My last post was on Halloween. I disappeared in November and I don't even have NaNoWriMo to use an excuse. My creativity just took a nose dive.
About the time my writing load for work increased. (I shouldn't be surprised by now. My creative drive is inversely proportional to the work I have to do day-to-day.)
I don't know how much time I've spent slaying dragons. (Granted, it's probably not nearly as much time as I've spent fighting Legionaries in New Vegas).
Additionally, we continued our game of catch-up with old (for lack of a better word) television series and are now halfway through Angel.
Which I regret not watching, in full, when it was airing.
(I was in the middle of college at that time, too...The show was prime opportunity for procrastination. I don't know how I missed it.)
And then, in just these last few days, we delved into an impromptu Firefly marathon.
(I'll have the theme song running through my head for the rest of the month.)
Now, while I haven't been absent due to being productive in my writing (though I did have the drive to meet up with my writers group one last time in November to get a critique on a short story that will be going out again after the first of the year), I can't bring myself to scold...myself.
Because I've enjoyed it too much. And I think it's been good for me.
I've been playing in other people's sand boxes--traipsing through a rich and beautiful world of dragons and magic, listening to demons belt out Gloria Gaynor and sing the praises of Sea Breezes, and taking self defense tips from the captain of a Firefly-class spaceship--and it's been a good time.
I'm amused and inspired, a little hopeful and ready to start visiting my own sand box sandcastles again and discover what interesting creatures might have moved in while I was off playing elsewhere.
My creativity exists quite well on its own but I also find it's buttressed and polished when I immerse myself, for a little while, in other people's.
