Name:
Location: one hour from Suffolk, Rockingham, and Scarborough, United States

I'm one of the co-authors of Point of Hopes, Point of Dreams, and The Armor of Light (which, contrary to some reviews is NOT a Points novel). Proud member of CoastLine SF, Piscataqua Obedience Club, and admin for Horseboard.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Still looking

"When in literate company I am
Impelled to try an epigram
I never seek to take the credit:
We all assume that Oscar said it!"

Or maybe it was Tom Paxton. A friend of mine recently started using as her sig, "Could have been the whisky, might have been the gin, could have been the three or four six packs, I don't know, but look at the mess I'm in."

And when I lie awake at night and try to think of scenes for Point of Sighs, which we would really like to be working on (though Melissa is certainly keeping busy with other writing!), I try to figure out why it's -- not there.

Short answer is that, when you have had cancer, an imagination is a very scary thing. I wonder, though, if the treatments also had anything to do with it. "Could have been the chemo, might have been the rads. Could have been the five part radiosurgery..."

But I'm more inclined to think that it's the fact of the cancer itself. And maybe some post-treatment letdown. I've read it can take over a year from when you finish treatments for things to get back to "normal." And of course, having just had the fractionated radiosurgery in January.... crumbs, I was expecting to be back to normal, let's see, November 2003 plus 18 months would make it... this coming May. The thought of having to wait another 18 months...

A friend asked me today if the drive is still there. I suppose to some extent it is, since I'm still posting here. I'm trying to figure out the why of it all, why the drive is gone, and then figure out how to get back to it.

Believe me, I am trying to pull myself up by my creative bootstraps. And it's not as though this sense of ennui has permeated other parts of my life, it hasn't. I was thrilled just a little while ago to see a pair of cardinals in my back yard! I'm eager to get my garden tidied up after the winter, and my seeds started. I like life, as the song goes. I just can't seem to put words together in a meaningful way in terms of fiction.

And it's not as though I feel as though I've outgrown the kind of writing I've always done. I don't cringe when I read the books I've co-authored. But every time I sit down to try to write something, my imagination seizes up.

I'll find a way, a route back to it, I know. I just feel like I'm in this flat landscape; it's not even a case of feeling lost in some alien setting, or not seeing the forest for the trees... There aren't any trees! It's all a blank, like a vast... white sheet of paper. Hmmmmmm.

I'll get back to you.

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