I won’t kid you. The last couple of years have been fairly crappy for me. I’ve had to make some tough choices concerning my job, my writing, and my life in general. I’ve been battling low-level chronic health disorders, a bout of depression, and some serious financial woes. Every sacrifice I’ve made has been with the idea of making things better, of crawling out of that hole, of moving forward with life instead of just treading water.
2015 started out hopeful. My publisher, Dreamspinner Press, accepted the third book in the Sixth Sense series, Truth and Consequences, and not twenty minutes later, I received an email with generous offer to retool and re-release The Boys of Summer. For once, instead of chewing my nails while waiting to hear if my submitted manuscript was accepted, I’d decided to do the smart, adult writer-thing and had begun working on the next story right away. I’d been pleased with my writing progress on the new story when things in my life fell apart in a big way. To the point where friends began asking me if I was a serial killer in a previous life or if someone out there had a voodoo doll in my name, sticking pins into it. This is why I don’t believe in karma, to be honest. I know I don’t deserve any of this crap right now. There was a time, however, when I’d have wondered what I’d done to bring the wrath of the universe down on me.
I’m not going to bore you with all the multi-generational family stuff going on. Everyone has stuff like that going on in their lives. Nor all the animal health crises, of which there is always something when you have as many animals (especially as many geriatrics) as I do. The biggest problem, the one that outweighs all others, is that I’ve done a number on my shoulder. I probably have a torn rotator cuff, and let me tell you, I have never experienced so much pain in my entire life. Even with the ‘good’ drugs, I’ve lost ten pounds in the last couple of weeks. I’m waiting to get an MRI, but it’s very likely they will tell me I need surgery.
And I can’t do it. I just can’t. I live alone. I have big animals I take care of. Taking six weeks off from work isn’t an option, either. For days I stewed about the pain, and the possible need for surgery, and what would happen to me if I didn’t get surgery. I made my decision the other day: no matter what the MRI says, I will not pursue surgery at this time. Right now, I have about 40% use of my arm and I can deal with the pain fairly well until I try to sleep at night. I’ve got an elaborate system of pillows I use to prop the various parts, however, and I seem to have found a compromise I can live with. I’m functional enough that I can do my job. Each day I seem to be getting a tiny bit better, as long as I don’t overdo. I’ve come to terms with the decision, which has already meant missing one planned event and probably cancelling another one in July. I know, attending conventions is probably the last thing I should be worried about, but these are the bright spots in a rather grinding existence, so canceling them has been a downer. However, it is what it is. Suck it up and deal.
A friend of mine sent me a pendant consisting of this tiny jar filled with sand and a small rock within. She pointed out that like the rock, I always rose to the surface no matter how much sand was dumped over me. It’s true, no matter how you turn the glass jar, the rock always breaks the surface of the sand. It’s kind of awesome having people who believe in you like that. Friends who have your back and help you out in so many ways. Asking for help is not easy for me. My friends make it easier to accept it when it’s offered. 🙂
The one thing I seem to still be struggling with is the story I’m working on. It’s not a particularly happy story, and the characters have to work through some hard stuff. I find that I’m just not in the headspace to work on it right now. In fact, I sort of loathe it. Writing it is like pulling teeth. I decided the other evening that it wasn’t the story I should be working on at the moment. I needed to write something I enjoyed while I was sucking it up and dealing. I think that’s only fair, right?
So I’ve set aside the contemplative and angsty story I’ve been working on these last few months and have started a project I’ve been putting off for the last couple of years. I’ve been putting it off because I was afraid of not getting it right, of screwing it up. Truth be told, I’ve been holding this project in reserve as a kind of trump card, and have been afraid it wouldn’t live up to the test. As long as I didn’t play it, I could tell myself it was going to save my butt one day. Playing it, and discovering that it wasn’t as good a card as I’d hoped, was a reality I didn’t want to face. But a trump card never played ceases to have any value. So there you are. I’m setting aside a project that holds no appeal for me at the moment in order to play with one that does. It might be a dismal failure. But at least I will enjoy the process, and right now, I need a little something to enjoy in my life. The story is a totally different direction for me–but I think that’s exactly what I need.