Not Writing = Stress!

I’ve got another injury. This time it is my right foot. I don’t know what I did to it but it hurts like hell and I’ve been limping for two days now. I realized some years back, when I go through periods like this where I am injuring myself repeatedly - first a wrenched knee, then a flare up of tendinitis, then a severely stubbed toe - it is because I’m harboring a lot of stress in my body and I deal with it by causing real pain. And maybe, too, it’s my body’s way of trying to tell me to stay still for awhile.

I’m having trouble writing at the moment. Normally I spend an hour a day before I start work on whatever bit of writing I am involved with. If I get to spend more time on it in the evening, that is good but that hour in the morning is important.

Right now I am trying to rewrite the last of the eight stories for my collection, My Last Romance & Other Passions. I’ve gotten positive feedback on the other stories so far but this last one is confounding me. I blame it on the fact that it is the first time I have ever written much about my heritage but I think it is more than that, Fifi, the central character, is someone I used to be and I don’t like thinking about that.

Fiction writing is a very intimate process. I wonder how many fiction writers are able to remain emotionally distant from their work. Certainly those writers, like mystery writers, who rely on stock characters and plots that follow a particular form have an easier time. But those of us who write out of our experiences in life, each time we get close to the bone, it can get raw, let me tell you.

I didn’t have a tragic childhood. For a long time I thought that disqualified me from success as a writer. Later I realized that success was not the point - writing was. Writer/psychotherapist Otto Rank, who had a horrifically tragic childhood, wrote, “I must give birth everyday or perish.”

Those of us who harbor that need to create - to put something forth into the world on a regular basis - die a little bit when we are not doing so. Traditionally there has been a parallel between creativity and substance abuse. I was never sure if that was because painful pasts tend to incline people toward the arts as well as toward substance abuse. But now I know that if you are driven to create on a regular basis you must do it or suffer the consequences. For me that is a peculiar string of ridiculous but painful physical injuries.

Sometimes I think writing is a form of masochism anyway. First you spend hour after hour alone wrestling with both the words on the page and your personal demons. Then you ask trusted friends to read and give opinions so you can rewrite. This is a tough process if your friends are really honest with you. Lots of them can’t be, they are too accepting of you as you are. It is difficult to find readers who are both honest and lacking agendas.

After all of that you go through the endless submission-rejection process. Then, if you publish, there are the critiques and the responses of readers. It doesn’t matter how many people tell you that your work is good, one scathing review can undo all of that.

Recently I gave my first novel to an accomplished writer whose novels have won awards and whose work I admire. She read the book in a few days and was filled with praise. She said I was a “fine writer” and she loved much of the book. But she completely misunderstood the ending - COMPLETELY. Her interpretation blew me away! I was in no way prepared for how she saw it. Fortunately enough people have read it and liked the ending that I don’t think it was a fault of my writing but her reaction unnerved me.

So I am sitting here with a sore foot and an incomplete manuscript and a bunch of work to do. I want to just blow off work and go sit in the sun and read. Except there is also no sun. It’s a tough day to be a writer....

Thanks for reading.