Darren Endymion's Blog, page 12

Monumental Removal

A while back I was talking about stepping back and looking at life and its problems and challenges from a distance, and about how that adds clarity to situations that are otherwise mired in the panic of immediacy. It was about the benefits of mentally removing yourself from whatever ails you to bring it in perspective.

Sometimes looking at things in retrospect is a way of rationalizing them or coming to grips with what you had to deal with. You think, “Wow. I liked HIM? And that much? What the hell was I thinking?” Sometimes it involves a person being removed from your life, someone you have known for some time should have been erased from your memories. Compassion for another person’s suffering can lead to this situation — it certainly did with me — and even a few hours away from the situation there’s this sense of a burden being taken off your shoulders. It helps.

Then there are times when you remove yourself so much that you really don’t care about the things going on around you. Removing myself from that situation I was bound to allowed me to make a profound shift of consciousness. There are times where maybe you can step too far back, though. It’s the busiest time of year at my job, and it’s insane. It always is. And yet I removed myself from the situation so much that I just don’t care anymore. Not even a little bit. Yeah, it’s crazy…but it was crazy last year and the year before that, on and on, amen. This year isn’t special. I’m doing the 10 hour days (mostly), I’m working as much as I can, but it doesn’t affect me. I’m not haggard, I’m not running around with my head ablaze, I’m just not letting it get to me. It’s kind of liberating, actually. It all is.

However, there is a down (?) side to this removal. It makes you look at your life as it is, and if you don’t like the picture…who can you fire? Who can you blame? I’ve tried jettisoning several of my personalities, but they grow back, damn it all. So, the picture isn’t what I wanted it to be, and yet getting bogged down in lacerating self-blame and self-attacks isn’t going to do anything. Once you’re aware of it (painfully aware, in this case), it’s up to you to do something or not. Am I where I want to be as a writer? Ha! Not at all. One novel and two short stories in like three years, and at least three huge ideas, abandoned because they intimidated me? My work on the current novel is coming along, but I lost a thread somewhere and had to go back to find it. Still, I am capable of so much more, so I’m not thrilled. There is so much room for improvement, even without expanding my current skillset, and all that is on me. I am 100% to blame for it. If I don’t like it, then I need to get back into that situation with my new perspective, and balance that along with some other very pressing stuff I realized in my step back.

If I don’t use this time and this insight, then I am likely to continue the cycle, and that’s just not acceptable. I’m moving forward, and I am thankful for that, so hopefully I can attend to some pressing matters that need immediate attention, and then move forward. Because if I don’t like what I see, if I’m not 100% comfortable with where things lie, I’m the only one who can change it.

10 Writing Tips

Tonight’s post is a re-tread of an article I recently read, titled “10 Habits of Highly Effective Writers” written by Robert Blake. His examples are awesome, and though I plan to rip off the 10 bullet points he mentions, this article is definitely worth reading, as he comes with experience and funny anecdotes I do not. You can access this article here:

http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/10-habits-of-highly-effective-writers?utm_source=newsletter&utm_campaign=wds-bak-nl-160105&utm_content=810510_WDE160105&utm_medium=email

1) Read.

I am guilty of not doing this. Horrible, in fact. I am a slow reader and it seems like there aren’t enough hours in the day to really sustain a good reading habit. As a writer, this is absurd. Why write if you aren’t entranced with reading? And if you aren’t learning and absorbing, then how effective can you be?

2) Manage Time

When will you write, for how long, etc. At first you need to set these boundaries, see how they work for you, and stick to them. This I am terrible at and I’m quick to give into a whim or telling myself that I will do it later. Not acceptable. Aim low if you have to. Stick to it and ramp up if necessary.

3) Set Goals

Preach! Set ones you can achieve, and then set them lower. The point here is to instill confidence in yourself. It’s not about setting the bar so low that you never get anything done, but more about building your confidence…and then challenging yourself to increase that.

4) Manage Space

Don’t work in a hoard where you are about to be crushed by boxes, discarded undies, and old boyfriends. Then make the place as pretty as you want it to me. Posters, collages, simple candle, a picture of your favorite author (though this latter is probably creepy), etc. Make it a place you want to be.

5) Set Boundaries

Tell the people you love to piss off. You’re working. And turn off your phone, damn it! Or if you’re using it for a timer (for instance), toss it far out of your immediate grasp.

6) Finish

I was working on a novel in college (it remains unfinished, so draw your own conclusions), and I would rewrite the first chapter and the second over and over and over. This was a terrible mistake. That first chapter is polished…and the novel is unfinished. I learned from this, and you should too. I think the only exception is if you realize a plot point needed to be entered or deleted. Do that right away or make notes so it doesn’t elude you. You avoid consistency errors this way by eliminating them when they are fresh in your head. Other than that, plow forward. Don’t look back unless you need a name or place or description. You will never finish otherwise. First draft and THEN proofread. Trust me. I still hear the agonized cries of that unfinished (and pretty good) novel.

7) No Shopping Your Ideas

Essentially, keep your mouth shut. Don’t tell everyone how wonderful this new idea is or they won’t care, won’t be shocked, won’t be as impacted by your brilliance…or whatever. You will then doubt yourself (assuming you don’t have the colossal ego of, say, Kanye), and it will tarnish the project. To sound like Yoda, this leads to fear, which leads to anger, which leads to a lost project.

8) Cultivate Your Team

That being said, no book was written in an abyss. Get your proofreaders and beta readers and make sure they are honest. Make sure they hold you to your word counts (if that’s your thing). You need these honest people with a sense of reading and grammar.

9) Love Your Readers

They are spending their time, energy, and (if you are doing it right) their emotions on you, your story, and what you have to say. Time and money are finite. As the author of this article said, “Honor and appreciate your readers’ investment by doing your very best work.” It can’t be said any better than that.

10) Communicate

Be available, be kind, and don’t be a dick. I was lucky enough to have a writer, a woman whose work I enjoyed, essentially make herself available to me. I don’t know that I would go so far as calling her a mentor, but she gave me some advice I will never forget and she was supportive and kind. I am still a reader of her stuff and am forever grateful. I was lucky enough to be contacted by readers of my first novel and I responded to them and received some wonderful comments…and an offer to translate English to Brazilian Portuguese should I need it again. I sure could have used that in my first novel, and though I was apparently redundant but not so bad in my use of Google Translate, I would prefer a real, live, generous, kind person to help me. If I had never been available, had I been a dick, I wouldn’t have had that connection, that kindness, and that beautiful offer to help.

So, reading that article, I can see how all of these things can help, and I can see changes I need to make. We are always learning and growing, and I think the article I stole this advice from was a tremendous help, so in my stealing I must once again thank Mr. Robert Blake for that insightful article. I recommend reading it, ingesting it, and practicing it.

Progress…Despite My Good Mood?

I have and continue to make tremendous progress with my writing. It’s amazing, but there’s something I have discovered, and I don’t know if it’s just me or if it’s normal.

I have been in a wonderful mood since Friday…and it has resulted in me not wanting to write a single word down. It’s the weirdest thing. This isn’t Paul Sheldon in Misery. I don’t write to escape a painful reality (well…not always, anyway). I’m not avoiding writing because I don’t think I can give it my all. I’m avoiding it because I’m in such a euphoric mood that I couldn’t focus, and what I’m writing requires focus on plot elements and foreshadowing, and such things that need thought processes, not just blind typing.

On Friday, I had it out with the hag I mentioned in my previous entry. She and my supervisor (bless him) have never even heard rumors of me being that…determined and calm and confrontational. The impromptu meeting ended with her silent, her protests fought off with finesse and fact, and her behavior laid out for all to see. She left, head down, angry, and upset. I practically skipped out, and the feeling lasted all weekend, and it made me not want to write. Also, a friend and I had plans for over a week to hang out and go see Star Wars, but he bailed on me, surely out doing something illicit and/or probably illegal. (I think I need to keep better company). I went to see the movie by myself and was so impressed that I couldn’t focus on the mundane things and worlds I had to spend time in.

The only reason I can think of is that I was supposed to be in another world, one where people are fighting for noble causes, where they are fighting against prejudice, where there are secret agendas which could harm life, limb, and sanity, and where people’s lives are altered. I wasn’t dealing with petty workplace drama or flaky friends whose motives for flaking are suspect. Also, to the Star Wars extent, I wasn’t fighting lightsaber duels or learning to use the Force (damned telekinesis still eludes me). The writing and plotting seemed to be so alien to my experiences, and I was feeling so good, that I think I just rode the wave of happiness to its end. I told myself that discipline dictates that I should have put myself in that writing place, but I did not. I rode that wave.

However, the work I have done in such a short time is gratifying, and it reminds me that I can write, that I can do so quickly, and reminds me that I wrote my last novel in three months. I have this ability within me. The discipline can be lacking, but when I do get into it, it’s right off to the finish line. I’m learning where my weaknesses are and how to counterbalance them.

Good moods do not need to be counterbalanced, however. I need to work through them. And so I will.

Determined, Ornery Progress

So, it’s been a challenging but fulfilling week. Over the weekend I played South Park: Stick of Truth, and wrote my little ass off.

I’m often lazy, I let things roll off my back, I procrastinate, and I outright delay if I’m feeling overwhelmed. I do this with doctor’s visits, writing projects, and telling offensive bitches to back off. This lackadaisical approach gets me into trouble and I end up regretting my lack of action.

Take something going on at work. There’s this little abrasive creature who thinks that a sharp tongue, reprehensible people skills, talking about people behind their backs, and “just being honest” are admirable. She’s one of those people who thinks too much of herself, suffers from average intelligence, and will push and push and push until someone snaps back at her — and then be scandalized and offended. Had I set her expectations from the outset, had I pursued honesty over peace, this wouldn’t be an issue. Now I have to fight with her and publicly call her on her nonsense and make a back stabber into an outright enemy. I can handle this, but had I not put it off, had I not allowed it to roll off my back, had I not procrastinated, it wouldn’t have gotten to the position it currently is. Because of that, it’s now uglier than it would have been.

And that’s what I mean by determined, ornery progress. My writing is the same way. I put it off, I let it slide away, I thought that I would get to it eventually. Now I had this new year series of thoughts. I had a talk with myself, and thought about all that I could have done had I been more diligent, all the novels I could have written, all the sacred practice I claim to need in order to really take on the bigger, better, and more fulfilling novels, the places I would be, and so forth.

I ended this conversation with myself — and both writing and the work issues came up — by realizing that they stem from the same root issue. Essentially, it’s about not complicating my life. But, clearly there are things that cannot be put off. And it’s not like I don’t know these situations when they arrive in my life. I know it, I tell myself that I need to confront this now…and yet I don’t. As Alice said on her tour through Wonderland, “I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it.”

But I have an obstinate streak. I’ve been through some shit, I’ve worked my way through it, and I’m pretty tough. I would be better served by not letting it get to that point, but I can usually bull-dog my way out of things. However, that’s a lot tougher and though I can fight, I don’t really like to.

When that stubbornness kicks up, when I get pissed off enough, when I am forced to take a good look at what I CAN do (yet haven’t), something in me steels up. I charge ahead like an enraged bull, feeling nothing, and getting to my goal without letting anything get in my way. I need to not let it get to that point. Ever.

But today I confronted the jerk. This past week I wrote and finished all character profiles, bonded with one of the characters I was having a lot of trouble with, started the synopsis, wrote a scene, put together some elements that were giving me some trouble, and revealed a plot point I didn’t know was necessary, but when it occurred to me, I knew that it was important.

Tomorrow the bull charges again. Tomorrow I call out the subversive behavior instead of pretending I don’t know about it. I write more of the synopsis. I stop letting that thought, “Well, I have all this time” hinder me. It’s all from the same issue. It’s all the same problem, just dressed up.

Last time I talked about why I still make New Year resolutions. It’s about hope and change and a desire to improve my life. It’s not talk. I have reached that point where I no longer will allow it to stop me.

Details later!

New Year and Positive Attitude

Okay, this is gonna be pretty geeky, somewhat pretentious, and probably that little spot between sarcasm and inspirational bullcrap that I seem to inhabit more often than I’d like. You’ve been warned.

My New Year’s Eve was spent alone, and I was totally fine with that. I invited a friend over and was turned down for carnitas — a decision I totally support and one I would have made myself. There was also mention of a family party or something, but I stopped listening after the mention of carnitas, feeling only indignation that I was not brought any (yes, I’m willfully ignoring the heaps of homemade tamales that I was brought. In the game of life, carnitas beat tamales like rock beats the shit out of scissors.)

What I did was finally pop in a game I have waited years to play, South Park: The Stick of Truth. I wanted it, I pre-ordered it, I waited through the interminable delays, I got a special code that gives you good (if beginner) outfits, and I waited. When I got the game, I played the hell out of it…and then stopped. I often do this with video games, but this is South Park, one of my favorite shows ever, and the game is actually good. My ex finished it and loved it. Well, I finished a new game I started and then blazed halfway through another. It was awesome. I also did several other things which I will discuss next time.

It was all this, combined with the horror of January at my work (today, for instance, was the busiest day of the year. The first Monday of the year always is), and the impending Mercury retrograde made me think. There are all these things, both positive and negative, and it’s really up to me to do with them what I will.

It goes back to that one Buddhist book/audio book/meditation I have often mentioned, Lovingkindness by Sharon Salzberg. In it she mentions the problems and difficulties in life being like salt. You cannot control how much salt you get in life. What you can control is the size of the body of water that it is going into. Is the salt a spoonful and your life a tea cup where the salt will utterly infiltrate your life and poison it, or is it a pond where this salt has little or no impact?

I think at this time of year, when the clock rolls on to something new, something fresh, that we are all ready to expand that body of water. We want to take on new things, look around, break from the self-imposed ruts we are in. This is why we make resolutions. We see this possibility within ourselves — one which is never lost, no matter how buried it may be — for hope. And from that hope can spring wonderful things. When we stop trying, when we stop HOPING, I think that’s when we stop growing, when that lake shrinks to the size of a tea cup…or a thimble.

The new year is where we challenge all that, where we crack the crust and try to step back and look at our lives for what they are and where we want them to go. We should do it without judgment (if that’s even remotely possible) and realize that maybe we are at the perfect place and all we can do is strive toward a better future.

And carnitas, damn it.

Post-Xmas, Pre-New Year

I was, unfortunately, unavailable to post on Christmas Eve and yesterday. As for yesterday…well, let’s claim I was having sympathy pains for all the narcoleptics I don’t know and took what amounted to a seven hour nap. I woke up, realized I had time to wash my dishes and go to bed, and did so.

Consequently, I am here — ever so late — and am dealing with doing all the stuff I needed to do, including this blog. I’ve been really busy with the holidays, work, and my own personal work. I’ve been trying to put it all together in time for January, when my work will take over my life as it always does at this time.

Christmas’ good feelings are lasting so far (yes, I know it’s only the 29th), and I’m in a much better state of mind than I have been. I’ve been doing a lot of writing and learning a great deal about the process, seeing as I am dealing with multiple viewpoints and agendas (usually nefarious) within the story’s framework. It’s been harder than the last novel I wrote (and both short stories I have had published, for that matter), and I honestly welcome that. I’m always thinking that I’m not up to the mechanics or relaying a writing idea I have, I’m always shoving a project away because it’s difficult or because I think that it’s too involved for my current skill level…but if I don’t challenge myself, I will NEVER be up to that.

So, this is good for me. And I’m not chickening out. Point is, I’ve written a novel about these people before. I adore them. I like them. I want to spend more time with them. I KNOW them. But they evolve as I do, and this is really the next step, both in these novels and in my journey as a writer.

To wrap it up (and it’s cheesy, so be warned), this writing project is my Christmas and my New Year all in one. It’s a gift I’m giving myself, something I’m letting myself fully experience, love, enjoy, and something I’m challenging myself with and learning to grow through. Also, it’s my resolution: to write, to grow as a person and as a writer, and to turn my life into what it should be, what I WANT it to be. I see myself in these characters, I see what I want, and I see who I want to be reflected in their eyes, their actions, and their creation.

Writing changes you. It helps you grow. It’s great therapy. And I’m beginning to believe that if it doesn’t do all these things, then you aren’t doing it right.

Relief Intertwined with Sadness

My last entry was somewhat unpopular, which is fine. If you hated that, you may still enjoy this one, because it ties more into everything else.

My friend and I had a discussion, and though it was brief, it opened a lot of doors. We aren’t friends; I haven’t gone back to that. His addiction hit an apex that scared him and he, with the help of his mother and our mutual friend, has decided to go home to his mother and start treatment. If I may flatter myself, perhaps my finally being fed up with him contributed to his decision. Maybe not; it had been a long time in coming. I’ve been there through a lot, but there came a time when it’s detrimental to me, and I couldn’t do it any longer.

I wish I could say that I am unaffected. I’m not. I’m heartbroken that it came to this. He always had his issues, true, but he was always around and usually there for me, even when we were pissed at each other. Maybe things will be different when he gets through with treatment. Maybe they won’t. I don’t know. But he was dragging me down with him, emotionally at least.

That being said, it is a burden released. He’s been such a huge part of my life for a long time now, and I hadn’t realized just how much it was affecting me. But in the past few days, and especially today, I feel that absence, that void in my life. I had devoted so much time and energy toward him, worrying about him, letting him hang with me so he wouldn’t do something stupid (in the hopes that he would learn to take strength from that and be able to be okay on his own)…that I didn’t have time to do what I wanted or what was important to me. Sometimes when he wasn’t there I would sort of just space out, partially because I’m lazy, but sometimes out of an emotional exhaustion that I didn’t know was affecting me like that.

But now!

With him at home and accepting treatment and away and, however sad, the collapse of our friendship, I have so much more time to do what I need to do. To go out. To write. To read. My (admittedly self-imposed) isolation needn’t be carried out any longer.

And the work I’ve done! I got in over my head with the character sketches for my new work because there are so many different factions and agendas going on in this story that I need to be aware of them at all times. I’ve sprinted ahead on them and–as ALWAYS happens with me–the ideas which were vague have formed further, and the plot itself has come together in a way which was only hinted at before. It’s one of the things that helps me, but at the same time I tend to spend too  much time on it. Well, we shall see.

In any case, this time is challenging, and it’s surely not over, and I’m not as heartless as I would like to be. But the results are coming together in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

Just in time for Yule/Christmas/the holidays. And if they are melancholy, they are at least productive and likely herald a change in my life that can’t be underestimated.

Blessed Solitude

At a time of year when we are supposed to revel in the company and fellowship of others, I am quite happily alone. Finally! And how I hope it lasts. A friend of mine who was once dear to me and whose downward spiral I have had to witness has committed one last series of actions which can only be considered personally insulting and horrible. I wish I could fully blame that aforementioned spiral or the drugs (which he so ineffectively hides the signs of), but there are long periods of sobriety and awareness. Unfortunately, these lay over a personality already rife with a sense of entitlement, bitterly enhanced by more than one illegal substance.

To get away from the bad influences, he was staying here (against my judgment, but as the owner of this house has a kind heart and has known my friend longer than I have, I have no real say in the matter). I was helping him, cooking for him, and otherwise trying to help. Yesterday, that was thrown in my face and I was insulted and otherwise treated poorly. I had it out with my friend via text, involving not a few accusations and picture proof of said deeds. He has not been back, nor has he contacted either me or my roommate (the owner of the house in which I rent a room).

My guess is that he is on a long drug binge, one he will eventually crash from and fully realize what he has done. At that time, he will make the obligatory apologies and obeisances, struggling to get back into our good graces. That time has passed. Drugs kill friendships as surely as they kill little parts of the user’s physical body and psyche. So do the choices made in those states.

I’ve helped, tried, reached and reached and reached, and done whatever I can, only to be consistently lied to and stabbed in the back. I have done this since before the drugs were nearly as bad as they are now, but this latest insult might have ended it all. I am one of those people who will take someone’s shit, turn the other cheek, and still try to help. I will do this over and over until I reach an internal breaking point. Even I don’t know when that will come, but when it does, I know it. I let the friendship go. I close off emotions. I will no longer be taken for granted. I will no longer extend anything, even a kind word. I have done this with other people in the past. I reach a point where my love and tolerance break and the friendship dies.

I have reached that point now.

And that solitude feels so fucking wonderful.

I no longer have to entertain, like some dancing clown, to get his mind off of things. I no longer have to look in his face as he lies to me. I no longer have to listen to the same stories over and over. I no longer have to give requested advice, only to have him willfully do exactly the opposite. I no longer have to see the acne breakouts, the dry lips and tongue, smell the drugs on him (the smell of the fairly innocuous weed not covering the more chemical scent underneath it), see the hollowed out pens and cut up straws, hear him up at 3 in the morning, watch him go out empty-handed for “walks” only to have him come back with pockets full and eyes changed…

I no longer have to hurt for him. I no longer have to see it happening and be totally unable to do anything about it. I no longer have to hope. I am letting go. I cannot do anything else. I have kept this up for too long, only to finally realize what I should have long ago — you can never control anyone else’s actions; you can only control your own. I cannot make him better. I can only detach myself, and assure myself that I’ve done what I can.

For a while, in the bouts between that cold, unfeeling veneer I get when finally pushed until I snap, when I still feel deeply for that person and his fate, I will have to assure myself that I’m not a bad person for walking away.

But for now, I can only enjoy the solitude. I can do things I need to do, now that my emotions and worry are not wrapped up in someone who treats them (and himself) like utter trash. Some part of me will mourn, and I will let it. But on the surface I will be as dead as our friendship.

And the solitude will be a blessing.

Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff…or Take Crap

It’s a fine line between letting things roll off your back and becoming a doormat. There comes a time when you need to speak up and stop taking crap.

A friend of mine has been giving me a ride to work as I regain the strength I need to walk 3 miles a day to get to work and back. I’ve been working and toughening myself up so that I can walk and free us both from this nonsense. There are a lot of other things that have happened, but this past Friday it just got too ridiculous to let pass. Unfortunately, she has become rather abrasive and passive aggressive about the whole ordeal, despite repeated assurances that it’s not a problem. The stupidity is surpassed only by the pettiness.

On Friday I had to just stop the stupidity. She IMed me at work to tell me — wait for it — that the ice in my cup was too loud. She informed me that I need — yes, NEED — to get a quieter cup because the ice in the cup was loud when it was quiet. She then said she hoped she hadn’t hurt my feelings. What?

I was tempted to turn my cup into a goddamned maraca. I told her that I’m not that fragile, my feelings are not easily hurt, and that I couldn’t care less if my ice was too loud for her. What’s next? She doesn’t like when I pass her too often to use the bathroom? She doesn’t like that I have noodles for lunch? There’s a point where it just becomes too petty to let pass. Later I was passing to the bathroom and she called me. I told her I wasn’t in the building…and that I would be back. She started to say, “So I don’t need to drive you home? You’re not in the building? Hahaha.” *stare* I told her no, she didn’t, and walked myself to my doctor’s appointment.

She then told me that she thinks of me like her son and so on. Creepy apology accepted.

As it comes to writing, I was thinking about my first novel. I got some advice that told me not to give into the editor too much if they wanted to change my voice. I didn’t let anything overt happen, but the experience was faster than I expected and I lost some battles by not being aware that there was a fight, much less that it was on. I also didn’t want to ruffle any feathers and set the expectation that I was difficult to work with.

In retrospect, I should have put my foot down more than I did. I tried not to sweat the small stuff, and I didn’t…but I did let some things go that I wish I wouldn’t have. It was bad, in fact. I didn’t sweat the small stuff, yet I took a lot of crap. I would do it differently, though I may not have to because I found a good editor.

It’s a fine line, and one I wish would send out greeting cards so you know when it was coming. There’s a fine line…like the one I crossed with this post. It sounded better in my head and came out as a bitch fest. Oopsie-tootsie! I’ll do better next time.

But, uh, the writing is coming along great and… *sigh* Post Failed. I shall slink away now. haha. Enjoy!

Narcolepsy In a Soulless Place

Yesterday I went to see a movie right after work and apparently the excitement was too much for me. I got Del Taco afterwards, ate with my friend, watched American Dad and did something I haven’t done since I was a kid: I willingly went to bed at 8pm.

I didn’t read, I didn’t listen to music, I didn’t even stay awake for much of American Dad. It was all I could do to stay awake. I did write a bit yesterday during my downtime at work (or, rather, I MADE down time, shoving responsibilities off to the side, putting it off all for today. I finished all that and more). Tonight, I have a great deal more energy, and went over some of the stuff I wrote at work, some of the character sketches and notes I made.

How the hell can I tap into my writing imagination in such a dry, dull, soulless place? Is it that my creative side is aching to get out, to break free of the horrors of Corporate America? Was I tired even then and therefore was closer to my subconscious?

Whatever it was, I should shirk my responsibilities at work more often. I had some moments of inspiration. So, yesterday was intuition, creativity, and narcolepsy. I’m not one of those people who think that you can’t be sober or totally conscious for the creative process to work, but sometimes it helps. It was like my body was a vessel and my mind was so tired that all the (self-imposed) blocks were gone.

So, though I lament the early bed time and the soulless job I have with a team I would happily push into a vat of boiling mucus half of the time, it all worked in my favor, proving that you can find inspiration in the strangest of places and situations if you are open to it…or too sleepy to stop it.