Fair Warning: This post will be less about writing, and more about life, than our readers may be used to. For this personal indulgence I apologize. But if I can, I hope to bring it around to writing—at least a little.
This is my first post in seven weeks. Sometimes real life rears it’s head and makes writing—and talking about writing—too hard to fit into the daily routine.
Before I continue I’d like to thank those that made my sabbatical possible. Jodi stepped in with only a hour or two notice to fill in for my first absence. Then Jodi and Annie sat me down—as much as that’s possible by email—and convinced me that I needed a break. All the regular writers pitched in to find replacements so that I didn’t have to worry about hurrying back. And of course thanks to those who filled my spot for the last six weeks: Jodi, Anne Whitaker, Annie, Icy Sedgwick and Joyce Mason.
So why the break? Well, much of it I’d rather not get into in a public forum…at least not the specifics. The last year has really heaped a lot onto an already full plate.
A suicide attempt by someone close to me, my step-kids moving away, worsening asthma, cluster headaches running out of control, stomach ulcers and depression (ranging from mild to severe, but never really going away), have all conspired not only to make daily life a challenge, but to make writing all but impossible.
My life today bears little resemblance to even two months ago. But changes can also bring opportunity. And those same friends who convinced me that it was OK to take a break from writing, have helped me see that by trying to get back into the habit of writing may help me rein in some of the chaos, but also help me deal with the thoughts and emotions that threaten to overwhelm me every day.
So that’s what I’m trying. Little by little I’m restructuring my life, with time set aside to do the things that are important to me, but for the last several years have gotten pushed aside. This blog is one of those things. My own blog as well. But even more important is simply giving myself time to write.
Maybe, someday, I can look at the events of the last few months with some perspective. Maybe I can use them, and the rush of sadness, fear and depression that I felt in my writing. Maybe.
For now, I’d be happy just to distract myself by getting back to the fundamentals—putting pen to paper—and actually writing something worthwhile.
Originally posted on
where six writers talk about the trials and tribulations of their writing lives. And each Tuesday the soapbox belongs to me.
Where Is My Spot? 