So, I was being good last night, and went to bed at around 11pm, right?
Well, so I’m lying in bed, and I start remembering this old story of mine. And I almost get a panic attack when I suddenly think I’m FORGETTING it. So, I get into this complete madwoman frenzy, jump out of bed, start throwing around old boxes, trying to find the story. So, I finally dig up the notebooks, and spend the next couple of hours reading through the story. Needless to say, I’m dead tired again this morning. I really need to find a good way to record and organize my Bulgarian and hand-written stuff… Either that, or take a five-year sabatical and transfer everything to readable stories in electronic English format.
It’s kind of pathetic, but my stories are the only thing I’m internally truly “proud” of — and not because I think they’re the absolute bestest thing ever on Earth (realistically, they are mostly combinations of all sorts of horrid), but because, well, they may be my brain-children, but I’ve always felt they kind of take on lives of their own. And that’s a pretty amazing thing to see, and I feel an immense pride that I’ve become part of it.
And my one true nightmare is losing even little bits of this.