.

When he’d first come up with the idea of angels? That had been awesome. He’d really enjoyed where his head was taking him, and so had his publisher. They didn’t really have the money to publish right now, but she’d loved it anyway; It was kind of gratifying having a woman enthuse down the phone at you.

But then his head had apparently decided to fuck with him and he’d re-written…

Well.

He much preferred the earlier version, but his head wouldn’t let him continue in that vein, he literally couldn’t figure out how to continue the earlier version, it was like there was a fully reinforced mental block, with battlements and a moat and all that stuff you found in Europe; so he was stuck writing this new version. And he didn’t like it and he didn’t think his publisher - or his fans, if he ever found a backer - would either.

After a few more minutes of glum self-recrimination, he decided he really did want some more booze right about now. He pushed himself once more to his feet and shuffled blearily to his bedroom in search of clean-ish clothing to wear.

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Sat, 22 Oct 2011 08:05:06 -0400

"You know what’s sad about reading books? It’s that you fall in love with the characters. They grow..."

Fri, 21 Oct 2011 17:29:19 -0400

“You know what’s sad about reading books? It’s that you fall in love with the characters. They grow on you. And as you read, you start to feel what they feel - all of them - you become them. And when you’re done, you’re never the same. Sure you’re still you, you look the same, talk in the same manner, but something in you has changed. Something in the way you think, the way you choose, sometimes, even the things you say may differ. But it all comes down to the state you go to after a nice novel. The after-feeling. It’s amazing, but somehow, you feel left alone by that world you were once in. It’s overwhelming. But it makes you sad. Cause for once you were this, this otherworldly being in… Neverwhere, and then you suddenly have to say goodbye after a few weeks from when you read the last page. When you’ve recovered from that state. It’s just… quite sad.”

- Hunger Games (via katyjean)

observando: We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be. -Kurt...

Fri, 21 Oct 2011 17:24:15 -0400

observando:

We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.

-Kurt Vonnegut