First I decided to take a break from everything writing related.
You see, I am not a writer by training and out of the blue in 2012; I simply sat down at my computer and wrote a book, Dear Tiz. It took me about three months to write, not including the editing phase. I thought, “That was easy” so I decided to write another one. Since then, I have started writing quite a few stories and each one is in some stage of development. Some are over 90% finished, but for some reason I haven’t given those the final push to get them done.
I think part of the reason might be burn out. I took writing as a profession too fast and did not spend one single day in 2013 or 2014 doing much of anything else but writing and searching the internet for something book related. It was all too much, too deep, too fast.
So I decided to take a break. This said “break” however has not been a book fast. I have traveled to places I would like to use as settings in a book, I have bought history books (non-fiction) to use as research, I have read, read and read books by authors that I like in order to get a greater feel for the kind of storytelling that I wish to emulate. I did take a break from writing though; at the beginning it was by design, then it became a forced break.
A couple of months ago, I had to go to a funeral, during which I was computer-less, because I didn’t take mine. By the way, is it just me or are vast quantities of people dying? My nephew says, “People are dropping like flies”. Not just random people who you don’t know and would never meet, but actual acquaintances if not friends, people I grew up with and friends of my children or friends of friends.
Then there are the accidents. Just in the span of one month in my family, there have been three broken legs and a broken shoulder, each one happening separately to different people and even in different countries. Not to be left behind, I was walking down the street, I mean just walking down the street, and I fell (for no reason at all). Seriously, one minute I was walking and the next I was on the ground. Anyway, I banged up my left arm so bad that it has been incapacitated for the last two months. As I sat there in the middle of the street and realized that there was something really wrong with my arm, the realization came to me that I couldn’t get up, not at all. I had just realized that fact, and I was about to tell my youngest son, who was with me, that I would need his help in order to get to my feet; when suddenly without warning a man came up behind me and set me on my feet and onto the sidewalk. He asked me if I was ok (how do you respond to that?) and then he was gone. I thought that he must have been driving a car, and since I was sitting in the middle of the road, had helped me out of his way. My son says not. He just came out of nowhere and disappeared the same way. Weird.
As the man left, I looked down at my arm and tried to see what was wrong with it. I couldn’t move it much, but I could move it some. I could move my fingers just fine. As I tried to bend the elbow it would only go so far and then it got stuck. There was no protrusion of any kind, so I figured that the elbow was dislocated. Straight in front of me was a metal fence. I grabbed a hold of it with my left hand and pulled as hard as I could and although it hurt a lot I felt the elbow pop back into place.
For the first time, I turned around to take stock of my surroundings. There were practically no people and in any case no one was paying the slightest bit of attention to us. Neither my son nor I had a cell phone (don’t ask) so we began walking to find a place where we could make a call to my oldest son to come pick us up. I hadn’t gone more than a couple steps however, before I realized that I needed to sit down. After a few minutes rest I was able to continue walking the two blocks necessary to where we found a phone. It happened to be the very place we had been heading towards, a museum where I was going to do some research. When we got there, however, it turns out that the museum had moved, not two weeks prior, and the very place where they moved to was the building with the metal fence where I had set my arm. Amazingly, my arm no longer hurt (if I didn’t move it) so we went into a nearby restaurant to eat lunch and wait for my oldest son and his girlfriend.
Over the next few days, my arm turned the brightest shade of purple that I have ever seen skin turn before and continued to be painless unless I tried to use it in any way. It is strange all the ways a person really needs their left arm that when it is just fine you don’t think about. Washing your hair is the hardest with just one hand, but also opening a bottle, or lifting a pot off of the stove, etc. Writing is the most painful, I guess because it uses so many little muscles in the forearm; so I have had a forced vacation from writing for the last few weeks.
Although, the purple turned to green and eventually faded entirely (why do they call it black and blue?). I do notice improvement though. Each day my arm has a little more strength in it, but there are still a few things I can’t do like put my left hand to my mouth. It makes pill taking harder since I can’t have the pill in one hand and the glass of water in the other. Definitely an adventure, though. This is the first time that I have tried to write anything very much since my fall and although I can do it, it still is somewhat painful. So I think story writing is still on the back burner for now.