Update, Cinco de Mayo

I woke at 5:30 to go work out but was hit by a wave of dread and despair. Probably PMS though that doesn't help me shake it off. I ended up not going to the gym. Later in the day, I ate a very high calorie meal which satisfied me, and now I'm just left with the lethargy, left leg pain and twitching and a sense of hopelessness that I'll never be able to fully function again.

Yeah. Really conducive to writing.

I did get the NY Times puzzle really fast today, and I bought some M&Ms. Any port in a storm.

Just Here

I'm just here. Not writing. Exercising is hard, and makes my body hurt. Since I came up with the brilliant theory that I will hurt with or without exercise, I'm going with the "with"...

Lots of hot flashes at night, interrupting sleep.

Am reading Nicholas Sparks for tips on the craft of just getting on with the story, without all the business.

I expect that my period will start soon, and this is the pre-game show. When I am exercising, I feel strong and jockish... but things quickly deteriorate when I contemplate where my life has ended up.

I'm so far from home. So far from where I thought I'd be, or even imagined where I might be. So very far.

The P Word

Procrastination. There. I said it.

I spent a half-hearted hour on my novel today. I cannot get over the fact that a lot of what is already written is overworked and off-target. It's not feeling or sounding like I want it to.

The only solution is to get myself into a state where the right voice comes out to play... and the only way to get to that point is to sit here and plod along, writing and trying. That's the way to become "inspired." Sit here and do the work.

Except the floors are dirty, the dishes need to be put away, laundry is piling up, the dog needs walking, etc. etc. etc. Yes, there is always something to pull me away.

I am meeting with a writing buddy later today, so that will motivate me to have something to show/talk about. And I am hoping to have a good solid three hours tomorrow to write. Maybe another hour today?

I just have to be ready to write when that voice arrives.

Too Much

"The Muse does not tolerate chaos." -- Stephen Pressfield, The War of Art

I stopped cold in my tracks when I read this very near the end of the book. I realized that I am so bogged down by clutter, stuff, things, chores, toys and oddments that my creativity is trying to swim in this bog.

Fully aware of this, I've been working to collect items for a yard sale. I halfheartedly planned to have it last weekend, but it rained. I realize that I was completely unprepared to hold a sale, but now, I'm eyeballing all the things that clutter corners, and see that they provide a rough surface for my mind's eye to catch on. So creativity is dampened. So much to do before I can really sit down and write, so much to keep at bay while I am sitting down writing.

I suppose I'm not making much sense, but I know it's an all-too-familiar problem with a deceptively simple solution. Sort the stuff: keep, sell, give away. While I try to whittle down my keep pile, I must face one simple truth. I have too many interests outside of writing. Too many books, too many hobbies, too many toys. Some of them required an investment of equipment or stuff, that still has value. That's the big problem now. Sell it? Yes, sell it! But that takes time and energy too.

Do I get rid of stuff with obvious value, store it safely against the day I'll get back to that, or just CLEAR IT OUT at any cost? That's where I am right now.

Another writer who struggled with juggling family and writing said, "Writing is a crime punishable by guilt." That rings true for me. Right now. I just want to sweep everything into the three piles and have it all just dealt with. So I can write.

Maybe it's time to get a bigger broom. Or blinders.

Meanwhile

Amidst all the drama and whining about my physical pain and its mystery, I am managing to spend at least an hour a day writing. Yesterday it was something like three hours.

I'm re-working the draft from the beginning. I have a tendency to overwrite scenes, having too much in the first draft but missing large pieces that make sense. Or missing obvious "moments" of show-don't-tell. This time, as well, I'm keeping a timeline with characters and locations for reference. It helps with chronology and minor characters, so that Robert doesn't become Roger halfway through the book.

There is also a young woman from Mexico in the drawing class, and I have her number. I need to call her and interview her to understand these little Mexican villages better. I don't think I'll be able to go visit one anytime soon, though that might be possible in the summer.

I'm reading a fantastic book called The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles, which is a profound yet simple treatise on The Muse and the invisible but real threshold between amateur and professional writer. In some ways, I have been writing fiction as an amateur, and that has to stop. It's time to push the boat out and cast off. I recommend this book for anyone who wants to examine a plausible reason why they are "blocked" or why they struggle with finishing a project.

Next on the stack is Stephen King's On Writing.

I am replacing one or two hours of television and movies each day with reading these books. It's much easier to zone out in other people's stories, but I just can't afford that kind of creative drain right now. I even find myself thinking in petulant almost resentful terms: hrmpf, the writers have done a story kind of like mine already on XYZ show so why should I bother? NOT GOOD for creativity. Period. So my Netflix is on hold, and the remote is farther away than the stack of books.

If I can push through the physical stuff, this book might get written.

Coffee, Tea or Halcion?

How long should I be concerned that I'm tired and prefer staying in bed to doing housework, cooking, doing errands and fun stuff with the kid? This is shaping up to be the third day this week.

Here's a little list of "advice" from a friendly website on self-care tips:

Set priorities and simplify tasks to reduce stress.
Stay physically active.
Make time for activities you enjoy.
Get about eight hours of sleep a night.
Connect with supportive family and friends.
Eat more healthy foods, including fruits, vegetables and whole grains.

HA HA HA! Very funny. When you're feeling ill and/or blue, the last thing you want to do is set priorities, make time for anything or connect with people. Stay physically active? Zzzzzzzzzzz.

This just proves my everlasting point that one cannot rely on the Internet for medical, legal or financial advice. EVER.

I think I'll make a cup of caffeinated coffee and see if that "perks" me up. If it gives me the heebies, then I'll know it was the wrong step. But this might be a good time to use caffeine for the drug that it is.

Pain, Loathing, Painting

This will probably be the MOST self-indulgent entry in this very self-indulgent journal.

I have spent four hours in bed so far today, and it looks like I'll spend another four and then it's bedtime! I went to painting studio today which means standing on a concrete floor for hours. I don't notice anything until after lunchtime, usually. I did get thoroughly annoyed by the woman who thought that coming out onto the outer patio studio area to talk loudly on her cell phone was completley ok. I think next time I take a call, I will go into her classroom and stand next to her desk. Otherwise, it was quiet and studious out there. (Same woman came out to glue some shit to her canvas, humming all the while. I plugged in my iPod and tuned her out.)

Anyway, today, right on schedule after lunch, I thought, "Gee, I should sit down." So I went to the computer for about 30 minutes of Photoshop work in a crappy chair.

When I went back to the studio, a few more painters had arrived and the radio was loudly blasting classical music - the drippy noodly kind, and yes, blasting, as in too loud to tune out but not loud enough to appreciate.

I decided to pack it in, and felt rather bitchy about it. As I was leaving, I stopped to hear the instructor talk about someone's painting. It was really discouraging because she is a non-representational painter like me, and everything he was praising her for is stuff that I do. Do I ever hear the praise? No, he keeps telling me that I need to paint 100 paintings before I can really "define" my style. He also says shit like, "maybe you could hang this asymmetrically."

I am not wrong. This is the fourth time or so that I've gotten "damned with faint praise." My painting doesn't interest him at all, and so I get canned, inconsequential comments. I have tried to take his critique and commentary and implement it, but it's just all covered in wrong sauce.

The environment there is COMPLETELY not conducive to creativity. I left. I may not return. Not to be all flouncy, but I just can't afford to spend my time with diminishing returns.

It had rained heavily all morning, but was clearing up once I got to the car. By the time I was turning onto the street, I was in full-blown morose mood. I came home, dove into bed and napped for about an hour. The body pain hit during the nap.

While I managed to get dinner for the kid, I'm back in bed and thinking about pain relief. And chocolate.

Air pressure, humidity, cold, overexertion, disappointment, the big steak I ate last night... all possible factors, but I just don't know which one. And maybe it was nothing. This is the joy of post-polio. It's a hardware problem some days, and some days, it's a software issue. Ask any computer tech – that's the short road to madness.