June 2 has arrived and I feel like I’ve just stumbled from a pitch-black cave into blinding light. Two weeks ago, I was sitting in the Riviera Maya and had a waiter named Oscar bringing Coronas and fish tacos at the snap of my fingers. One week ago, my son was in ICU suffering complications due to a bad case of pneumonia. Today I’m back at my computer staring at the screen and my fingers hardly remember how to type. I have not left the world of writing so far behind since I was a girl of four.
I wouldn’t be staring at my computer this morning had my son not recovered so well. We both lived at the hospital last week, with me dashing off for a shower every couple of days and him trapped inside with heart monitors stuck to his chest. I’m relieved to say that he’s bounced back amazingly quick.
So can I please return to crafting little stories in my head now?
It’s been very strange stepping away from the phantoms that continually haunt my head. They are as much a part of me as my arms and legs. Maybe they are even more a part of me. I’ve had them forever and I pretty much have to peek around them to see anything else. It both horrifies and amazes me that I have not looked at them for so long now. The fact that this is a relatively new experience for me is perhaps a testament to the lucky life I lead.
A crisis can be very distracting, of course. Blessed as I am, I’ve certainly gone through similar periods, but I often use the act of creating to keep me sane during the more intense times. If anything, I probably hold onto that part of myself even harder when the going gets tough. It feels weird that I handled things so differently this time. I am wondering if other writers are the same when it comes to the creative process that goes on inside their brains? If so, can somebody please tell me this: If I offer my phantoms a heaping helping of new life experience and maybe a fish taco or two, do you think they will forgive me and come home already?