Not unexpectedly, my productivity fell right off a cliff.
For some reason, I decided it would be a fantastic idea to write nearly 5k words in response to a certain author’s transphobic essay. Okay, obviously part of the reason is that, as a nonbinary writer, an author with a gigantic platform sharing anti-trans bullshit while trying to paint herself as the victim in the situation hits close to home and, honestly, pisses me right the fuck off.
Not content with having a one-sided argument in a Word document, I drowned in my sunk cost. Deciding that since I’d spent 8+ hours writing those thousands of words on Friday, I should then use Saturday and part of Sunday converting said argument into images to be shared on social media was just brilliant. And this is where my life completely lost the plot. Instead of working on the chapter(s) that I was planning to post, I spent over a dozen hours fully immersed in the Chamber of TERFs. It was during this period that I also managed to run out of my meds.
If you’re a person with depression, anxiety and, um, issues with germs, I would not recommend running out of your brain pills during a pandemic. Especially when you live in a place that refuses to take precautions, where people from the governor on down act like the novel coronavirus just went away. Like “We’re tired of wearing masks and not going to bars” were the magic words and *poof* no more COVID-19.
One fight with my partner and freak-out at the gas station later, I managed to corral my shit. And I’ve mainly kept it together this week. But I’ve also not really managed to get much done. The chapter that’s been limping along in revisions ended up split in two. The project for my dad’s birthday is nearly a month late. I fucked up the grocery order so I get to hit the store twice this week. And apparently I’ve decided sleep is mostly optional, though I did managed to catch a couple hours around noon today after staying up all night. However, I’m struggling to brain and, since that’s where the words are stored, this whole whatever *gestures wildly* ain’t happening.
Oh, right. Apologies. I am sorry. I seriously dislike not posting chapters on time and hate that I’ve missed three days in a row now. But I won’t put out chapters I feel are unfinished. Which means I can’t promise a chapter on Sunday, but I’m gonna do my damnedest to get 27 revised so you can have it sooner rather than later. For now, though, I think I hear my bed calling me. Fingers crossed it’s not because my pillow is haunted.
Stormy Lane McKnight
Writer of trashy queer superhero romance, smutty sci-fi, and other things that are gay af. Disaster enby and all around bisexual wrecking ball.