There's this fic. I finished it. I merrily sent it to beta, as one does. And now I can't write a frigging thing.
It's like, every time I start thinking of the one where Teyla and Rodney get drunk and sit around disgusted while Ronon and John try to outmacho this tribe of half-naked warriors and Rodney realizes he's about a shot of homebrew away from a Pretty Princess Diary entry saying "OMG MY BOYFRIEND NEVER THINKS OF MY FEELINGS" and Teyla in horror realizes the same thing, and I rub my hands together eagerly because, honestly, this will amuse the heck out of me....
Wait, says a voice.
(the voice, I swear, is a metaphor. I am not connecting with my inner schizophrenic)
Isn't there a fic in your folder that is done and not posted?
Me: *blank* But it's in beta.
Voice: That sounds like an excuse. You could go make it better while you wait. Didn't you want to add cerebus in?
Me: ...that doesn't even make *sense*. Wait, Cerebus? That's seriously mixing my mythology.
Voice: It could be symbolic.
Me: Please tell me you are joking.
Voice: How about another stick-fighting scene? That would be fun!
Then I go open it up and add two thousand words I'll probably erase later.
It's *annoying*. And lo, Teyla and Rodney get to carry out no epic plans of either revenge or possibly seduction and I am staring at Word resentfully and trying to talk myself out of a third breakfast taco.
I want a pony. Failing that, I want another inner voice. Something in George Clooney, perhaps. The one I have? Not so great.