I don't know about you, but sometimes I find that the most difficult person in the room isn't somebody else, it's ME. Especially when I'm in the room alone, because that's often the case when creative resistance appears. Let me explain. Yesterday, I did my fifteen minutes. Actually, closer to thirty. It was a great morning. There was a hint of rain lingering in the air from an early morning downpour. The bricks on the patio were wet and the geraniums were bright red in the cool morning air. My daughter slept late. I finished a revision on a story I am proud of. My little book felt within reach, possibly sooner than I'd been thinking. I considered whether I ought to send the current manuscript in to a contest next week. I made an extra cup of coffee. I felt encouraged by what I'd accomplished and by the loveliness of the day. Then, the voices of resistance started in. They go like this: Who do you think you are with this writing thing? Nobody wants to rea...
So I had some bad health news last weekend. An illness I thought I'd gotten over is back and resisting treatment. It's progressive, which means that I don't feel terrific, but I'm not feeling terrible just yet. I'm hopeful that my doctors can find the right treatment before I get too sick. Of course, it is difficult to work when you aren't feeling well. It's also wonderful to have something to work on, because it helps me take my mind off the pain and fear. Being sick is no fun. Being chronically ill is difficult to accept on the best days--impossible to face on the worst ones. So I've lost a few days on the blog to feeling (embarrassingly) sorry for myself. The thing is, I've still been writing. Partly because I'm in the middle of working on something I love, and partly because I crave the distraction and the sense of progress that the writing offers. I read a wonderful quote about genius in the introduction to a book I'm just beginning...