Date: 2007-08-09 11:53 pm (UTC)
Alcohol and drugs in large quantities.
And post-its. (and/or stealing time to make notes on the interwebs at work, or in notebooks/scraps of paper while riding the bus, etc.)

Here's my pattern:
Story idea!!! WOOT!
Lack of sleep, socializing, and housework. Who cares about that shit! The STORY! It's SO GREAT! This is what life is FOR! I am a BURNISHED GOLDEN GOD!
Complete story/novel.
Fall into crushing depression.
Repeat.

It has "worked" for 23 years - and my life is a semi-complete disaster. I've published, so some "good" has come of it - but I have sacrificed being able to have people relate to me at all. Unless they are writers themselves. But even then, they tend to be a lot more sane than I am, in ways that have nothing to do with writing.

Life is a wasteland when the plot bunny goes away. (I see him off on the horizon, having a life without me. Can I invite him back now, please?... I have nothing... I gave up life for writing, and when there's no writing, I have nothing.)
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