Not much has changed here. My routine was, unfortunately, hardly interrupted by the chilly weather. However, I didn't have to go to Spanish today and I got an extra three hours worth of sleep. That makes it all worth it, even though I'm wide awake now. My friends are all kept busy by rehearsals while I am not. Instead, I'm keeping caught up on my homework, getting to watch them all sweat as they try to get everything done. I suppose there's always an exchange of some sort to be made. I'm just glad I didn't slide too much while walking through the slush - those patches of ice always seem to find me!
I just finished reading Lysastrada, a bawdy ancient Greek comedy. It was a very quick read, only about twenty pages long, and I'd never read it before. It was a pleasant change from Oedipus Rex. These days, I'm trying to talk myself out of any serious recreational writing, at least until midterms and our back to back February productions are over with. Sort of hard since there's a storyline rolling around in my head.
For what feels like years, ever since my interest in writing became serious, I've heard the old saying of "write what you know." Every time I've tried that, I've grown bored. I know my characters and the situation, I know what they'll do, so why write about it? This new idea, like so many of my old ones, has potential, a lot of potential, but I'm trying to talk myself out of it. Maybe because I fear failure? In itself, this worry is beyond ridiculous because I don't show my fiction writing to very many people. At this point in my life, its just for me. Of course, it doesn't help that I've never been able to type the phrase 'The End' and finish any of my stories. They all end up gathering metaphorical dust in my computer. I go back later and read through them and think 'my god, why didn't I ever finish this; it's such a good story!' but that's all that ever comes of it.
I've tried sharing my work with others. NaNoWriMo was a little easier this year knowing I was competing against Mom, but I wrote less than I had last year, two more incomplete manuscripts that will probably never see the light of day. Writing may not be my future. It may never be a career path for me, but does that mean I can't do it? I don't think so. I just have to figure out how to finish what I start...