Went back to work today. Still feeling rather fragile. I think going cold turkey on both the caffeine and the Clonazepam at the same time was probably a questionable executive decision on my part. Perhaps ironically, it’s the caffeine’s absence that I’m feeling most acutely. I got a lot of clarity back when I went off the Clonazepam. Lost it when I went off the java. But I assume that’s temporary and will lift when the withdrawal headache/fatigue does. My head feels like it’s been mushed over by a steamroller.
I don’t plan for this abstemious phase to be permanent. I still want to take the Clonazepam since I tolerate it reasonably well and it works on my TOS. And I like caffeine too much to just give up. But I’m tired of being dependant on either. So I’m giving them up for a couple weeks to reset my tolerance levels. Again, probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done to quit both at the same time.
Did a couple more passes on the Horror story. Matthew’s reluctant to first-reader it because I told him what my inspiration was. He’ll still do it, but I’m going to have to poke and prod him to it.
It’s interesting; his squick factor is so much lower than mine when it comes to reading gore and blood, but it’s so much higher when it comes to watching it on the big screen. Or even the not-so-big screen. He refers to “Wintergod,” the story I sold to The Quiet Ward as the “yicky one.” Got another story he responds to that way that’s currently short-listed at an anthology I subbed it to. Apparently, gore appeals to some editors.
On one level I’m pleased to have been able to affect his emotions with my writing. After all, I think the hallmark of really excellent writing is something that gets the reader emotionally involved. On another level I’m dismayed that he’s so yucked-out by something I created. I’m the first to admit that these stories are graphic and blood-smeared, but I tend to think of Matthew as having a stronger stomach than me. After all, he can watch people being flayed alive (i.e. Hellraiser I, II, etc.) without flinching, while I go scampering out of the room with my hands over my ears, eyes averted. It took me three full viewings of Sixth Sense before I’d seen the whole thing through without shutting my eyes through parts of it. I am that much of a wimp.
So I guess I’m left with the question: Is writing fiction with content in it that makes grown men recoil a good thing?
Maybe I should write something fluffy next. With cute, fuzzy animals.