Hello, friends,
I was really on a roll there for a while, wasn't I? Two email messages to you a month, as promised. And hey, I was even working (semi-) regularly on my novel. And
meeting my writing coach, Tom, every two weeks. Everything was clicking.
On my calendar for February 9 I wrote "Send email." Right on time.
On the 8th, while COVID+, I went to bed early. Which, among other tasks, meant blowing out the tea light candles on the kitchen counter.
Well, I leaned in a little aggressively, and banged my head on the overhanging cabinet. No big deal.
I mean, I shouted "F*CK!" It definitely hurt. But I didn't give it another thought.
Not even the next day, when I felt so weird that I took myself to urgent care. The doctor asked if I'd experienced any recent head trauma and I said no. Then she asked me to walk a straight line, heel-toe, like a sobriety
test. When I almost fell over, she sent me to the ER.
It was only then that it became obvious I'd given myself a concussion. Blowing out a candle!
I don't know if it was a function of age, general infirmity, the COVID, or some combo of all, but this seemingly minor tap on the head really rang my bell and threw me out of my orbit.
For the next four weeks, I was a puddle. Double vision to the point where I had to
wear an eyepatch 24/7. Brain fog so severe I could barely speak or hold a thought. I needed multiple daily naps of two, three, four hours apiece. (OK, the napping was kind of a bonus.)
I could barely read, much less respond to emails. (Sorry! I know some of you had to do wait a looooong time for me.)
Forget working on my novel. WBN ground to a halt, and so did everything else.
Today is the six-week mark. I'm mostly better. I've still got some vision hiccups, but nothing unmanageable. The brain fog is back to its everyday level. I can read again. I can email y'all
again.
In theory, I can also write again. But I haven't. Which is... weird. Because the whole time I was out -- the whole time I couldn't write -- I wanted to write. I missed my little characters and their little concerns! I thought about them a lot. Now that I'm back?
Nothing.
Is writing something I want to do only when I can't do it?
If only I weren't busy
so I could write, I think often. I'd rather be writing now than doing these other things I have to do. But then when writing becomes an available option, I pass.
Does that happen to you? What the hell is it? "I want to write... except when I actually
can."
All week long I've been looking at tomorrow afternoon as my return to writing. I'll report back. But even if I do manage to write tomorrow, what matters more to me is if I write again the next day.
In my last pre-concussed session with Tom I said something about how writing is like working out. People say that after a long layoff, the hardest part is going to the gym that first day. I disagree. I think the hardest part is going back the second day.
Anyone can trick themselves into working out once. But twice? That's the beginning of a routine.
OK, I've gone on wayyyyy too long. This is what happens when I go six weeks without writing.
Next week I'll get back to our regularly scheduled programming, but today I just wanted to check in and let you know where I've been. Let me know where you've been, and how your writing is going.
And be careful out there, candle users. The rumors are true: It's a dangerous game.
