Seasoning

I’m not sure why, but this pass through my novel has opened my eyes. Maybe, it was the long break between the last edit and this one. Maybe, that time gave me a better distance. I don’t know. It only seems I have a better grasp on what story I’m trying to tell.

It would be such a blessing if the two years I’ve spent not working on my novels, gave me something. I felt I lost so much. Time, mostly. It haunts me. Though I wasn’t working on my novel writing, I wasn’t idle. I read, a ton.

I took my trusty Writer’s Digest and the Writer with me to every damned doctors’ appointment. It was a way to cope with the whole situation. A situation I just hated. Oh, anyone would, but I have this terrible anxiety around doctors. I think it stems from childhood and when my Uncle Bruce (MD) visited. My family acted like the KING was coming.

Anyway, I kept my nose in the magazine and tried to concentrate only on the articles, instead of the worry that didn’t help at all anyway. Sometimes—often, I came away not remembering one darn word, but sometimes there was this glimmer of insight. I think it was because I was trying so hard to focus.

Truthfully, I had a whole lot less focus what with everything that was going on at the time. As I said many times (too many, in my opinion) my mind wasn’t working well, especially while I was sickest or on the biggest doses of the prednisone. And I wonder (hope), too, if the whole journey gave me a different perspective.

Perspective is good. Looking back can give insight. And certainly, when you go through something you learn what is most important. People tend to forget that too fast. But trouble makes you grow, and growing seems to me to be all good for a writer.

When I could write again, I spent a lot of time floundering. I tried to write a memoir about the illness. I was just too close and too grateful to be getting better. Going back over it seemed counter to my determination to take Christopher Reeves’ advice: Go forward. Maybe that time for that memoir will come, but it isn’t yet.

I worked on poetry, did a few workshops I’d been wanting to do. I think some of my best poetry came out of that, but that wasn’t all I gained. I think the time working on poetry gave my writing something that had been lacking for some time. A depth and a way of looking at each word. I got invaluable, insightful critiques from my instructor, too. Something I don’t have enough access to.

I have always gone back to poetry when I struggle with my writing. It has always helped. This time, I was more open to each lesson. A perfect case of: When the student is ready, the teacher will come. What’s more, each critique helped me analyze all my writing in a different way. That’s good for all my writing.

I have a theory: God or the Universe (or whatever you believe in,) gives you what you need. It’s the figuring out what that lesson is, that’s toughest.

Puts me in mind of a quote I’ve saved from years ago (I’m a quote collector, much like an inkbottle, paperweight, vase, pen collector) A ship is safe in the harbor, but that’s not what ships are built for.

The ocean is a big dangerous place and, for certain, even if nothing bad happens, there is going to be some wear and tear. That ship won’t be as spiffy when it gets back from across the sea, as it was when it left. It will have tales to tell. It has been seasoned. It will never be pristine again, but it will be experienced.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I’d rather ride in a ship that’s crossed the ocean and come back safe, than a ship that’s stayed in the harbor.