An Insomniac Writer

I'm an insomniac who writes. Mom of 1. Wife. Chronically ill.

[that-which-writes]

Excerpt

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you to not hit a girl?” Ace asked mockingly, despite the blood rushing in her ears and her labored breathing.

“When you see a girl, let me know,” Enzo said lowly.

“Ouch, Garcia. Truly. My cold, dead heart. You wound it.”

“Can’t wound something that can’t feel.”

“I can feel. I can feel how desperate you are to win approval from mommy and daddy. Pathetic.”

Enzo pressed the gun harder to her temple causing an ache in Ace’s head. “Wanna know what’s pathetic? A little girl running around pretending she’s one of the grown ups. You’re just a scared child, Ace.”

“Takes one to know one.”

[that-which-writes]

Excerpt

“You know what they say,” Ace nonchalantly shrugged as she quickly tied her long, curly black hair back into a high ponytail, “a girl’s gotta eat. We don’t all live off daddy’s money.”

[that-which-writes]

My 13 month old daughter doesn't enjoy it when I'm struck with the sudden urge to write a fantastical scene.

So, she contributes in her own way.

She was so proud of herself afterward. My baby writer.

[that-which-writes]

The most terrible thing about ADHD is the hyperfocus.

Should I be in bed right now? Yes.

Will I regret attempting sleep at almost 5am instead of midnight? Yes.

Was I tempted to re-write my entire 56k word unfinished draft for better pacing? Yes.

Did I do that? Uh...no...

I got distracted looking at inspo pictures for my characters and debating whether I should just attempt drawing them or not...

[that-which-writes]

Excerpt

“You were right the entire time. I can’t rely on my powers if I want to subdue him. I need something better. Something more reliable. Something more lethal.”

Elijah caught a fist. “Something like?”

Ace grinned. “Something like a weapon.”

Elijah smiled back.

[that-which-writes]

Writing sometimes looks like re-writing the same word over and over again until it looks fake

[that-which-writes]

I honestly don't know why I try to plot anything at this point.

I've made an elaborate plot several different ways several different times.

My characters? They take one look at it, laugh, and throw it away like it was a suggestion.

It was not a suggestion, tiny people I imagined. Follow the script.

[that-which-writes]

Excerpt

“You should’ve been more careful,” Elijah reiterated for the fourth time since she arrived.

“Super advice,” Ace snarked. She refused to take her eyes off the last glimmers of the sunset. “Should I have done that before or after the psycho in tactical gear came after me?”

[that-which-writes]

I don't write my characters.

I write with my characters.

If you think I'm in charge of this circus, you'd be mistaken. I am simply the lion tamer about to be devoured by my thralls for your amusement.