I currently can’t touch type.
This blog is being dictated directly to my phone. I’ve had reconstructive surgery on my left arm so when I move it over the keyboard it hurts like hell. Why was I operated on? I snapped a tendon from lifting a heavy suitcase into a taxi during my extended travels.
I have a brief appointment to pitch a book to an agent in several days. I have a good version of the manuscript but not a perfect one. I’ve hand-written the edits on a printed version but have not been able to polish up the word document. And as much as I hate not being professional, trying to correct the manuscript may put me back in hospital.
So for a little more than a month, this writer isn’t writing.
I have been reading though, more than usual. I also haven’t felt guilty for not writing. I can’t reply to tweets that ask “How many words have you written today?” And I noticed two emails I dictated to my publisher had spelling errors I didn’t notice before I hit send.
I also have an actor lined up for a book trailer shoot, which I physically can’t produce at the moment. I can’t tie my shoelaces. I can’t cuddle my husband properly. I can’t drive. And I can’t use nail clippers with my left hand. The pain. Oh, the pain.
With fabulous Gina, and my husband, Warren.
But it’s been nice to take time out.
My husband and I are taking long walks almost every day. Watching television has become part of my rehabilitation rather than a waste of time. I’ve become a human being rather than a human doing.
And this has become a nice change in my life. A lesson to keep living after I repair.