Part of being a writer is the dance of self-acceptance.
I have to deal with a chronic illness, which has radically altered my life for the last fifteen years, and shows no sign of waning. This means I have to manage the delicate balance between self-care and doing too much. When I overdo it, I end up exacerbating my symptoms and have to face extended periods of bed rest and being confined to the house. Anf brain fog.
So sometimes I can’t write. And its not that I don’t want to, its just that I literally can’t.
As I have said before, however, that doesn’t mean I’m not writing. In my head, at least.
Sometimes life deals us lemons, and the lemonade is hard to make. But even when I feel like I am buried under tonnes of lemons, the dream is still there. The memory of how fantastic it feels when I am able to write, when the flow is happening and I am submerged in a scene.
This is where my diary comes in. At times when I can process language, when I can hold my pen, I write in my journal. It may only be a few lines, a sentence or two, but it is self-expression, getting the feelings out onto the page, and it feels fantastic.
At times when things are tough, my journal is my life raft.
At the moment, as I struggle with another period of sickness, I am working with this book. When I have finished squeezing every drop of goodness from it, I will tell you how I got on, a little review of sorts. In the meantime, I offer you this quote, from the marvellous SARK, patron saint of creative women, quoted by the author, Jackee Holder:
“I love journal keeping because it has helped me to discover and uncover myself, to encourage my own bravery, sort out difficulties with other people, to invent new ways of being.”
SARK, Juicy Pens, Thirsty Paper, 2008.