Wanted: Grim Reaper As Writing Coach
By Jan O'Hara | September 15, 2014 |
The Grim Reaper by Trish Steel [CC-BY-SA-2.0], via Wikimedia Commons
The procedure is as follows:
Step 1: Have an appointment with a new-to-you medical specialist and agree to go through a number of baseline tests.
Step 2: In the interest of saving time, review your results together over the phone. Without accounting for the fact that you’ve met for a grand total of twenty minutes or that you’re missing visual cues, assume that you understand his speech patterns and way of using subtext. For example, that brief hesitation as he explains a particular number? It’s not due to a brain glitch or the distractions which inevitably accompany a hospital practice. Rather, he’s attempting to deliver exceedingly bad news in an artful manner.
Step 3: Because you prefer to fall apart in private, keep the extent of your devastation to yourself. Don’t ask clarifying questions and whatever you do, don’t cry until you’re finally off the phone.
Step 4: Once you’re over the worst of your shock, determine to flex your proactivity muscles. Read the medical literature. You’re on the lookout for what you can control.
Step 5: While revising the plans for your life, realize you can’t optimize them without information from your healthcare team. A full week after the original phone call, obtain your specialist’s email and fire off a list of questions.
Step 6: Discover you misunderstood one key piece of information and spun everything else forward in such a manner that—were Thomas Hardy alive, and were you to apply your talent for gloominess to fiction—he would view you as a serious rival. (As it turns out, not only are you not declining, you’ve actually improved your health.)
Now, why in the world would I recommend that writers go through such an exercise, Unboxeders? (Because, as you no doubt surmised, this was what I got up to during my summer vacation.) And why would it be true that I’m grateful for the experience? That I occasionally wish for—even long for—a few more days in the tortuous head-space of steps 2-5?
Before I answer that question, can I suggest you give yourself a few minutes to consider how you’d respond if you learned you had only a few years left on this mortal coil? Pull out a blank piece of paper or open a fresh text document. Give yourself time to envision a comparable scenario to the one mentioned above. (You’ll know you’re there when the hair on your nape is standing on end and your bowels are starting to shift.) Got it? Now, jot down everything you notice, and since this is a writing blog, after all, pay particular attention to your insights about fiction and its role in your life.
While I realize this is a highly personal exercise, in the interest of sparking ideas, here’s some of what I noticed during the gift of that week:
1. While it’s a story trope we often disparage, Great Misunderstandings occur in real life and cause real havoc.
If your writing involves a Great Misunderstanding—and I admit this is something I enjoy playing with in my fiction—make sure it’s both of a reasonably short duration and adequately motivated. (For instance, a character who doesn’t immediately ask for a conversation because she takes pride in her self-reliance, has a desire not to burden others, or whose job conditioned her to appear to be a locus of calm when internally she’s a hot, screaming mess.)
2. You can compartmentalize more than you think.
I’d always believed I couldn’t write a lighthearted scene when I was angsty, or a scene about forgiveness when enraged. Now I’m not so sure. At one point during the week, when I had cause to send a health update to concerned family and friends, I managed to compose it so not even they could detect a hint of distress. Similarly, the limited fiction I wrote at the time seems free of emotional contagion. Another myth busted about the preciousness of my process and productivity? I think so.
3. Make time to protect your health. It’s a bedrock of your writing.
If you’re not alive—or if you’re waking moments are consumed by your declining health—then it goes without saying that you’re not writing.
Speaking for myself, when my health was slipping through my hands, nothing seemed more critical than shoring it up. Those reasons why I was too busy to prepare a nutritious meal or perform resistance training? Gone. And it’s not like I had to reason this through or arrive at my conclusions through a tedious process. I simply wasn’t willing to waste one more second on BSing myself.
On a similar note, I conducted a serious inbox and Feedly pruning to protect my mental health. It was clear that I was spending a disproportionate time reading about writing and preparing to write, but not enough time on the actual practice. Enough!
4. Is publishing everything to you?
Would it surprise you to know that I wasn’t bitter about not being published? For all that I chastise myself about being a slow writer, or making my path tortuous by working on more than one project at a time, I didn’t choke up about the lack of public recognition. At least, that’s not a huge motivator for me.
To be honest, that pleases me. It might make me hugely unattractive to agents and editors, so perhaps it’s a risky thing to put out on the ether, but it feels like a grounded, peaceful place from which to move forward.
Contrarily, I did shed tears over the fact I hadn’t completed and “shipped” certain of my stories. (We’re not necessarily talking the ones with more commercial appeal.) The reason for my regret? These stories kindle something inside me—something useful, warm and hopeful—and I have the feeling that one or two readers in the world might wish to sip on the same emotional cocktail. I yearn for that connection.
Also, I can see how my stories’ incompleteness would send the wrong message to my kids. I believe actions are more important than words, and I wouldn’t want them to throttle themselves the way I constantly do.
5. Your route to publication has implications for your legacy.
I don’t wish to get into a debate about the relative merits of self-publishing versus traditional publishing versus hybrid careers, but there’s no doubt about it: whatever route you choose, it will have implications for your estate.
For instance, this month I found myself wondering whether I would want to saddle my husband and kids with take-down notices. Would I expect them to maintain vendor files as the formatting requirements evolve over time? Alternatively, assuming I had the luck, desire and opportunity to go the traditional route, how would they feel about having to deal with an agent or a publisher for the rest of their lives?
I can’t say as I arrived at definitive conclusions, but no doubt about it, these are issues to consider and discuss with my family.
6. Lastly, for writers of escapist schlock, including myself:
What kind of fiction do you think you’d choose to read if you had advance knowledge of your expiry date? I enjoy fiction of all kinds, from bestselling literary fiction to erotica, and everything in between. During my challenging week, though, while I read even more than usual, I needed a diet of comfort reads: stories about families making peace with one another, lovers reconciling and finding happy-ever-afters, etc.
I’ll admit I was surprised by my choice. When time is short, wouldn’t one expect to reach for unique, challenging material? Ultimately, though, my life was a non-stop parade of profundity and seriousness, where the sight of a dew-laden lawn was sufficient to set my lower lip a-quivering. I needed reminders of humor, silliness, play, everyday miracles, Unboxeders. I wasn’t after life-changing fiction so much as life-sustaining fiction. So if that’s what you write—genre fiction that’s on the smaller or quieter side—know that there’s a cadre of people in the world who might literally depend upon your work to get through the day.
Now that’s enough of me and my tale of non-woe! If you went through the above exercise, did you learn anything about your writerly self? Alternatively, if you’ve dealt with health challenges, as so many of you have, what proactive changes have you made to your writing life? What did I miss? Please share if you’re comfortable.
A USA Today bestselling author, former family physician and academic, Jan O’Hara (she/her) left the world of medicine behind to follow her dreams of becoming a writer. She writes love stories that zoom from wackadoodle to heartfelt in six seconds flat: (Opposite of Frozen; Cold and Hottie; Desperate Times, Desperate Pleasures). Her latest Christmas novella, The Cowboy’s Comeback Christmas, is part of a 9-author-strong anthology (A Cowboy This Christmas: A Sweet Romance Anthology). She also contributed to Author in Progress, a Writer’s Digest Book edited by Therese Walsh.
Jan, this is a beautiful, heartfelt post. It took some time to digest so I could offer something remotely meaningful that is worthy of its profundity. First, and foremost, I’m happy to hear you’re health is recovering and not on the decline! (How shallow those words appear compared to the real relief that comes with that knowledge.)
Second, I can relate to this story in a small way. When going through the process of being tested for a neurological disease that is genetic in my family, I went through a similar process to yours above. What is true and real and worth a damn in this life is never what we think it is until it’s too late. Thankfully, I don’t carry the gene, but the process to finding that answer was a dark and dangerous tunnel. A time I look back on with reverence, and still, fear.
How right you are about fiction that sustains life. Those feel-goods are my go-to when life gets hard. I’m utterly grateful to those who write them. So please, write on! And know that there are plenty of us desperate to read them.
I should know better than to write this kind of post for a Monday morning slot, shouldn’t I, Heather? It’s too early in the week to tax brain cells.
I’m sorry to hear about your dark time, but “reverence” is exactly one word I’d use to describe such a situation. You said “what is true and real and worth a damn in this life is never what we think it is until it’s too late.” That was my experience when I had a different health issue years ago, and one thing I’ll say for me this time around was that I had far fewer regrets than I would have had without the prior experience. I’m definitely going to have to travel more, though. In fact, The ToolMaster and I plan to get to Paris this spring–a trip I’ve only delayed by 32 years, LOL.
At 76 and a stroke survivor, I know about staring down the barrel and relate completely to your shared perspective. Huzzah! to you, Jan, for finding the pony in the manure pile. I bow to you in humble appreciation. Sure sharpens your prioities, doesn’t it?
I had no idea you’d been through that, Alex. If I’ve found a pony, sounds like you’ve found a horse! Bravo on your recovery, and re the priorities? Absolutely!
I think if I thought my time was very limited, I would re-read every book I’ve ever loved, starting (of all things) with Travis McGee (who has a lot to say about life, death, and loss).
Then I’d re-watch all my favorite movies, and all those boxed sets of my favorite TV shows that I’m saving for a rainy day.
Because, you know, the rainy day is here.
Then make sure the family got as much time as they wanted.
And, if there were enough time, I would finish Pride’s Children, because that’s what I want as my writing legacy.
I’m glad you had a scare, and not a true crisis.
Alicia
Thank you, Alicia. It was the perfect way to have my eyes opened.
I love your list of priorities. Isn’t it interesting how Story still plays a major role?
Well, I’m often motivated by thoughts of death (it’s in my mental makeup) and I tend to take stock a couple of times per year. I would pretty much live the way I do now, except for the work-for-hire. That I would cut out completely. We can do without the extras. I would probably SP a couple of books for my family. And I would write letters to all my loved ones. I would continue to stay active on my blog and the blueboards and read WU. I’ve made good friends online and my hope is they can all gather for my Requiem Mass and give me a good send-off.
Jan, I am glad you are better and taking stock of your life. It is very important to do this every once in a while.
It is a good exercise to go through periodically, Vijaya. Have you heard of Alan Lakein? When I was a teenager I read his How to Get Control of Your Time and Your Life, and it encourages his readers to go through a similar exercise, though you envision your priorities on different timelines. (A month, a year, and five years, if memory serves me.) You never really know if you’ve nailed your priorities, though, until you’re actually in it. (Or believe you’re actually in it, LOL.)
Funny how some of us grow up with an awareness of our mortality and how that shapes out lives.
“It’s not a tumor!” Yay to your good health.
#4 hit home with me. It’s not that I need … well … as I write this, I find myself almost lying. I do have a need to publish. Being childless, I feel a need to somehow leave an alternate legacy—a mark on this world to show that yes, indeed, Mike Swift was here. And as I get older, that need deepens. I always feel like the clock is ticking faster and faster and I’ve yet to make the impact I want.
When my mom passed, the need grew even more. Perhaps it put me face to face with my own mortality, or to make her proud (she was a staunch supporter), or a desire to share bits of her with the world in story form. I dunno. I only know that being published (for a work of which I’m proud) is important, and I’ll keep striving until that’s a reality.
Great post, Jan.
I believe that would be “TOO-mah”, wouldn’t it? ;) (That line always makes me laugh.)
As for your desire for publication, huzzah. Nothing wrong with that, particularly on a blog dedicated to the business and craft of writing. It’s wonderful to have ambition and to be doing all you can to fulfill it! Outwardly, in fact, our desires would look identical. It’s just the “why” which might differ and only then by degrees. Hope that makes sense.
Ha! Yes, exactly! I was going to write ‘TOO-mah’, but I didn’t know if you’d get my reference. Silly me. I should have known better. And I get you perfectly.
I’m up on that cultural reference on account of The ToolMaster. He’s a Schwarzenegger fan.
First, sorry for your time of angst, Boss. So glad you’re on the upswing. Thank God for misunderstandings! Three’s Company wouldn’t have existed without them. Just goes to show, you’ve got to give yourself enough Ropers at the onset of any good story. ;-)
Seriously, numbers four and five were brought home to me in the starkest of terms this year with the passing of our dear friend and fellow Mod Squad teammate, Lisa. For me it was made all the more acute by the fact that she wrote epic fantasy, had a completed draft of a trilogy in an alt-historical world, and that book one was SO CLOSE to being ready for prime time. The work is such a beautiful tribute to her talent, and yet it is a legacy that may exist only for those of us close enough to have been tapped to beta-read. Perhaps that’s enough, but it seems a shame. Sadly, her family knew very little about her life as an artist, let alone that she had this lovely body of work almost ready to go. They are understandably bewildered and unable to forge a way forward. It’s hard enough for those of us who follow publishing. With each passing month, I fear the work may fade from their radar, to languish on an unused hard-drive. The issue prompted a discussion at our house.
Having said all of that, it might be surprising to hear that I’ve recently been working on a divergent route forward, by working on a fourth manuscript. Perhaps book one of my trilogy is as close as Lisa’s. But, as with finding your way through a Halloween corn maze, being close to the exit doesn’t make you feel any less lost. Indeed, in the forest of publishing, I’d argue that the closer you get to the supposed destination, the larger the obstructing trees loom. Stepping back offers me a new perspective. I’m hoping that, clicking of my mortality clock aside, the time taken blazing a byway will guide me to resolution. Or at least to a new and enlightening vista.
It’s all so worthy of consideration. For me, one thing that always springs to mind in doing so is how lucky and grateful I am. Lucky to have found this calling, grateful for each day that provides an opportunity to pursue it. Thanks for sharing, Jan!
Great comment, Vaughn, and I’ve wondered about Lisa’s work, as well. I hope it finds a place in the world, even with the assistance of the community, if needed. Fitzgerald was working on The Last Tycoon when he left us, and luckily, it fell into hands that brought it to us, and I think it was even a rough draft. It’s one of my favorite works by him.
When Mom passed, I realized I had no online safeguards in place in the event of my own demise. Nobody knows my passcodes, or how to access any of my work. So, I’ve been busy getting that in order. We think we have all the time in the world…
Excellent point about passcodes, Mike, even for non-writing matters. Do you know Apple won’t unlock an iPad for heirs for free, even with a death certificate? We have a digital legacy to protect.
“the closer you get to the supposed destination, the larger the obstructing trees loom.”
I swear they MOVE those trees. And fertilize them when I’m not looking.
I didn’t realize that about Lisa, Good Sir V. Certainly adds a layer of tragedy to an already sad event.
You said: “For me, one thing that always springs to mind in doing so is how lucky and grateful I am. Lucky to have found this calling, grateful for each day that provides an opportunity to pursue it.”
Amen. I’ll just hope for you that the fourth manuscript decides to cooperate!
Vaughn, I still have hope that after Lisa’s family has had time to cope with their grief, her writing will make it into existence for others to enjoy. Her close friends have worked very hard to help her brother understand that this was important to Lisa. We can only hope.
Thanks for the update, Gretchen, and for all you’ve done to bring the epic tale of The Wall of Knives to readers. You’re a true friend, and I know she appreciates it.
This is a humbling post Jan, and I’m sorry that you had to go through this scare.
One piece of advice I picked up in a craft book, and something that’s stuck to this day is to write the book I’d want to write if I only had enough time to write one. I’m a fantasy writer and enjoy growing my story freely, but I’ve found I enjoy novels – even ones in series – that stand alone. I’ve been all over the map these last few months, but recently I returned to the new novel idea that’s been beckoning like an exotic stranger (funny enough, the same one I started to explore thanks to your great McKee post on the negation of the negation). It’s related, but it also stands alone; more could be written beyond it, but more doesn’t have to be written on it.
Write every book like it’s your last, and if you’re given time to write more count is as blessing and yet another reason to enjoy the precious gift of life. Thanks for sharing Jan, and for your tremendously helpful presence here at WU. May it continue.
You’re a sweetie, John. Thank you.
One must write what they’re called to write, but I have a hunch that most of us do better or have an easier time finishing a standalone piece of less complexity than trilogies or–as in my case–linked manuscripts. If you wanted to learn to juggle when you knew time was short, the natural inclination would be to begin with two objects rather than ten.
I’ll wish you the best on the manuscript you’re presently pursuing.
One day a journalist friend told me of a famous author who was diagnosed with a one year to live. He’d always wanted to be a writer and he had tales to tell so he began writing like a mad man. The year passed and he was still alive so he returned to the doctor. After investigating they realized the tests had been mixed with someone else’s. So the moral of this is to write like you only one yr to live. As an aside I went to the dr and she insisted on a complete work up. I thought for sure they’d find something fatal (being the drama queen I am) so two weeks later I get all my results. Yeah. As a horse. So I may end up as the grandma Moses of romance writers. I really only needed one more year, right? Sigh. They don’t call it a deadline for nuttin
You make me laugh, Thea. And I’m so glad you’re going to be around to crack jokes for a good long while. (Not to mention that you’ve time to finish your romance.)
Speaking of which, you aren’t the anonymous humorist who wrote that recent WU post, are you? Something about that voice feels familiar…
not that I remember. That sounds more like Mikey Swift.
oh i read it. I know who anon is. unfortunately i am under a death threat if i ever spew the beans. but i will say this. he is one sexy…umm, never mind.
And Jan’s a doctor! Brilliant post, Jan.
One of my favorite novels is Muriel Spark’s _Memento Mori_ (which, btw, is quite funny).
I have this on my permanent list of writing inspirations: “Remember, I will die. Ready?”
I haven’t yet been on the wrong end of a diagnosis, but you should see the narrow, twisty, crowded mountain roads I drive. I could be a goner just going to get my mail any old day.
So. Better get to work.
Addendum: Just after posting this, I learned that an long-time acquaintance, a fine musician and teacher, committed suicide yesterday. So between Jan’s post and this news, I have death and art on my mind today.
What’s true for me is that writing is a good way to live. If I die today myself, knowing that I tried will have made my life well-spent.
‘I have this on my permanent list of writing inspirations: “Remember, I will die. Ready?”‘
Really? Now how perfect is that?
Also, I love your black humor. (I’m normally drawn to dark humor but am even more so after recent events.)
What black humor? It’s perfectly straight.
On the assumption you’re not joking, I apologize. (Tone is so hard to read online.) Your note to yourself would cause me to laugh and I call it dark because it’s about death.
Forgot to say earlier that I’m so sorry about your friend, Mary. (I slept poorly last night and am missing things today. Important things.) I hope you’re doing okay. Suicide is painful for both the victim and their survivors.
Jan is a doctor? Holy tongue depressor!
You didn’t know, Thea? Funny, because I feel like I must nauseate people with my references to the past. Just so you know, I’m no longer in practice, but when I was I performed birth-to-death healthcare in a family practice setting. I did house-calls, nursing home visits, and deliveries. I also taught family medicine residents and students.
A couple of years ago, I lay in a heap, in unbearable pain, on my living room floor. While in said position I made a pact to do everything in my power never be in said position again–I changed my diet, learned to manage or avoid stress and increased my level of activity. And as for writing, I promised to embrace undying faith in my ability…to doing what I love–read, write, submit.
I’m glad your story had such a happy ending, Jan.
Best wishes for continued health.
Goodness, Leanne, I’m sorry you went through such an awful experience. On the other hand, sounds like you’ve milked it for every possible educational drop. Kudos to you, and thank you. May you be similarly blessed with ongoing excellent health.
To be perfectly honest, if I knew in advance that I was going to die X months from now, I would stop writing right now. I’d quit my job, rob a bank, and do everything I’d hoped to do over the next sixty years: travel the world, spend as much time as possible with my SO, and eat a ton of cheesecake and donuts and hamburgers without a care for my silhouette.
I love reading and writing, and if I could I’d devote my life to it, but that’s presuming I have a life to devote. If I were going to die soon, working hard to communicate with other people would be the least of my priorities. It’s bucket list time.
I can understand why you’d feel the way you do, Tamara, and that’s good information to have as you go forward. In a comment above I mentioned a book which would have us envision a life with a month, a year, or five years remaining. I suspect your answers might change depending upon your expiry date. Might writing be on your list if you had five years, for instance? I don’t know, but the challenge, I suppose, is to know what’s a must and what’s a want, then to neither sacrifice all the future for the present nor vice versa.
We all tend to take the present for granted, as if it will last forever. I’m glad yours will last a lot longer than you feared, Jan. It’s important to remember that all we can count on is this moment in time, which we should use to the best of our abilities in an endeavor that matters.
Thanks for the heads up!
Can’t argue with anything you wrote, Cheryl. ;) And thank you!
I am sorry, Jan. Glad you’re feeling better.
Denise Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT
Oh, thank you, Denise, but because of the way it turned out, I’m not sorry at all. I learned a great deal.
Maybe it’s just me (someone who for years didn’t read much more than her Miss Read collection), but fiction these days seems to have taken a dark turn — the more shocking, the better.
I agree with Lisa Cron that we learn to navigate life when we read, but I prefer to read an author who knows something about people and life and shares it with us in a gentler, entertaining way. So “yay” for life-sustaining fiction!
Keep doing those resistance exercises, Jan. We need you!
I figure that learning to navigate life doesn’t only mean knowing how to survive the sloughs and volcanoes, but to enjoy the tropical beaches and mountain vistas when we can. Some writers have a real gift for taking us to the latter.
And thank you, Carmel. Now if I could only be certain I’ll remember my priorities a year down the road. Denial is a powerful habit you know. ;)
First off, I am beyond relieved over your prognosis and current health status, Jan. (You know this, but it’s worth repeating!)
I had a scare last year (which you also know), but here’s the surprising part for me: I’m still processing. And I haven’t been writing–at least not with a capital W. Instead, I have been working on the Un-Conference. I very much look forward to being in a place that’s alive with connectivity. Maybe that’s what I’d seek if I knew the end was a-coming, too: authentic connection with my clan.
A psychiatrist friend of mine says that most people who enter medicine are making an entire career out of the desire to process death. Against that backdrop, a year seems perfectly reasonable, T. ;) I have no doubt you’ll pick up the pen again when you’re ready, and I bet this time off will end up being important to your writing one day. In the meantime, I can’t wait for the UnCon and that connectivity you speak of. Thank you for giving us all the opportunity to attend!
I was seriously worried! Like everyone else, I’m so glad it was a misunderstanding, and I love that you were able to find life-lessons even in the dark and scary place of believing your life was winding up. Congratulations that your health is actually better than before!
My sister died when I was 29 and she was 32. Ever since then, I really try not to take anything for granted. Death does seem ever present, only because I’m acutely aware that freak things happen and people lose their lives every day. I don’t know what I’d do differently if I thought my life was done. Would I write faster? Would I delete files? I know my main focus would be on my family and spending as much time as possible with them. So maybe I wouldn’t write at all. I’m hoping I don’t need to think about it anytime soon, and I’m glad yours was an mistaken mental and emotional exercise, instead of the real thing. :)
I’m sorry if I brought up a painful time for you, Lara, and I’m sorry for your loss.
Comparatively speaking, my experience was a picnic. I didn’t get to live in the dark place for long enough to have answers to some of the questions you’re pondering. To tell the truth, it was rather fascinating to watch them pop out of the woodwork, and to see which questions arose now that my children are nearly grown. Different things were important than the last time I had a health scare. All good information.
Jan-
Just to be clear, you’re okay? Getting better, it’s looking good, phew, can look back and learn lessons more than look forward and stay positive?
A post like this, like Therese’s scare last year, paralyze me. I do not want to lose friends. I do not want this beautiful life to be over or to feel I’m becoming alone in it.
If I got bad news I would fight, fight, fight. I do not ever want this to end. I’m doing exceptionally well for my age, luckily. No hospital visits ever. Hardly a sick day even. I take care of myself.
I dunno. Maybe a scare would be good for me. Maybe I fear too much and take stock too little. I can say this: This publishing life and the community of writers and professionals around me mean everything to me.
My biggest fear is losing all of you. Eat right, okay? Get out for a walk. Don’t leave. We’ve got things to do.
Okay, okay, I’ll do your exercise. I guess that’s central to those “things”. Sheesh. This is a lot for a Monday. Or maybe not enough.
Donald, Donald. Remember, you WILL die. It’s the one and only guarantee. Meanwhile, read Muriel Spark.
Don, I’m sorry to have caused you any degree of paralysis. Yes, I’m okay and I’m fighting, thanks. I didn’t want to burden people with TMI but perhaps my non-disclosure makes it worse? Basically, I was born with congenital heart disease and am lucky enough to be one of the guinea-pig generation who was offered surgery. Without it, I couldn’t have had kids, would probably be dead. But I’m not. Without sounding grandiose, my life is a miracle. :) All the medical folk are making up the treatment as we go, but I’ve had an amazing quality of life for a long time. Now it’s on me to do the best job I can of taking care of myself and keeping that trend going. I thought my specialist was telling me I was getting into trouble but I was grossly mistaken.
I’m glad your health is excellent and that you’re not taking it for granted. You’re important to this community and to me, y’know!
Hope that helps!
Thanks for sharing. When you give a bunch of writers with a lot of imagination only a little information, they take it and run with it, and not always in the best direction. So good to hear the miracle of it all.
Lesson learned, Carmel. :) And trust Don to be the one to have me put it on the table so those who worried could draw a breath of relief.
I would not want that anyone should have to go through what you went through and I’m glad that it turned out okay for you. Your post was quite moving and touched me in a place that remains tender. I went through a similar experience five years ago, only it was my lungs. Much about my writing remains the same to those who’ve known me through this period, but I can see the difference. I’ll venture to the dark places as the storytelling requires, but refuse to stay there and find that love and hope strive to emerge.
Those brushes with death change us, don’t they, Christina? It’s unavoidable. I can’t help but believe it adds texture and verity to our fiction, and depth to our relationships. At least there’s some compensation.
It sounds like your health is okay now, and I’m so pleased. And I hear you about the tender place. It’s like wearing a dental crown that’s 99% matched to the original tooth. Every so often you take a bite and TWANG! Yet you still gotta eat.
Echoing sentiments that your scare was just that, Jan, and I’m so relieved all is well. For me, a coda to having friends encounter life-altering scenarios like yours and the one Therese was faced with last year is a stark reminder that “but for the grace of god go me” and to not eff around anymore with the writing because I do WANT my books out there and I do WANT to find my reader. I would be unbearably sad and angry if I let this time pass without doing anything about that ambition, because I, yannow, had the warnings from loved ones faced with their own ticking clocks.
I also find myself going back to the comfort reads in times of stress.
I’ve loved watching your energy this time around, Kath. You’ve been an inspiration in your own right. So glad you’re carpe-ing the diem.
Wow, what a stressful time that must have been for you, Jan. So glad it was only a misunderstanding.
I like the ideas that have come up in this thread, particularly the admonition to write, right now, the one book you must see written before you die. I think I’ll make a list, and check each potential new idea against it.
If you’re up to sharing, I’d be interested if the exercise changes anything for you, Julie. And thank you!
More than 10 years ago, we were on a family ski holiday in Montana when I took a spill. I landed funny and the next thing I knew, I was paralyzed from the neck down. Laying in the snow, with my husband freaking out, part of me was making jokes to calm him down. Part of me was very calmly figuring out how I was going to deal with the rest of my life as a quad. (I’m a physical therapist – I knew fairly well what the future would hold.)
While we were waiting to be transported down the mountain and to the hospital, I very clearly remember thinking that I hadn’t done everything I wanted to do in my life. And that whatever happened, there were things I was going to do differently.
I was extremely lucky and didn’t have a permanent spinal cord injury. I had stabilization surgery, recovered fully. But that’s when I knew I needed to take care of my interior life as well as the exterior. Not long after that, I returned to the writing I had neglected for too many years.
And I also realized that do many of the things I had always spent precious time and energy writing about were utterly unimportant.
This was a great post and a great reminder. Thank you.
I’m amazed that you could be calm in that situation, LJ. I have to admit that would push my panic buttons faster than many health situations.
How wonderful that you made a full recovery, and that you then used it to propel yourself into better self-care. I have to laugh, because one thing I noticed about my hard week was that I suddenly stopped caring about things like getting wrinkles or sun spots. Life felt shorter yet ever so much bigger. I’m glad if the reminder helped!
I don’t have anything to add to the conversation except hugs. I agree about life-sustaining fiction vs. life-changing fiction. Reading is my sanity, the tiny piece of my day I look forward to, no matter how hard things have been.
Thank you, Brianna. Hugs are always appreciated.
As for reading, yep, something’s amiss if I haven’t found time in my day to consume fiction.
First and foremost, I’m glad you’re okay. I had a health scare last year that pushed my thinking for about a week, and left me in a contemplative stupor in a foreign country for the following two months.
A great post, and hopefully someone will be able to take away a useful point or two while being spared a similar scare. Thank you for sharing.
Wow, Barbara, that sounds like both a challenge and a huge opportunity for self-knowledge. I hope you’re fully recovered!
Glad this post made sense to you. Take care.