I’ve noticed the decline in the number and quality of my blog posts since my introduction to lung cancer. It’s obvious to me that the reason for the change isn’t the cancer, it’s my response to it. I’ve allowed myself to spend too much time obsessing over the diagnosis and what it may mean for us (my wife and me). To be sure, I think obsessing over a cancer a diagnosis is not crazy; it’s natural. But allowing it to interfere with something I enjoy as much as I enjoy writing is not especially smart. So I’ll try harder. But I realized this morning, earlier, as I “tried harder” that the problem isn’t entirely mental; it’s physical, too. Sitting at the desk typing away, as I’m doing now, hurts. It’s getting better, I think, but it hurts. Trying to be creative, allowing my fingers to paint new and unusual ideas on the screen, is tough when my mind keeps skipping back to the pain I feel in my chest and my side and my upper back. For the most part, these pains are not severe, sharp, angry pains. Instead, they are moderate, blunt-instrument, annoyed pains. They grab my attention and twist my fingers; the words that spill from my fingers are dull and repetitive, just syllables that stammer and shudder and stumble onto the keyboard.
With the aforementioned as a backdrop and inadequate explanation, I may opt to take a break from writing anything for a while. Until my physical pain, at least, has subsided enough that it doesn’t interfere with what I want to write. Before closing the lid on my notebook, though, I wanted to explain to myself why I’m doing it and to assure myself that this is only a temporary reprieve. I’ll be back, writing about cancer and spinning fiction and fantasy just as soon as it feels good to do it.