Internutter Liveblogs Insomnia

A 42-post collection


Ugh I dunno if I’m gonna make it….

Le checklist:

[X] Brats to school
[  ] Day job
[  ] Fetch Quest part 1
[  ] Fetch Quest part 2
[  ] Instant story
[  ] 500 words
[  ] Brats safely home
[  ] Evening meal

I want a robot duplicate capable of doing most of this without falling over

5:30 AM

Shut up, Rabbit.

One Way Ticket does make excellent wake-up music. Even though I sort of hate Rabbit a little for about two minutes.

When I am in a more charitable frame of mind, I shall posit exactly WHY the bots are super-annoying morning people.

And it will be sweet and fluffy.

Fairy floss fic.

That’s a good term, now that I think on it. Sweet, fluffy and almost zero value whatsoever.

BUT I still have to get out of

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2:38 AM

Things I need in no particular order:

A nightshirt that does not cut into me when I toss and turn.

A back rub/tummy rub machine with silent mode.

Temperature control on this fucking doona.

Beloved to keep my hours so I don’t suffer alone.

The ability to fucking sleep when I want to.

Some millionaire/famous person/angel to buy and popularize my books:

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1:32 AM

Hello darkness my old friend…

Once again insomnia hits like a goddamn truck. Beloved has come home but not come to bed.

More work is happening on my site.

It hurts to lie in bed. It will hurt to get up. I know this because the soles of my feet ache, even now. And it’s cold beyond the doona.

It’s going to be a long and spoonless day. Please go to my Smashwords page:

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It's 1AM and I can't sleep

Prepare for the chain-of-consciousness blither.

I’m on my phone so IDK how to put this through a readmore whatsit. Please forgive what might be a wall of text.

Feel free to skip this post.

It’s my third year of writing at a pro level and I have hit one FUCK of a hump. It’s been one hell of a year, this year. Almost like this book is doomed.

Or I’m cursed.

This year has

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3:30 AM

I’m editing One Leap Year of Instants and pondering the nature of the Bechdel Test.

See, I’m also writing Kung Fu Zombies and the very low bar of the Bechdel Test is, for the first time ever, a very hard bar to clear.


Well… my protagonist and sole POV-holder is a self-absorbed, self-centred, self-important, white male. Age twelvish.

And he doesn’t get his head out of his arse until act three. The last third

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So here’s my day so far:

12:15ish - Wake up for absolutely no firkin reason

1AM - check messages

1:15 - discover awesome news that SPG is going to be in a game

1:20 - Completely freak out in the best way. But quietly, so as not to wake the rest of the house

1:30 - give the fudge up and settle down at the main compy.

Buy my books

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1:57 AM

I tried to get back to sleep for half an hour… Alas, sleep is not coming to me.

It’s going to be a long and interesting day, today, folks.

My feet hurt from yesterday. So excruciatingly that I don’t want to get out of bed.

The sleep headphones do work, but I neglected to charge them, yesterday. Turns out the batteries are only good for one night. Yay. Not.

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8:08 PM

Take note: Eating an entire bowl of hotter-than-I’m-used -to seafood laksa with two large glasses of milk to kill the fire leads to an uncomfortable intestine situation.

Nevertheless, I am still going to try for my 500 words.

Despite my lack of cognitive skills.

…I’m writing 90% of this book off-my-face freakin’ tired. You’d better buy squillions of copies…

Editing this sumbitch is gonna suck wet farts out of dead donkeys…

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