ellenscult (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ellenscult) wrote2008-09-05 11:02 am
ellenscult) wrote2008-09-05 11:02 am
Entry tags:
Writing Hell Month: Day 5
Today was definitely a whimper-start. See, I don't get to bed early enough. I get up at 6:30, and while I spend most of my life running on between 5 and 7 hours' sleep a night, I'm only really fully functional if I get 8 hours. Combined with the relentless 'get up-commute-work-commute-go home and do everything else' which makes up my weekday routine, by the time Friday rolls around I'm usually just too damn tired. And I know this. Yet I still don't go to bed in time to get a decent night's sleep.
There are reasons for this.
I'm a bit of a morning person. I love getting up early in the summer. I don't need to keep hitting the snooze button on the alarm clock. (There's nothing like spending the past 6.5 years dependent on a public transport timetable which gives me 1 viable train an hour to reinforce this, btw.)
I'm also a night-owl. I perk up again around 10pm, and I'm good to go until midnight, 1am, ish, depending on how long my day's been and on how much sugar I've had. *heh*
There's another reason. When I'm a little sleep-deprived, it's easier to write. Also, I get a few more clues on the Times cryptic crossword. My subconscious has better access to my mouth, my fingers. My analytical, conscious mind is a little less in control. Which has good and bad consequences. I think this state is something to do with why I like alcohol so much. I suspect it may be one of the reasons why writers and alcoholism (in certain quarters) go hand in hand.
To whit: yesterday I worked on Squirrels on the laptop. Largely line-editing the first chapter, while knowing I had to get to grips with the structure of the last third of the book. Late yesterday evening (after cleaning the cooker - ew), I finally got down a few notes about how it should go. This morning on the train, by the time we were pulling into Sheffield station I had down notes on everything up to the final confrontation. Which I should nail on the way home. So then I'll need to divvy up my scenes, see where I deviate from the current draft, and what can be repurposed or shifted around. And then all I need to do is write it. I may even have something ready for Group on Tuesday! Gosh.
Anyway. The sleep deprivation pays off, but at a cost to my health. Most of you know I had glandular fever pretty much exactly 5 years ago, and because of it, I spent 6 months asleep. The long-term effects since then have been decreased physical stamina, occasional short-term memory problems especially when I'm tired, an increasing intolerance of wheat and dairy, and (related to the wheat intolerance, I strongly suspect) an occasional descent into exhaustion and chronic fatigue characterised by 'it eats my brain', at which point I have a very poor short-term memory, also difficulty pushing things into longer-term memory, and I can't think, concentrate, or do anything apart from sit on the sofa (hint: daytime tv is too taxing).
Running a sleep-debt makes me more prone to throat problems (I've had chronic tonsillitis throughout my life) and to severe exhaustion. Since cutting out wheat almost entirely from my diet, though, I've been able to push myself further and for longer without a relapse. Running a sleep-debt also means I'm living more off my adrenal gland for everyday functioning, which is not a Good ThingTM. But as long as I can catch up somewhere, can compensate at some point in the week, I'm good to go.
Now, the thing about starting work writing again is I have set myself up to spend this month getting really, really into it. Intensively. Immersively. To the exclusion of much of the outside world. And it's really paying off. My social skills are starting to decrease (sorry,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ravenlas), and soon I shall become rude and intolerant of anyone demanding my presence, my attention. My head is already being eaten by the book. All the characters are coming back to life, almost as though they were dehydrated and stored in my mind-freezer, and now I've fished them out, thawed them off, and poured water on them. Bad metaphor, I know, but hey, this isn't where I'm spending my best writing skills. I've been telling myself all summer that this is what is going to happen, and by the power of, well, my brain, this is what is happening.
This also means that my brain is doing some serious, heavy-duty subconscious lifting. And this impacts on my sleep. It makes me dream a lot. I noticed last week and the week before that my dreams were getting weirder, taking more of my sleeping. Ramping up my brain for the work it has to do this month. And this week, my brain has been all about the dreaming. It feels as though I'm going from dream to dream to dream without actually getting much solid deep-state sleep in. And that feeds back into my sleep deprivation. See where I'm going with this? Yeah... I'm more tired for the amount of sleep I'm getting than I would otherwise be.
One final point, and then I'm done with my weird brain and sleeping stuff, I promise. I can't just get straight off to sleep. Not unless I'm pissed, or unless I'm really stonkingly tired. I have to tell myself an on-going bedtime story so that I can wind down. And no, I'm not telling you whether or not Nathan Fillion is currently starring, with supporting appearances from Adam Baldwin and Alan Tudyk. Really. Just don't ask, mkay? (Doctor Who and Star Trek are other favourites...) Because my brain's currently maxing for creativity, my bed-time story's got a little bit too interesting. I'd rather drift into a 'telling myself a story for an hour' state rather than a 'telling myself a story for 5 minutes winding down into going to sleep' state. And yes, it may be restful, because I'm certainly not fully awake. But it's not sleep, dammit! *sigh*
So anyway, that's my very long-winded way of saying that Ellen's brain + sleep deprivation + expectation of writing = increased creativity + tiredness + lack of social skills in a funky, feeding back into each other kind of way. Which I could have said. But my subconscious is in control. More. So. I ramble.
Okay... other stuff... the too much detail for those of you interested in my ability to get 50 things done in 2 minutes... I lost an earring while doing my hair - somewhere in the bathroom (tiny, tiny, lost how??), cleaned the bathroom floor while looking for it, didn't find it. Folded clean dry clothes and took them upstairs, hung up wet laundry. Made breakfast and lunch. Stacked the last couple of bits in the dishwasher and put it on. Packed my bag for the day. Said goodbye toravenlas, cycled to the station, caught the train. (Oh - forgot to say I saw ayrton_nix yesterday at the station, which was lovely. Hurrah!) Then spent the ride in working out the end of Squirrels. And at work so far I've written a humongous LJ post, checked my slushpiles, found out about this thanks to this (ta muchly, alasdair1076), checked the route for getting to Stratford-Upon-Avon, printed maps, checked parking, printed packing slips for something sold through Amazon, answered the phone, made tea, yada yada ad infinitum. So there you go. Must do some work this afternoon. Unless I'm swimming for my train, that is...
This evening? D&D, I think. But my monk is dead, dead, I tells ya! *sniff* Poor Johnny Seagull! And no, I haven't rolled up a new character yet. I may go along, sit in a corner and write instead... Some day people will stop letting me be a dead weight in their games... *cough*
And yes, it means I'm off to see Hamlet tomorrow, withravenlas, alasdair1076, rhube, Kate, Vicky & JD wanolj. And yes, it's the one with David Tennant and Patrick Stewart. And yes, there will be squee and gloating on LJ afterwards. Assuming, of course, a lack of death and disaster en route, and a healthy un-flooded-out cast.
Weight: 150lbs. Exercise: 2 miles on the bike. Alcohol: 0. So far.
Have a great day, y'all. Shabbat Shalom (technically that's later, but it's so darn gloomy out there...)
There are reasons for this.
I'm a bit of a morning person. I love getting up early in the summer. I don't need to keep hitting the snooze button on the alarm clock. (There's nothing like spending the past 6.5 years dependent on a public transport timetable which gives me 1 viable train an hour to reinforce this, btw.)
I'm also a night-owl. I perk up again around 10pm, and I'm good to go until midnight, 1am, ish, depending on how long my day's been and on how much sugar I've had. *heh*
There's another reason. When I'm a little sleep-deprived, it's easier to write. Also, I get a few more clues on the Times cryptic crossword. My subconscious has better access to my mouth, my fingers. My analytical, conscious mind is a little less in control. Which has good and bad consequences. I think this state is something to do with why I like alcohol so much. I suspect it may be one of the reasons why writers and alcoholism (in certain quarters) go hand in hand.
To whit: yesterday I worked on Squirrels on the laptop. Largely line-editing the first chapter, while knowing I had to get to grips with the structure of the last third of the book. Late yesterday evening (after cleaning the cooker - ew), I finally got down a few notes about how it should go. This morning on the train, by the time we were pulling into Sheffield station I had down notes on everything up to the final confrontation. Which I should nail on the way home. So then I'll need to divvy up my scenes, see where I deviate from the current draft, and what can be repurposed or shifted around. And then all I need to do is write it. I may even have something ready for Group on Tuesday! Gosh.
Anyway. The sleep deprivation pays off, but at a cost to my health. Most of you know I had glandular fever pretty much exactly 5 years ago, and because of it, I spent 6 months asleep. The long-term effects since then have been decreased physical stamina, occasional short-term memory problems especially when I'm tired, an increasing intolerance of wheat and dairy, and (related to the wheat intolerance, I strongly suspect) an occasional descent into exhaustion and chronic fatigue characterised by 'it eats my brain', at which point I have a very poor short-term memory, also difficulty pushing things into longer-term memory, and I can't think, concentrate, or do anything apart from sit on the sofa (hint: daytime tv is too taxing).
Running a sleep-debt makes me more prone to throat problems (I've had chronic tonsillitis throughout my life) and to severe exhaustion. Since cutting out wheat almost entirely from my diet, though, I've been able to push myself further and for longer without a relapse. Running a sleep-debt also means I'm living more off my adrenal gland for everyday functioning, which is not a Good ThingTM. But as long as I can catch up somewhere, can compensate at some point in the week, I'm good to go.
Now, the thing about starting work writing again is I have set myself up to spend this month getting really, really into it. Intensively. Immersively. To the exclusion of much of the outside world. And it's really paying off. My social skills are starting to decrease (sorry,
ravenlas), and soon I shall become rude and intolerant of anyone demanding my presence, my attention. My head is already being eaten by the book. All the characters are coming back to life, almost as though they were dehydrated and stored in my mind-freezer, and now I've fished them out, thawed them off, and poured water on them. Bad metaphor, I know, but hey, this isn't where I'm spending my best writing skills. I've been telling myself all summer that this is what is going to happen, and by the power of, well, my brain, this is what is happening.This also means that my brain is doing some serious, heavy-duty subconscious lifting. And this impacts on my sleep. It makes me dream a lot. I noticed last week and the week before that my dreams were getting weirder, taking more of my sleeping. Ramping up my brain for the work it has to do this month. And this week, my brain has been all about the dreaming. It feels as though I'm going from dream to dream to dream without actually getting much solid deep-state sleep in. And that feeds back into my sleep deprivation. See where I'm going with this? Yeah... I'm more tired for the amount of sleep I'm getting than I would otherwise be.
One final point, and then I'm done with my weird brain and sleeping stuff, I promise. I can't just get straight off to sleep. Not unless I'm pissed, or unless I'm really stonkingly tired. I have to tell myself an on-going bedtime story so that I can wind down. And no, I'm not telling you whether or not Nathan Fillion is currently starring, with supporting appearances from Adam Baldwin and Alan Tudyk. Really. Just don't ask, mkay? (Doctor Who and Star Trek are other favourites...) Because my brain's currently maxing for creativity, my bed-time story's got a little bit too interesting. I'd rather drift into a 'telling myself a story for an hour' state rather than a 'telling myself a story for 5 minutes winding down into going to sleep' state. And yes, it may be restful, because I'm certainly not fully awake. But it's not sleep, dammit! *sigh*
So anyway, that's my very long-winded way of saying that Ellen's brain + sleep deprivation + expectation of writing = increased creativity + tiredness + lack of social skills in a funky, feeding back into each other kind of way. Which I could have said. But my subconscious is in control. More. So. I ramble.
Okay... other stuff... the too much detail for those of you interested in my ability to get 50 things done in 2 minutes... I lost an earring while doing my hair - somewhere in the bathroom (tiny, tiny, lost how??), cleaned the bathroom floor while looking for it, didn't find it. Folded clean dry clothes and took them upstairs, hung up wet laundry. Made breakfast and lunch. Stacked the last couple of bits in the dishwasher and put it on. Packed my bag for the day. Said goodbye to
ravenlas, cycled to the station, caught the train. (Oh - forgot to say I saw ayrton_nix yesterday at the station, which was lovely. Hurrah!) Then spent the ride in working out the end of Squirrels. And at work so far I've written a humongous LJ post, checked my slushpiles, found out about this thanks to this (ta muchly, alasdair1076), checked the route for getting to Stratford-Upon-Avon, printed maps, checked parking, printed packing slips for something sold through Amazon, answered the phone, made tea, yada yada ad infinitum. So there you go. Must do some work this afternoon. Unless I'm swimming for my train, that is...This evening? D&D, I think. But my monk is dead, dead, I tells ya! *sniff* Poor Johnny Seagull! And no, I haven't rolled up a new character yet. I may go along, sit in a corner and write instead... Some day people will stop letting me be a dead weight in their games... *cough*
And yes, it means I'm off to see Hamlet tomorrow, with
ravenlas, alasdair1076, rhube, Kate, Vicky & JD wanolj. And yes, it's the one with David Tennant and Patrick Stewart. And yes, there will be squee and gloating on LJ afterwards. Assuming, of course, a lack of death and disaster en route, and a healthy un-flooded-out cast.Weight: 150lbs. Exercise: 2 miles on the bike. Alcohol: 0. So far.
Have a great day, y'all. Shabbat Shalom (technically that's later, but it's so darn gloomy out there...)
no subject
Er, I mean, y'know, I know what happens at the end ;) but have kept myself away from the details of this production.
Sleep deprivation fucks me up too. A combo of glandular fever and encephalitis. I give in to it and do a lot less than I used to. I bloody resent it though. Again with the admiration of your busy-ness, but tempered by a stern look at your lack of sleeping. Take care of yourself, love.
no subject
I can't believe it's been 5 years... I'm not doing as much as I used to, and I'm certainly not travelling all over Yorkshire for evening classes like I used to. My days might be busy, but they're a lot less demanding now. I'll be fine; I'll catch up on Sunday with the sleeping and the sitting on the sofa. :)
You take care of yourself too, petal. Here's to being gentle with ourselves, eh?