Last year was The Summer of the Move. The first part of the year seemed to be shaping up into The Year of the Medical Maladies. However, (knock on wood) things seem to be settling down a bit, so I am hopeful that the remaining part of the year will be known as The Year I Finished My Novel.
While recovering from surgery, I wrote. A lot. That is the good thing about writing, even if you are unable to move around much–as long as you brain is fairly clear and your fingers function–you can work on stories. Depending on the amount of pain medication the doctor prescribed, there may be a bit more revising that normally required, but at least you can work toward your word count.
The novelization of The Collector is progressing. I hate to speculate on an estimated draft date, because every time I do that Life explodes all over my meticulously crafted spreadsheet and then days pass without pen being put to page. No, it seems that I do better when I try not to tempt fate. When I write quietly, sneaking in words when no one is looking, that is when I make real progress.
If you notice my relative quiet on Facebook and Twitter, it is because I am adding words towards my story rather than into the ether. If days, or a week, or even two (ahem) pass without a blog post, it is because a plot point has suddenly become clear, or a character needs my attention.
I go to sleep thinking about the story, and I wake up with snippets of dialogue in my head. I drive to work plotting out scenes, and I spend my lunch typing them out. It is a comfortable kind of routine, and it is yielding progress.
However, truth be told, I am grateful for the forced reprieve of the past few weeks. I am blessed with amazing friends, a good surgeon, and a family that repeatedly humbles me with their love and dedication. My husband and kids have taken such good care of me, and my mom and dad have surrounded me with love and prayers. Yes, I am definitely blessed.
Nothing like a cancer scare to make you reassess and prioritize things.