Ever since November came to an end, I've hovered in this weird netherworld of having endless, fleeting ideas and yet feeling completely unable to write. Because Time Is Fake™, I don't actually remember if I've felt exactly the same way the other uhhh (looks at scribbled notes) three thousand times that I've done NaNoWriMo, but it does feel incredibly familiar.
I'll just be sitting on the tram home, or on the sofa after dinner, and suddenly there'll be a spark in my brain, something like - and this is basically a direct quote from my brain - "okay, how about, like....Terminator 2, but Terminator fucks!", and for about half an hour I'll become incredibly excited by this new idea until the spark fizzles out in a wet pffft and I find myself staring out into space and eventually firing up another game of Hearthstone.
Honestly I think I'm just tired. November tired me out. I'm preemptively tired out by the holidays. The thing is, when writing works, when I'm in the flow, there's nothing that makes me feel more energized. So of course my brain is reaching for that flow, that inspiration. I dig through old ideas that didn't reach fruition, searching for something that'll break past the tiredness, even when what I really need to do is the dishes, or writing cards, or cleaning out the rat cage. Because that's effort without flow, and without the sweet, sweet rewards of a story blossoming under my hands. I might get a clean rat cage out of it, but I'm not going to get Fucky Terminator and the Conflicted Young Man Who Loves Him.
The best thing to do? Probably write down all those random ideas, and pick them up again once I've had a bit of rest, and started work on editing The Assistant. Just in case those shiny new ideas are just my brain's diabolical mechanism to keep me from the less glamorous work of editing.
Of course, there is such a thing as multi-tasking...