It’s every writer to their own, but I want to warn every writer about the dangers of doing this one silly thing that can ruin your day.
It’s getting dressed.
There’s great danger in trying to force your arms into a sleeve while also writing a note about an important thought that just won’t wait and has to be written down.
The shoulder pings, crunches, pops out of the socket …
The scream is a slow build-up, the pencil is dropped, the hand used to hold the arm still. The faintness in the brain as blood rushes to the gut, to weight the body down.
Don’t move, don’t move, it says, or pain will be forever.
Okay, I’m back now … with one useful arm. Not my good arm.
The warning — writer, write in your jammies, don’t get dressed while cogitating story, and who cares what the postie thinks!
I might have to head off to a comfy spot and pop a pill with the cup of tea — how am I going to hold a cup of tea? Oh, yes. Nan’s trick: tip it into the saucer a bit at a time; easier to hold than a cup or mug.
Now for that bikkie — how can we be so useless with only one arm?
And you know the worst of it?
I’ve got some really good story things rattling around in the head. Really good ones.
Ain’t that the way of it?