I’ve been missing in action. In March I only posted nine times but there were 31 days in that month. I was trying to do one post a day. Not set in concrete but an internal challenge. It’s been a bit of a slog, I must say. I blame the drugs.
They’re good at keeping the pain away (well, sort of) but they’re not so good for letting the mind run free. They leave my mind muddy and sluggish, struggling to find inspiration and stuck in the roundabout that leaves me with nothing in my head but this chronic pain and how I will live with it or if I’ll ever live again without it.
When I set myself my mental challenge I was also trying to manage pain and my anxiety about it all and hoped that writing would give me something else on which to focus. It was also to hone this craft and rebuild the muscles that I had let atrophy.
I thought that maybe I’d forgotten how but the words still come from me pretty easily. I haven’t had trouble getting things down. I don’t do too many drafts. I suppose, since most of what I’m putting into this ether is first hand, lived, memoir, non-fiction, that the crafting is different.
I worry that I’m boring and repetitive anyway. I think I need more humour. I want to be more creative and stretch my fiction finger and since I really started this blog what it has awakened is a burning desire in me to write about just one thing. This thing is like a block for all the other ideas, it’s like if I don’t find a way to write this then I’ll never get another idea out. I’ve tried a few forays but the theme keeps coming through into everything. And this theme, this thing, this truth but not but fictionalised but life, is so hard to write about; what angle do I take, how do I broach this subject, how can I write with authenticity and integrity without making it so damn hard and gut-wrenching that no-one can read it.
I think I thought that writing daily might help me start it (not here, somewhere else, secret, away from prying eyes until I’d honed and cut and sweated it out), give me the discipline or I hoped that I could get past it and start something new. Instead I’m revolving, looking for the angle, researching horrors that are beyond imagining, except they were real, to find a way into my subject’s life and mind and try to explain their actions.
Maybe no-one needs to read it. Maybe I can just slam it out and put it in a bottom drawer. Though I want it to be readable. I want it to be an exploration. I want to take people on a journey – you have to write with your audience there (or I do) in your mind’s eye – I want it to be good, no, I want it to be amazing.
Don’t expect anything soon. I’ve got a lot to do between now and whenever.
In the meantime I’ll just keep coming back here and torturing you all with my experiments.