About Writing, Cancer and other Triggers
A frequent question that I am asked is "how long have I been writing?". This might be my least favorite question to ever answer. Let me put it this way, I don't mind answering questions. I love talking to people. I"m often convinced its my favorite part of the whole thing is talking to people. I'm fond of passing on what I've learned on the process. I don't like answering that quesiton because it feels like a lie no matter what I say. How long have I been writing? I don't know. I was told that I was telling stories when I was a child that were believable. I guess I've been talking for a very, very long time. I think the part of my issue is that I think I lied about writing for so long.
it was sort of my secret.
One of things that suprised my mother when Todd told her about what I was working on was that I had still been writing. She had always said that I had a talent for creating I just needed a good editor. I think she thought I had given up or forgotten those words in my ears since then. I never did. I just didn't tell anyone what I was doing until Todd blurted it out to her. He told her the premise of Gaiman Heights and what I was doing. She seemed legitimately proud of that. I didn't want to tell her until it was done. I've never been good at completing a story until Gaiman Heights but I wanted it done and printed even if it was in a proof form by Christmas that year. I wanted to give her the very first copy.
I would never be able to do so.
What I don't lie about it that my mother had been diagnosed with liver cancer the year before Spring was published. The day that they called and said they would be going to Duke I decided that I needed to finish the book no matter what. I needed to go forward and be published. It would take some time but I could do it. My mother died, however, a year before I started taking these things seriously. I think that's partly why I do what I do because I want her to be proud of me.
I don't know if I ever will.
I don't know what she would think of the books or what she would say about my work. I don't know if she'd approve. I think that's part of it. I have a great deal of guilt about it because I don't have the assured smile looking back at me with a pushing wink. I'm so not prepared to be an adult let alone a professional because my confidence is dead.
I hate cancer.
I think its really one of the most debilitating diseases out there. I mean it doesn't just kill it strips away hope and determination. You get this all clear and then...no. Its not. its gone. Everything we put you through it all for not. Recently a teacher of mine from high school had finally passed away from Lung Cancer. I'm not going to sit here and lionize him. I didn't like him very much. I hated his class and really never felt like I got an education in it. From stories I've read, I now wonder if he held my learning disability against me in that class and made my life harder. Its too late now to worry about it because high school was a long time ago and I'm an adult.
I'm sorry he died in a terrible way.
Funny how this is all coming in one big wave while I'm on vacation. Even now I can stare out and see the parts of the Atlantic ocean that are peaceful and and crashing into a shore gently. I'm not fond of vacations because I have no idea what to do. My brain turns to mush and I get bored. I'm amazed I'm sitting here putting together a blog post which is my least favorite thing to do and yet here I am. Much of this is a trigger for me. I haven't learned yet that peace doesn't bring intimidate chaos it just simply exists.
I read a book yesterday. This is something I haven't done in years. I'm hoping that means I'm getting better.
I'm still working on Lazarus and Wolves but slower. I can't seem to focus.
Probably will do better at home.