One frustrating aspect of this writing retreat is that I did something to my wrist a few weeks ago — I thought it was just an overuse thing and it would resolve with rest, but it hasn’t yet. I’ve got a message in to my doc; I’ll see if she wants to take a look at it, or if she’s just going to send me straight to an orthopedic hand specialist. I think it’s probably arthritis and/or carpal tunnel — we’ll see.
Very annoying — I’ve been in some pain a lot of the time the last few weeks, which is wearying, and certain motions are almost impossible, like turning a doorknob. I’ve had to limit my cooking (I bought pre-chopped onions for the curries the other night!), and while I seem to be able to type without too much pain while wearing a wrist brace, I’m a little worried about possibly aggravating the injury, so I haven’t pushed as hard on generating lots of words this week as I might have otherwise.
Still, it’s been good just clearing my head. It’s so easy to slip out of writing mode, to have weeks or months go by without writing. And if I do, then starting again feels overwhelming, that it’s going to be too hard, that I won’t write anything good. After thirty years as a writer, you’d think I’d be over that!
But after thirty years, at least I know enough to trust the process. If I open the file and read the old work, if I set the story going in my head, if I clear away enough of the minutiae of daily life to make space for creating story…story will come.
Up to 15,937 words — I’m going to take a break for a few hours, have lunch with Santa Fe writer friends, rest my wrist. Maybe I’ll figure out who actually did the stabbing. 🙂
“The gourds hanging on trellises over the shower were ripening, and soon she’d be able to harvest them. Manju was choreographing a gourd dance, one component of her dissertation project; it had been giving her some trouble, but hopefully eating the gourds would bring clarity. They hung heavy, swaying slightly in the manufactured night breeze (all wind was manufactured under the Dome), and she let her body sway in echo, let her breasts hang forward – small for the purpose, but sufficient.”
