A lot of people blog about the writing life. That was my intention when I first put up this site, which was actually designed to promote my work. Like everyone else, I thought I’d share my thoughts about writing as I finished pieces and ultimately sent them out. It wasn’t long before I broadened this aspiration to include any topic, not just writing. Push-button publishing provided a reason to come up with polished pieces—to see how far I could take short essays without turning to an editor. I quickly learned blogging is also a great way to work on facing one’s goofs and imperfections!
My most recent posts focus on cancer and recovery—I’ve been housebound for four months. When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, I hoped I might take advantage of my convalescence and get some writing done. That possibility quickly eluded me. After I learned I had a few positive lymph nodes, I experienced a fair amount of fear over what was coming. Chemo treatments brought on foggy thinking and genuine discomfort. The best I could do was stick to my goal of one blog post per month. I also chipped away at a poem about what else… breast cancer. It’s a long poem.
I had my last chemo infusion a few weeks ago—radiation is next. It will be roughly three more months before my life returns to normal (knock on wood). I’ve been doing everything I can to improve my chances of living cancer free for a long while. Aside from following my doctor’s orders, I take walks, eat well, and stay connected with people. Yet I’m getting cabin fever. It didn’t help that chemotherapy slowly brought on an aversion to my own home. I began associating my couch and environs with the chemicals running through my veins in a way that made me blame this living space, albeit irrationally, for what I was going through. I was willing to head almost anywhere—to get away from here. Fortunately, I’m coming out of the chemo cave. Chemo brain has already faded. Even better, I don’t have to be back at Moores Cancer Center for a few weeks. They’re giving me a breather.
I’ve just begun to feel well enough to revise an old novel manuscript. I’d actually planned to work on the project during the spring, but it was waylaid by this health drama. When I finally did pull the manuscript out, I wasn’t sure if I would connect with it. Yet I found myself digging right in, occasionally going into the zone. As the hours passed, I experienced some much need optimism. I began to muse, “Maybe I won’t lose anything.”
I probably couldn’t have started a new novel during this time. I believe I have forward flow on the old one, because a lot of the work has been done. The scaffolding is in place, and that allows me to focus on style, plot, character development—new ideas. I don’t have to fight a story that’s not coming. I can play with this one to my heart’s content. So far, a sense of accomplishment has punctuated each writing session. That doesn’t always happen, believe me.
I hope to have the stamina to keep up this pace as I deal with radiation. Even if I don’t, I expect my newfound momentum will hold up during the impending break between treatments. It doesn’t matter how well I’m actually doing with the revision process. I’ve needed to feel passion for something in the middle of this upheaval, because chemotherapy dulls just about everything. Indeed, I’ve been yearning for a taste of what I was like before I barreled into this ordeal.