So my reward for putting in a new villain scene in a finished zero draft yesterday was…3k words falling out of my head on the Redneck Zombie Apocalypse With Librarian story. I am seriously considering finishing that for the Selkie, mostly because it makes me giggle and I like having fun. (Such as it is.)
This morning, for various reasons, I landed on listening to Marvin Gaye. (This may have had something to do with it.)
I can feel the odd focus of less sleep and more high emotion tickling under my skin. I used to use it for book fuel, but now it just makes me feel unsettled and tired. Learning to lower my tolerance for that fuel–because though it’s high-octane, it’s also stressful as fuck–was one of the best gifts therapy ever gave me. It’s tempting to go back, because it’s reliable and familiar. I suppose this is the acid test of learning healthier ways of dealing with the world; the pinch comes when you feel the pull to go back to that bad old racetrack and fill up on that bad juice.
So there are things I’m doing today to interrupt the cycle. A hard run. Some chair-dancing to good music. Some stand-up dancing, too. (How can you be so old, and still not get it?) Plenty of fuzz therapy. Writing something fun for the hell of it. Narrating the guinea pig’s joy at fresh-plucked greens. (Today his accent is less Berlin and more Paris.) Leftover pesto pasta for lunch.
Put that way, I’m awful lucky.