I planned an amazing, (ok a slight exaggeration) blog post and it was on writing. Then life happened.
Recall. I was watering my fennel and radishes. They hadn't long been planted and were looking hopeful. The watering can was quite full. I over-reached with it. Ouch.
The following day the pain became worse. Finally t reached a level until lying on the floor was all I could do. I suppose I might have sworn a tiny bit and was filled with recriminations.
What hadn’t I been doing regularly that I should have? Well for starters, going for daily walks. So what could I, a writer, do? Restricted to standing or lying down I couldn’t work on the computer. I managed a small amount of reading, concentration was hard and the books quickly became heavy. I also did a bit of knitting. But what was really cathartic was watching Call The Midwife. It allowed a legitimate shedding of tears.
In other words, I cried buckets and it helped.
The other good thing to come out of my three week self-inflicted-painful sojourn? I wanted to write again. Writing doesn’t come easy for me. I lack the discipline. I need deadlines. However, when you're your own boss...hm, it's so easy to play truant, be lazy, come up with a multitude of clever excuses. And I don't even have a dog.
I'm never short of ideas. But an abundance of story ideas are useless when not used. As they say, actions speak louder than words. Backache? An ache in the back. Sounds fairly minor doesn’t it?
Very good. I should write sometime again. No one reads anymore, so I'm going to learn Emojiesk.