There was some recent stuff. It had to go because I need room for the GOOD stuff.

Self: I've forgotten everything. Almost fucking everything.

Myself: See? This is what you get when you are away from your story for too long. You've forgotten all the proper names and places. Your thinking is all muddled and you can't explain the subtleties of this character and this is very important for the story-line. This wouldn't have happened if you'd kept up a little each day.

Self: (incoherent cursing)

Myself: Just like exercising the body. You like all those pretty new muscles, don't you? You exercise every day in different ways to keep those up.

Self: "I told you so," isn't helping. Fuck off and help me figure out how to explain this.

Myself: I can fuck off or I can help you. Can't do both.

Self: FINE! Will. You. Please. Help. Me. You. Pretentious. Bitch.

Myself: Yes. Let me get the stuff out.

Like this, only it's piles of papers
and notebooks and sketchbooks
and scrolls. Oh, my.

I hate asking for help. I hate admitting I can't do something myself (er...for self? On Self's own?). I have the most awful trouble asking for help. Even from my higher self...my higher...Myself. Bitch.

Release the past. This includes not beating yourself up over the fact that your three months of writers's block and dragging feet because you're afraid of the huge task you have set for yourself has caused you to forget names and ages and dates. Good thing I made maps and timelines and a metric ton of notes. That's 'the stuff'.

My brain is muddled. I have a thing I'm trying to explain enough to give a hints to the plot, carefully woven to the coming story and glimpses of personality and character to two mains and my muddled brain is not saying it right. I'm afraid I'm going to lose the idea. It's a far better opening to this part of the story, just before the catalyst, and I'm not getting it right. I'll have to write it out by hand, for some reason that works better when I'm muddled.