Can’t Sleep, The Clowns Will Eat Me

zombieland-clownOkay, so this isn’t as bad as it sounds. I actually have no issues with clowns. Any of them. I mean, I’ve a fan of zombie movies and if you’ve even been paying partial attention, those have clowns in them. A lot. Cannibal clowns. You’d think those would be the ones you’re supposed to be afraid of, right?

At the same time I have sleep disorders on my best days. And the last few weeks haven’t been my best days. Tuesdays and Thursdays are becoming the nights where anxiety takes hold because I know I will have trouble sleeping. And I am fully aware that the anxiety makes it almost assured I won’t sleep. Thanks. But last night wasn’t a day starting in the letter T.

Dreams have been waking me up lately. Like up to five times a night. Last night started innocently enough with a scene of being part of a police force strike on a criminal organization’s house. Only they knew we were coming. Lots of folks died. Horribly. And I watched it all.

dark_sci_fi_warrior_soldier_military_weapons_guns_mech_monsters_creatures_art_cities_buildings_battle_war_1920x1080Each time I woke and went back to sleep it got worse. Instead of the mob it was monsters. Zombies would turn to mutants, who would in turn morph to vampires. Eventually it was a mass attack from aliens or elder gods. Possibly both.

Cut to this morning, trying to get ready and out the door to write. Nothing is flowing. I am getting words down, but I had to fight for the 1200 or so I managed. And I know there’s no inspiration for my next story. My plan is to top out at 20 short stories (10 short of my 30 story goal) but around 55k in word count. Which means about 15k in the next 3 days. I was dragging my heels this weekend.

More so, with so many of my stories being ghost story adaptations or urban fantasy in nature, I am noticing a trend. There are a lot of stories dealing with death. So much so, that I am considering a story with the Grim Reaper as the central figure. Sort of a “one story to rule them all” thing. And now my dreams are following suit. Lots of death, and waking up wondering where my dog is.

The best description of this morning comes in the form of a television quote. Specifically one from Pam a couple episodes back in True Blood… “Yeah, kind of like getting kicked in the cooch by a Wallaby, ain’t it?”

Why post about this here? Maybe so I keep writing. Possibly it had something to do with no blog in the past week. Or maybe to serve as a reminder for those facing similar problems in their NaNoWriMo project (or similar deadline driven task). Take some time to process life. Hershel said, “We all have a job to do.” At the same time, the difference between 40,000 words in a month and 55,000 words isn’t that much. Had I been in the middle of a novel and not a collection of short stories, I might have thrown in the towel already.

And that’s not only allowed, but perfectly acceptable.

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