shadowtricker: (storm)
I suspect it would not feel so late, had I not already wasted several hours in trying to sleep.
shadowtricker: (Nemo dreams)
Went to bed around midnight, slept for a bit, and now I'm up again typing this at five of the morning. I tossed and turned for half an hour or more first, which was likely unhelpful. I do hope this isn't marking the start of a pattern.
shadowtricker: (Nemo dreams)
Insomnia notes )

While I'm remembering this journal still exists, I wanted to give thanks for the birthday wishes! I got a few very nice books, with likely a few more to come because the financial situation makes the timing awkward. I'm feeling somewhat annoyed at myself that I still haven't gotten beyond the first chapter of my Shadow fan fiction, but I'm suffering apathy and lethargy these days, between the general chaos of our current lives. I'm still quite active in RP, however, and I thank Myra's player for introducing me to Zatoichi. It fulfills my intellectual interest in character and foreign culture, as well as my little-voiced interest in a bit of good old-fashioned violence.
I welcome the cooler temperatures and the changing colours of the leaves, while chiding myself for not working on the various projects that I mean to. Life goes on...
shadowtricker: (Nemo dreams)
What is the point of insomnia if you can't write a bloody thing?
shadowtricker: (Nemo dreams)
Roughly two hours ago I woke, a dilemna of research for NaNo swirling in my head like something approaching critical mass and about to explode into a new solar system. Round and round in the blankets I spun, until tangled up and suddenly far too hot, but after laying a moment exposed, much too cold. I found I could doze, but my mind continued to cycle over the problem, rendering it restless and unfulfilling.
The last two days I've picked at the writing, managing only a few hundred words each day rather than the needed thousand and some. It's likely a minor point and I need to forge on ahead and write without trying to solve it. Corrections can be made later.
My difficulty lies in that I have a very specific geography necessary to the story, but I'm struggling to find a real location to fit within it. There is a city, in which there is an airport, and the greater part of the story remaining takes place there. Every city I find that seems to fit the geography, airport included, I discover did not found such an airport until the 1960's or so which is some two decades after the story takes place. Those cities which seem ideal and contained a quaint airport in the right era seem to be located in entirely the wrong location. I could give up on it all and create a fictional city entirely, but so much of the rest is accurate and historical. Although the story and characters are fictional I suffer this desperate fixation to ground them in as much reality as possible.
Perhaps there can be no solution, so I write, but not what I should be writing.
shadowtricker: (Nemo dreams)
Oh, unfair! Bitterly unfair. I lay awake counting, trying to lull my own mind into sleep, and fell into a doze without realizing. I entered into a dreamspace where I was a younger self, tormented with sleeplessness, and continuing that same count to put myself to sleep, still swearing I would give it up at one-thousand and go do something more active for a bit before trying sleep again. I distinctly recall that I sat with my back up against a nursery bookshelf, holding to my chest an illustrated work of Aesop's Fables, the one with the blue cover and the fox and grapes engraved upon it. As I worked my way to the eight-hundreds I had to repeat for losing count, and felt myself nodding off against the shelf, but I was still cognizant on reaching one-thousand.
Cognizant, but asleep. In the dream within the dream I was somewhere pale and soft, with someone familiar singing the sweetest lullabye I had ever heard, in a light whispery tenor. The song gave my conscious mind chills, redolent with that kind of painful nostalgia that only snatches of dreamsongs can bring. Greedy to remember what seemed so desperately familiar I clutched at the tune, like a thief I dragged the few bars I had heard speedily toward the waking world.
I am awake now, with three bars and two lines of lyrics which, while sweet, are sadly devoid of something when heard in the waking world.
I am awake, bitterly awake again.
shadowtricker: (Morpheus considers)
I suspect that sleep is simply not meant to be tonight, The Shadow is far more gripping by this hour of the morning, however. Perhaps I'll listen to the one with the faceless monkeys again.
I do wish I could find some of the old comics or novels online.
shadowtricker: (Morpheus considers)
I suspect that focusing on a single prompt from [livejournal.com profile] all_unwritten would be more productive than listing them all for perusal later.

Disappointed dreams flitted, struggling not to fade. Sliding off his slumped shoulders they sought to weigh him down, to sink him into long overdue sleep.
Oblivious to their efforts he stared at the wall, and sighed.
shadowtricker: (heart of pages)
In the interest of not posting details of my continued melancholy, Bridgie's struggle with depression, or the latest complaints from my knees:
handmade accordion book )

I'm afraid the cover paper doesn't show up quite as well as I'd like in the photograph, but I took these myself and I'm not terribly comfortable with Rey's new camera. The wheels are in varying shades of grey, all outlined in metallic gold. The papers for the signatures are not merely printed with leaves, but are actually quite nice thin paper that seems to have had real leaves pressed onto it long enough to leave an impression. This was made out of a kit, and I put the signatures together wrong due to my unwillingness to hunt down my reading glasses to decipher the vague instructions. I quite like how it turned out regardless, although I've no idea what to do with it now that it's done. The finished piece is quite small, just over five inches square, and the whole thing was quite quick to put together. I have another different book kit by the same company I ought to try, although the instructions with that kit are quite horribly wrong, in a fashion that involves steps (they are numbered, making it obvious) missing entirely, words missing from steps that are there, and other typographical errors. Bolstered by the success of this little project, I may tackle it regardless.

Wide awake.

Apr. 5th, 2008 03:19 am
shadowtricker: (Nemo dreams)
March is blessedly over, and April 1st passed without anyone pulling distressing pranks.
The computer is acting rather poorly, but perhaps it has some idea what time it is, and means to convince me to sign off and try sleep again.
It vexes me that the term 'pimp' has become a common verb in modern speech.

quizzes & whatnot )

That last does not surprise me, but likely it's a hint that I should go lie down again. I wish you all a very good Saturday morning, and hope that yours starts much later than mine has.
shadowtricker: (words)
I am up late again, unable to sleep. I apologize for my recent apathy in posting, but I do respond to comments left in my journal, however belatedly.
In answer to [livejournal.com profile] ursa_mater, my favourite author would have to be Rudyard Kipling, and there is nothing of his I do not enjoy reading. From the passionate world of the Jungle Books to simple essays on his days in journalism, everything he has written has a certain feel to me of coming home. This has nothing to do with India, where I have never been, but with a sort of connection I feel to his writing style and perspective of the world. My collection of his works is, at the moment, incomplete, but I have also begun to run into duplication of a number of stories from various collections of his writing. I am also in mourning at present for a lost copy of Stalky & Co., a paperback of advanced age with a cover that had nearly come off.
Christopher Morley is an author I dabbled in reading before, and have recently rediscovered with a passion. He lays open the thoughts and feelings of the perspective character in his longer works, so that one feels they relate to them even if you have nothing in common with their personality. There’s a very timeless quality to his writing, and he very successfully throws in delightful surprises of plot, even absurdly fantastic twists that make me chuckle out loud. I don’t feel the fondness of familiarity with his works that I do with Kipling’s, but I’m rapidly collecting everything I can and have yet to find any writings of his that disappoint me.
I suppose where it’s the people in Morley’s writing that draw me, it’s the environments in Kipling’s. In every work of Kipling, even the short stories, I have a sense of being drawn into a place and time, so that the world he describes is laid out before me. He takes pains to add explanatory details so that one feels one belongs to the world he has presented. This utter immersion in the text is, to my mind, the ultimate success of a work of writing.
My own style is influenced by too many things to closely resemble either author, although I suspect that I would come closer to Morley than Kipling in many respects. I am fond of environmental detail but I often find myself stripping it down for the sheer sake of readability, a sign that I am not nearly as successful in it as I would like. Like so many practicing in any artistic field, I have made attempts at copying various authors stylistically in different pieces of my own. I’m sorry to say I have not written much or well in some time, and am trying lethargically to get myself back into the habit.

I suppose that I should try the bed again, or perhaps return to the latest work of Morley that I obtained only today. Writing done at a late hour, while sometimes seeming perfectly brilliant by the feverish lamplight, tends to look lackluster in the light of day.
shadowtricker: (Morpheus considers)
Slept relatively well the other night, fell asleep easily enough tonight, but awoke before five. I'm not sure what to do with myself at such an hour.
shadowtricker: (Desperate for time)
Awake straight until three or so, slept until six, at which point the cat woke me by attemtping to occupy the same space as my head. Nearly fell asleep again when Bridgie's alarm went off and woke me, and the various morning business prevented sleep until nearly eight in the morning. Went back to bed until ten, dozing fitfully.

Of note, the neighbours are also either insomniacs or need noise to sleep, and they have been playing Miami Vice? for, as nearly as I can tell, the past ten hours continuously. I believe it's Miami Vice, but I cannot relate the theme music via text. I only know that this catchy little theme music has been played once every twenty-five minutes through the wall, for all my waking hours since last night. It is interspersed with gunfire once or twice, and other action music. When I caught those few extra hours this morning, I kept drifting in and out of a dream where we were living in a library (what bliss, except that our beds were on view in the corner and I spent time on a ladder to reach the twelve foot or so ceiling and hang a concealing curtain.), and I was in a bad mood due to lack of sleep. I kept telling the librarians about the theme music coming through the wall whenever I tried to sleep, and attempting to confirm that the theme song was, indeed, that of Miami Vice.

Happy Valentine's Day to you all, I firmly embrace the sort of holiday that [livejournal.com profile] janewt describes, where it is a day to express not necessarily romantic affection towards friends and family as well.
I am in a poor mood however, and off to drink a great deal of caffiene.
shadowtricker: (surreal blue)
I felt a bit wakeful last night, probably the first time it's been put to the test... Tossed and turned for an hour or more but eventually fell asleep. I had a lot of difficulty catching up on any more sleep once daylight hit the room.

Restless and sleepless tonight but fell into a light doze around midnight or so, hovering in that not-quite-sleep state with chaotic and meaningless half dreams. Woke at five in the morning, very much awake now...
shadowtricker: (Nemo dreams)
I have little to say, except that it occurs to me that I should keep a record of my insomnia. Things have been worse than usual for several weeks running, now, including several nights of no sleep at all. It's only just gone past two, I'm about to go up and lie down again. When the other household insomniac drawing you being insomniac has gone to sleep, it's time to try going back to bed. The music over the headphones has become a drone.
shadowtricker: (surreal blue)
Since falling into a discussion on tags in the LT community, I've been more interested in using them. I just went back and tagged all my entries here, for something to do. Insomnia is a persistent disease...

Rey bothered me a while back to take a personality quiz she got through work, so I am hoping that taking this version will appease her.

Pirate Monkey's Harry Potter Personality Quiz
Harry Potter Personality Quiz
by Pirate Monkeys Inc.

I suppose I'll go lie down again.
shadowtricker: (abandoned way)
There must be some trick, I think, to the art of sleeping; Yet again tonight I have tried and it has failed me, or I it. To be left awake stirring restlessly in the bed after the house is asleep feels rather like having missed a train. You know it has gone on without you, that through some error it has passed you by, and there is nothing for it but to pace in the station and wait. The house has a desolate feel, and the debris of the day only reminds one that the people who discarded these things are elsewhere. There is a sense of helplessness and frustration, and an inevitable but ultimately useless compulsion to frequently check the clock. No amount of coercion will change the state of things. Sleep cannot be pleaded to, bribed, or bullied. Impatience will only make the time seem longer.
There is nothing to do but be still, try to relax, and wait. The only consolation is that sooner or later, your train must come in.
shadowtricker: (book in sand)
It's a rare dream that makes a complete story, a finished chapter that lets you wake when it is closed. This is poorly written down but it hasn't been through any editing and it's past two in the morning now.

I woke with this, this morning. )

I have also, obviously, finally paid for the bloody journal and gotten the layout I was so desperately fond of, only there's no way to change the width of the main section that holds the entries. It seems a waste of space laid out as it is, and it's slightly hard on those of us with already strained eyesight.

Whining

Oct. 20th, 2006 01:39 am
shadowtricker: (words)
Hmm. If I have run out of unpaid space on LibraryThing then I suspect it's a sign I'm meant to go to bed. Chamomile tea and one-thirty in the morning and I want nothing more than to stay up cataloging books.
shadowtricker: (English language)
I understand that I'm terribly late on this, but I'm still not tagging anyone. It's a rather simple meme where you list six things about yourself. Evidently they're meant to be rather at random.
Hm.
1. I find being tall very awkward at times; The last place I lived there was a ceiling lamp that gained the nickname 'the unfortunate light fixture' up until we moved a table under it. Somehow I managed to chip it with my head.
2. I am a terribly insomniac; I tossed and turned until roughly two in the morning, then woke up again around three-thirty, hence my taking a meme I've been putting off at four-thirty in the morning.
3. I am utterly in love with Africa, even though in the greater span of things I wasn't there very long and I realize that I'm idealizing my memories of it in retrospect.
4. I am a horrible mooch to my artistic friends, begging and bribing drawings off them frequently.
5. I am passionately in love with music, quite possibly above all else, yet have no formal training.
6. I love words and tend to write elaborate RP posts, but I am perfectly capable of writing in a simple and concise fashion when I feel it's necessary. Some of my short stories end up with very simple and clean narrative because it strikes me as more powerful, and perhaps that's why all those words I don't get to use flow over into my freeform writing.

It's nearly five, and I suppose I should try sleeping again on the off chance something may come of it.

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