Monthly Archives: November 2015

Killing a Book

Writing a book is a labor, sometimes of love, other times of persistence, occasionally of obligation, rarely (one hopes) out of sheer sadism or masochism, depending on who exactly the writer wishes to punish. Regardless of motivation, it is work. And like most jobs, time off can be a necessity during the whole process. Sometimes it’s a holiday, and in some cases in can be an entire leave of absence for months or years until the desire to resume overcomes the reluctance to dive back into the thing that made you walk away altogether.

And sometimes, you just need to tell the book to shove it.

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Reblog: Cancer Feelings: Fear

I haven’t had much to say here of late, obviously. I entertain notions of doing so, but time and circumstance and lack of anything meaningful or interesting or funny that I want to say (ed: Never stopped you before.) (Shutup.) has prevented it. Someone who HAS things that are not only meaningful and interesting and funny to say is my wife. She’s writing a series on the feelings that cancer causes from her own perspective. She just posted about Fear, and… let’s just say that it’s deep and insightful and entertaining as hell, because she can write better than I. See for yourself:

Speaking of our house, that’s probably been the hardest and scariest thing. We bought a house in September and I was scared to death of it for the first month. I didn’t want to be alone in it, and I still won’t go into the basement when Alan’s not home (that may be more because basements in general are scary and I’m a child). It definitely helped to get all the furnishings of the old, religious couple who lived here before out (multiple. cherub. switch plates. I shit you not.), but I would still go through the house with a golf club or a sword a lot of the time when I got home alone. I’d ask Alan to draw the curtains at night because I would jump at the movement of the reflections. I couldn’t shake this feeling that something was hiding in our house waiting to attack me. I told my cancer shrink (yup, I have a cancer shrink. She’s a stage 3 breast cancer survivor, 22 years in remission, and she rocks) and she made a very good point. “Of course you’re scared there’s something lurking in your house trying to kill you. There was something hiding in your body for 10 years that just tried to kill you.” And just like that, Carol exploded my brain.

Go here to read the rest of it. Say hi to her when you do. She’s really nice.