the lofty goals of manic me

So I looked it up, and I've written 47 poems this year* (49 now)**. The past two years, I wrote 196 poems each year, so this is a big step down for me. I could just accept the fact that this just wasn't a poetry year, but I like being defined as a poet, and the competitive part of me can't accept that. If anyone actually read this blog regularly (or at all), they may remember my poetry goal a few months ago, which was to write 2 poems a day for the rest of the year. I'm not good at long term goals. I'm a sprinter, not a marathoner, which is why I can do NaNo, but not WriYe.

theft of thought

I wonder, if I really was a crazy complete recluse (by which I mean without the internet; I'm already a crazy recluse) if I would have any good ideas at all? I mean, I know I would--I'm just being depressed (and depressing)--but I see things that my friends do or think of, and am utterly amazed at their creativity.

the problem with finishing

So I made it to 135k this NaNo, which is more than 500 pages written in a month. I still remember, when I was younger and working on Captive and Powers (two novelish things I spent a good deal of my teen years poking at), being amazed when I made it to 300 pages. This took several years, because I only wrote when I was 'in the mood for it'.