/begin rather long, random musing on a bunch of writerly things you probably don't care about/
I love to write. Absolutely, positively love to write. There's nothing better than curling up with a notebook and a pen--or my laptop--and pouring my ideas out onto a formerly empty page. So far, I've written three full-length novels, have another in the works, and am working on the rewrite of one of the three. I've written a novella, and have two more in the process of being written, though one might turn into a novel. That's not counting the plethora of projects I've begun and abandoned over the years, always with the mental resolution that I will return to them someday because I love the idea.
Most often, those ideas get relegated to my plot bunnies notepad. It's a long document, full of ideas from terror plots to romantic twists to full plots summed up in ten words or less. It's a place where I shove ideas that push their way into my head in the midst of NaNoWriMo, so I can focus on my novel without a bunch of little rabbits interfering with my actual plot. It's a place of occasionally twisted logic, where 11pm notations are made as my fingers fumble across the keyboard, finding their way somehow.
Sometimes, these ideas actually get written. And then I get to edit them. Yay, but actually not. I absolutely loathe editing. Hate it entirely. If I could somehow discover a way to never do it again, I would be so blissfully happy that I might just up and spend a week dancing around my bedroom singing the theme song to Sherlock. Oh wait--I do that anyway. Never mind. The point is that I don't like it. It's ridiculous and wasteful and...okay, not really. It is very necessary. I just wish it weren't, because it annoys me.
So I usually gloss over editing or let somebody else do it for me. And I edit other people's things and give them reviews on what I thought. Figment.com has a thriving reviewer community. There are some of us that go out of our way to give long, constructive reviews. I like to think I'm one of those people, and maybe I'm not, but we all think more highly of ourselves than we ought. Somehow, reviewing and proof-reading doesn't seem nearly as dull when it's someone else's book. I suppose it's the same basic principle as the feeling that makes cleaning someone else's house enjoyable while cleaning your own house is akin to getting your fingernails pulled out in a Gulag prison.
This has been a very short, random look into my life for no apparent reason. You're welcome.