matilda36

I was talking with and then I read this bit from James Joyce wikipedia page:

Joyce remained in Dublin for some time longer, drinking heavily. After one of these drinking binges, he got into a fight over a misunderstanding with a man in Phoenix Park; he was picked up and dusted off by a minor acquaintance of his father's, Alfred H. Hunter, who brought him into his home to tend to his injuries.^[7] Hunter was rumored to be a Jew and to have an unfaithful wife, and would serve as one of the models for Leopold Bloom, the main protagonist of Ulysses.

now I am stuck with a bunny about Hunter being Odysseus and into the stream of consciousness of the possible conversations between a very drunk Joyce and a very drunk and maudlin Ody.

You lot are soooo lucky I never write any of these stories...

I am grateful to you all my friends who very kindly keep encouraging me by asking for more fic. I love you dearly, I love betaing, giving bunnies and helping  nourish all your writing talents in everyway I can, but your encouragements, requests for fics and praise of my writing talents are making me feel a bit tense. And this is not your fault, it's just the way I am.

Bear with me and I will try to explain.

I have always written in one form or another…but it has always been a need coming straight from my heart. I started with poetry because I had things I needed to express and free verse was the easy way and could be easily hidden in a drawer once written. No Alpha, no Beta, no need to re-read.

Writing this way, straight from the guts tends to be a pretty painful process. And even now, when I am trying my hand at different kind of writings that should be pleasurable like the woodhousian comedy of the Pignapping Saga, run of the  mill porn, little lyrical interludes, plotted snippets and whatever I try my hand on, this pain associated with writing doesn't go away.
 
Writing does give me little to none pleasure at the moment. Stuff goes out unbetaed because otherwise it never goes out. My hard drive is full of  half written pieces whose first draft caused pain and the second caused me to run away.

Also I am never been naïve enough to believe that we write for ourselves. Massive doses of Isherwood and burroughs cured me of this illusion years ago.

Also I have been around fandom long enough to get frustrated by the constant spam of fic written “for themselves” by writers that keep inflicting chapter after chapter of their badly written stuff on the unsuspecting public. (No reference to anybody on my F-list here. If you are going to spam me with rubbish, you aren't on my F-list) I don’t wanna be a BNF in any fandom or have hordes of worshipping minions, but I want to be sure that what I send out is good enough for me.