Arguments againt Sleeping Naked

What a novel concept, sleeping naked. We are so assured of our safety in our own homes that we have no problem revealing ourselves to the bed when we sleep. It's a relatively new concept too, I think. Sleeping indoors in a building I mean.

But we're protected from the elements indoors, so there's no question of having to protect yourself from rain or wind or snow. We open windows if we're too hot inside our buildings but even then it isn't like we need to protect ourselves entirely from the elements. That's why we build with wood and stone and brick.

But think about it, sleeping naked is probably the worst thing that you can do.

For starters, if you're like me, then you're an insomniac. I can guarantee that your roommates won't appreciate seeing you naked at 3 a.m. sitting on the couch, eating Cheetos and watching infomercials while your eyes bleed. Especially if you live with family. And while sitting naked at the computer is fun for a while, it tends to get boring and drafty after six hours of youtube and LOLcats.

Secondly, if you're an insomniac, you will probably need your phone with you so that you can chat with all your insomniac friends. Where are you gonna stick y our phone while you're doing insomniac things, like eating Cheetos. No pockets. So you'll want at least a place to hold your phone while your hands are busy.

My third argument against sleeping naked is probably the most logical of the lot. What if your house burned down while you were sleeping? Are you gonna have the time to find your pants before you run out of the house? Are you really gonna wanna be rescued by the firemen in your birthday suit? What if it's the middle of January in Canada when this happens? 40 below with no clothes sucks, trust me.

My fourth argument is this: would you run away with the Doctor in your skivvies? Probably not, and to be honest, unless we're talking 9th incarnation, he'd probably leave you behind. Besides, pockets are an integral part of time travel.

Okay okay, so I'm not making a lot of sense. Sue me, I just wanted to write something. But I'm gonna leave you with a final argument to make you reconsider sleeping naked.

The zombie apocalypse almost invariably strikes in the middle of the night and progresses into the next day. If there's zombies on my front step at 3 a.m. I am sure as hell not fighting my way out of my bedroom in anything less than jeans and a Tshirt. My pajamas are awesome, they have pockets in the pants and are made of flannel and to be honest, the Tshirt I usually sleep in is autographed so at least when I get bitten by a zombie that has broken into my house while I'm asleep, I'll look cool when I turn. I ain't having my nekkid body be shot by a survivor, I want that survivor to know that I was pretty damn cool before I was zombified. And dressing gowns are for sissies and Canadians. :P

-EDIT-

I hate editing. A lot. It is the absolute bane of my existence. I'm a sincere perfectionist and I subconsciously hold myself to unattainably high standards. I expect to be able to so things as close to perfect as I can the first time around. Usually, this means that I get things right the first time. Or the second try. rarely do I allow myself a third try (or anything beyond that, for that matter.)

Editing, to me, is like a second try. Which is what it's supposed to be, in a way. But I hate it. A lot. It makes me feel that I am not perfect (which I don't claim to be but it's still not a nice feeling to be saddled with.) Reading over my work and forcing myself to edit it feels like I am looking back on a part of me that I wish didn't exist. If I could write a perfect novel in one go I would write a lot more, I swear. But I can't. So I have to sift through the things that are not perfect. I have to look back at the sentences and paragraphs (and sometimes even entire chapters) that just don't fit. I have to look at the things that don't make sense, the imperfections, things that seemed like a good idea at the time but really weren't. The list goes on.

I hate the fact that there is such a long curve to perfection when it comes to writing. I know that the first draft of anything (especially if we're looking at something that was written during National Novel Writing Month aka NaNoWriMo) is gonna be sucky. And I do a lot of my best and most prolific writing during November. There's something about the support, about the frantic urgency that is writing a novel in a month, about the sense of camaraderie that comes from knowing there are thousands of other people writing frantically in the month with you that makes the creativity flow better for me.

And I know these things. So why is editing such a terror for me?

I think that looking back on my imperfections makes me uncomfortable. As it should. I know that I will never be perfect, and I know that my work will never technically be perfect. But it should be as close to perfect as possible, shouldn't it?

Editing is a chore. It isn't easy, and it shouldn't be. I should be challenge, like anything else. And I suppose that I am not quite ready to face that challenge.

I'm gonna go try to edit my 2011 NaNo novel. I kind of want to see it in print one day...

Chasing the Muse

I like that title. I think I'm gonna use it later.

I have been focusing on editing a lot more recently, which is a good thing, I know. Still, I feel remarkably uninspired to do much new work. I feel like editing is a necessary evil in the creative process, but it also hinders me from doing anything new and worthwhile. My muse has escaped me and I don't know where she went.

At least, I assume that my Muse is a lady. Muses generally are in mythology, like a more benign succubus.

My Muse has left me. Which may or may not be a good thing. I want to create, I want to write and I want to get back to building my fantastic worlds and stories for people. (And I'll admit, mostly for myself. Keeping it all cooped up inside is not healthy.) But despite that WANT, I can't. The Muse is gone. The drive and determination to make something from nothing has left me.

I haven't seen my Muse since November 2011.

I think chasing your Muse is a challenge in and of itself. If your Muse doesn't want to be caught, they won't be. I like to think that my Muse has gone somewhere warm, like Australia, and is sipping alcoholic beverages from a hollowed out coconut. (Do coconuts grow in Australia? I should go and actually look that up.) I just hope that when she comes back, she'll have some new ideas for me.

But it is really the chasing that is the problem. Muses are like our own personal Carmen SanDiego. You can glimpse them, but you'll never catch them, no matter how smart and proficient in geography you are. (Am I the only one who remembers that game show?)

I hate feeling like this, though. I hate not being inspired to write something at any given point in time. It's like I am missing a hand or other equally important body part. At this point, I'm just gonna sit back, relax and let my Muse come back from her vacation. I'm excited to see her luggage when she gets back. She always brings back stamps on the side.