A Slow Return

the art of writing


I know I’ve been away for a while. The longer I’m away, the less inclined I am to write here, as is the case with most habits best kept regularly. My radio silence is, for once, not indicative of poor mental health; I’ve been working closely with my team, am on new, better medications, and have been feeling better than I have in over a year. With the reawakening of my formerly “mudgy” and deranged mind comes an urgency to catch up on everything I’ve missed out on, including figuring out next steps for my job, making semi-major revisions to THE NOWAK CONFESSIONS (note the new title), and spending time with my little family of three. Among other things.

Autumn is here. My co-workers, most of whom are from out East, marvel/complain about the lack of seasons in San Francisco. It’s true that there are no obvious demarcations of time passing, except for the light, which will soon visit less often. I’m not looking forward to that, but hopefully I’m stronger now, and the darkness won’t affect me as much as it usually does.

I go jogging with Daphne in the mornings, which she seems to enjoy. Afterwards she curls up on the couch and naps for hours, which is not a bad way to live, I don’t think.

I was in the car with P the other day. She was dropping me off at home after one of our writers’ group meetings. She said, “I have a friend who just moved here, and she’s upset with me because I’ve only seen her once the entire time she’s been here. She said, ‘Is it really that hard to make time to have drinks once a month?’ And I said, ‘Yes. I just can’t do it right now.’ She doesn’t understand. It’s the writing. It consumes everything.” I nodded. I do understand, and at the same time, I worry that this is an unhealthy way to live.

When I repeated this story to Chris, he said, “You’re like that, too. It’s only because you finished your book that you’re not like that now. And you’re much easier to live with, because of it.”

I hope you all have a beautiful, beautiful day.

 

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