Oh, Teh Agony.

...Of being stuck at The Day Job. And have the muses enlighten me with how, exactly, to fix and finish Black's story.

I was flailing. It was hilarious, in hindsight. There I am, doing the artistic equivalent of a pee-pee dance, trying to hold it all in until my hour-long meal period. Chanting in the back of my head, "for fuck's sake, just hang on a little longer, please don't go away, just WAIT A LITTLE LONGER, ohgodohgodohgod..."
I have no idea how many people backed slowly (or quickly) away from me during those couple hours, praying for a safe retreat from the crazy lady with the psychotic, schizophrenic expression on her face.

I scribbled furiously in my notebook (a small 4x6 leatherbound thing that I go Nowhere without for reasons that should now be obvious) for an hour straight, and managed to catch it all.

And then stayed up until 2 a.m. typing with the same passion-driven fury.
Hello, Organic Mayan Black Onyx brew, I love thee. Shall I count the words? I mean... ways?

Slept for six hours.
Woke up five minutes before the alarm was supposed to go off.
Wrote for a few hours on FOAT, enough to finish up the second-round edits and the rewrites that were required for the last couple chapters.
It just... flowed.

I love it when that happens.
I've been feeling slightly hung-over since, but it's difficult to care. Because, like any artistic medium, the true execution, done with energetic, driven motivation, creates a finished product that is a sight to behold.

And that, in the end, is what I strive for.
It doesn't happen too often. Hasn't really happened, to be honest, since last summer when Aleks and I wrote FOAT in one fell swoop over the course of six weeks.

Madness, I'm sure, by some definitions. But then, artistic inspiration is like that. Dancing in the gray area along that line, flirting with the dark side. Learning to tap into that energy, without letting it get out of control.
Much like a racehorse, breaking from the starting gate. You get a fistful of mane in both hands, make sure there's plenty of slack in the reins, and pray to Saint Francis you don't get outbroke.