In an effort to increase my output, I’m returning to the blog (man, I hate that word). I’m planning to document some of the challenges and hopefully much more of the progress as I continue writing the third in the Winston Patrick series.
Below is a little tiny piece of mind fluff that came out at the beginning of a workshop I was leading. I hope to make this a regular (shall we say ‘weekly’) entry to move past whatever wall I’m up against as I’m writing. Stay tuned…please.
It’s difficult to write when my fingers are tingling, not because I can’t hold a pencil or type on the keys – I’m doing fine with that. It’s because it’s difficult to think of any other questions beyond ‘why are my fingers tingling?’ What the hell is happening here?
The ibuprofen helped in the short term but it seems like it’s wearing off. I can feel tingling again.
In comparison to feeling nothing, like I’ve had the big jammer or something, feeling tingling isn’t even a minor annoyance. It’s victory itself. But it’s a hollow one because it’s a victory achieved by using the malady that’s causing my anxiety as an indicator that I’m not, in fact, dead.
I may be writing a Neil Simon play or a Woody Allen movie here. I guess it worked out all right for them.
