Dec. 8th, 2012

rosiespark: (Pix)
I wrote a snippet of fic this evening, scribbled on a paper carrier bag because that was the only paper I had upstairs and if I don't write things down the instant they come to me, they tend to be gone for ever.

I don't know if it'll ever become anything, still less whether I'll ever post it anywhere, but for the record, it's Freddie and Bel from The Hour. And I'd forgotten what a high I get from writing dialogue when it flows almost effortlessly, when it feels like the characters are writing the lines and I'm just transcribing.

And now I want to stay up all night to see whether I can write more of it, and I can't. I have to be up at a reasonable time tomorrow morning to go and make mince pies with my mum. Why does inspiration strike at impossible moments?  I suspect it's part of the perversity of life.

PS Hello, flist! Am I back? I really wouldn't have a clue.

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December 2012

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