butterflydreaming (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
butterflydreaming) wrote2004-03-21 07:53 am
butterflydreaming) wrote2004-03-21 07:53 am
Some really strange stuff goes on in my head at night.
The Desk Drawer will become my outlet.
I keep waking up with fic ideas, so maybe that's why I haven't been remembering my dreams lately, at least not clearly, movie style. So, this morning, I started writing a Yue & Syaoran pairing... what the hell?!? Maybe it's because I put "Melt" in the Desk Drawer (http://home.earthlink.net/~13toadstoolcircle/ ) and now I have this feeling of relief, like I've found someplace to store the red-headed stepchildren.
I think that I can make the pairing work. It's a stomach-turner, probably very sexual (no, I think definitely), and happens before and after S & S's wedding. Waaaay dark. And it's called "Disloyalty".
It's all that thinking about Syaoran, whose name I can barely type. Take two noble characters and just do this to them, and make it be in character. Two pages, so far so good, not good resolution in sight. No happy ending, that's for sure.
And the thing is, I feel quite functional, as me. But I think that it's coming out in my writing, the things I don't want to talk about (Beneath the Gate) and the general darkness swilling in my heart (Disloyalty). I'm chained down now, you see. I can't leave, not when I'm needed. Not when I'm expected to be here.
I've drawn a line of salt in a circle around me. I think about reaching beyond the circle, and get a lancing pain, a lightning shock. If I try to open a window, I see the rain wanting to come in, cold and icy with hail stones. I feel like something volitile and greasy.
I know that it's true, but it doesn't feel real. I can't do anything about it anyway. But I'm expected to be a certain way. (Why did the color just change again? I didn't do it.)
I can't live for other people. That's the only truth that I can handle right now.
I keep wondering when I'm going to break. I keep wondering why I keep writing about these things here. No, I know. It's a message in a bottle, no GPS location. It's a note crammed between bricks in a wall. I can't talk directly, so... . I'm not giving anything of myself; I'm just littering.
I keep waking up with fic ideas, so maybe that's why I haven't been remembering my dreams lately, at least not clearly, movie style. So, this morning, I started writing a Yue & Syaoran pairing... what the hell?!? Maybe it's because I put "Melt" in the Desk Drawer (http://home.earthlink.net/~13toadstoolcircle/ ) and now I have this feeling of relief, like I've found someplace to store the red-headed stepchildren.
I think that I can make the pairing work. It's a stomach-turner, probably very sexual (no, I think definitely), and happens before and after S & S's wedding. Waaaay dark. And it's called "Disloyalty".
It's all that thinking about Syaoran, whose name I can barely type. Take two noble characters and just do this to them, and make it be in character. Two pages, so far so good, not good resolution in sight. No happy ending, that's for sure.
And the thing is, I feel quite functional, as me. But I think that it's coming out in my writing, the things I don't want to talk about (Beneath the Gate) and the general darkness swilling in my heart (Disloyalty). I'm chained down now, you see. I can't leave, not when I'm needed. Not when I'm expected to be here.
I've drawn a line of salt in a circle around me. I think about reaching beyond the circle, and get a lancing pain, a lightning shock. If I try to open a window, I see the rain wanting to come in, cold and icy with hail stones. I feel like something volitile and greasy.
I know that it's true, but it doesn't feel real. I can't do anything about it anyway. But I'm expected to be a certain way. (Why did the color just change again? I didn't do it.)
I can't live for other people. That's the only truth that I can handle right now.
I keep wondering when I'm going to break. I keep wondering why I keep writing about these things here. No, I know. It's a message in a bottle, no GPS location. It's a note crammed between bricks in a wall. I can't talk directly, so... . I'm not giving anything of myself; I'm just littering.