One Little Elephant

I'm doing well again following my bump on the noggin. Unfortunately, while I was recovering all those everyday details of living fell way behind. So I'm busy today doing a mountain of laundry, paying a molehill of bills, helping kids over bumps, and filling in holes all around.

Back next week.

I avoid doctors. And medications. I won't even take aspirin for a headache unless my head is about to explode. But lately I've been way past exhausted. So when I could no longer write, I made an appointment.

After blood tests, sonograms, EKGs, x-rays, and exams all they could find of significance was that I was anemic. They gave me B-12 and other hero-maker vitamins and I felt better. I could write again!

So last night I went into my office to write. I sat down on the exercise ball I've used as a chair for several years and...Boom!

Like a popped balloon my seat disinegrated beneath me in one explosive instant. And in that split second before I fell an incredible number of thoughts raced through my mind: gas explosion? gun? are the kid's okay? oh, it's the exercise ball. falling. going to hit head on bookcase. how bad will this--?

My head whacked against the bookcase. It's a sturdy one, one I can't normally move by myself. Yet base and all it moved two inches into a wall. The whole house shook and the kids came flying down the stairs. And between that instant when my skull struck wood and my body traveled the final distance to the floor my mind raced again: what now? death? paralysis? brain damage? death is better. for me. for my family. but what about the kids? please God, if the kids still need me...and God, I haven't finished writing--.

I hit the floor and the air rushed out of me and almost before I could fill my lungs again my lifeguard son and my ROTC son and my compassionate daughter were there beside me, three angels, helping me.

Maybe God took pity or maybe I have a very hard head, but I got off easy: a gash, some blood, a goose-egg, adreniline shakes, and a terrible headache. So despite anemia and exploding seats, today I'm writing. And life is good.

What's that you ask? Did I take an aspirin for the headache? No, of course not. After all, my head didn't actually explode.

Something that's helping me write today: Gratitude that I can! And an experience that proves all those thoughts writers describe going through characters' heads in an instant of crisis really can fit into that tiny space of time.

Back in college I took a writing workshop class. Each time we met the instructor would pick two writers to read their work.

Stories I found entertaining and well-written the instructor would viciously rip apart. Work I found practically indecipherable he would praise to the sky.

If a student expressed an opinion different from his, he would humiliate the person until the entire room was silent. Then he would treat that silence as proof he'd been assigned a classroom of orangutans (you know what orangutans like to throw around...). In short, the workshop instructor was a bully - a lucky one who'd found a room full of fragile, young, paying artists to abuse.

I never read my work for that bully, or even spoke in his class. But I watched and listened and allowed myself to be convinced I had no talent worth sharing. What a naive young fool I was! Too emotionally bruised from my home-life to realize the man was nothing but a literary bully. I wasn't the first student to quit the class, but eventually I did quit.

I didn’t try writing again for decades. When I did, I was met with immediate encouragement and started winning small prizes with ease. Oh, how I regret the years I wasted!

If you are young and out there trying to write, be careful who you associate with in the beginning. Grow your craft and your confidence from a delicate seedling to a tree with real roots before you invite the monkeys in for a swing.

That said, sooner or later you must face the monkeys

Something that's helping me write today: being old enough to know the difference between opinionated people who are sincerely trying to help me make my work better and sad people who are simply trying to make themselves feel important.

If you've read this blog much you're already aware I'm in a constant state of personal remodeling. I make resolutions as often as other people take showers. And so, true to form, I recently made two new resolutions.

The first: I will no longer eat food that tastes bad.

As a lifelong member of the Clean Plate Club this is not an easy one for me. My 'usual think' is: if I pay for it and don't eat it, I've wasted my money. My 'new think' is: let bad food go to waste, instead of to waist.

The first test of this new resolution came within hours. I'd had a productive morning writing and was feeling pleased with myself. I needed to run some errands and, since it was such a beautiful day, I decided to pick up lunch and take it to the park. And that's when the second resolution kicked in.

The second: I will try new things.

My 'usual think' is: it's better to get what I know I like than try something new and take the chance of being disappointed. My 'new think' is: try something new and if I'm disappointed, try something else new.

That's how I ended up at a burrito shop near campus. I got a small burrito to go, paid a ridiculous price, and took a bite in the car before heading to the park. Yuck! I set it aside and decided this called for the invocation of both resolutions. I would not eat bad food. I would try new things - again.

I drove through a chinese fast food restaruant. Paid a ridiculous price and didn't open the box until I got to the park. The park was crowded. All the shady spots were taken. So I sat in the car, turned on the radio and opened the Chinese food box. Yuck!

I drove home and fed the dogs the Chinese Burrito lunch. I know, I shouldn't feed the dogs junk, but they loved it. I made myself a sandwich, went back to writing and had an amazingly productive afternoon.

All this made me think that maybe these resolutions should  be applied to writing as well as to the rest of life. It's okay to try new things when writing. And it's okay to feed the ones that don't work to the dogs - figuratively speaking, of course.

Something that's helping me write today: a delicious homemade sandwich, and two happy dogs.