Impromtus at Leisure

Consistency has always been one of my shortcomings. I can start any new program or goal with gusto, only to be quickly stifled by my waning interest and quickly my real-life responsibilities take over.

It is the reason I am always on the lookout for new diabetic technology. If I can have some new gizmo or gadget, I will get interested in taking care of myself. For a while. And then the apathy sets in again until I find my next new thing.

It is also why there are huge gaps in this blog. I resolve to write consistently and do so for a while and then once again I have let months pass with nothing. I tried around New Year's when excitement is high all around for all types of new endeavors, but that only lasted a few days.

I convince myself that my lack of blogging is linked to the desire not to bore people or to put out anything that is less than inspired. But I think both of these simply are a fancy cover for my lack of discipline. Rousseau once said, "A sentiment takes possession of my soul with the rapidity of lightning, but instead of illuminating, it dazzles and confounds me; I feel all, but see nothing; I am warm, but stupid; to think I must be cool. What is astonishing, my conception is clear and penetrating, if not hurried; I can make excellent impromptus at leisure, but on the instant, could never say or do anything worth notice."

Since I first read that I have time and again felt it resound in my soul. And if that is, in fact, true, the only thing I need to produce un-boring work is to provide myself with the time and space to get "cool" and that takes discipline.

Thus, I resolve, once a week, to give myself the leisure so that I may make those impromtus and possibly even do something worth notice. I've heard it said that to be a writer you need to write something everyday. I don't know if I will publicly attempt that one yet, so I will set a more realistic and achievable goal, to write and publish a post weekly. Let's see if I can follow through.

SOLITARY CONFINEMENT- DAY 4

Today I hit a wall. A writing wall. It was probably because I spent the last seventy-two hours in front of a computer. I thought with all this time off I could accomplish great feats of writing, maybe even finish a book.

But instead I have accomplished very little on the book front. I have left far too many status updates on Facebook and read far too many articles and books and blogs and theology (though I could never get too much theology.) I even read a, I think they call them, Paranormal Romance short story which I typically would never read.

Today was going to be the day all that changed. I have gotten over the initial shock of radiation and isolation. I can be out in public just long enough to order breakfast out at my favorite coffee shop and eat it in the one chair that gets sunshine on the patio in the morning with everyone else a safe twenty feet away eating inside. My computer was charged. My chart notes were out ready to be cross-referenced for trip details.

And nothing.

I could write nothing. I sat for over an hour writing nothing. I considered an early morning drink. considered writing in a new section of the book.

And nothing.

I gave up. No sense wasting good sunshine doing nothing.After a quick run and a shower I took off in my car, camera in hand to fill the well.

I once read The Artist's Way. Not much I remember except the concept of filling the well. Artists need a reserve of creative capital in order to create. If we draw and draw and draw out, eventually that well runs dry. It's a good practice to regularly do things that will put the creative capital back in.

Usually, for me, this means sunshine, a good lunch outside, a dose of nature, and enough silence to let my brain run free, unencumbered by chapters to plot and scenes to write and dialog to remember.

First stop was an open patch of land for a hike. Not more than fifteen feet in, I saw a guy sitting shirtless in a beach chair, soaking up the sun. Now that's what I need to be doing, but with my shirt on. So I gave up my hike, found an open field up on the left and sat. The bands on my brain began to loosen. I shot some pictures of small stuff nearby, a technique I'd been wanting to play with but hadn't found the time.

Hunger jumped into my thought stream, so I was off to obtain another fish taco in some more sunshine. The knots in my brain started to untie themselves. Finally I had found a way around one of the biggest problems of my work in progress, trying to make my villain(ess?) not completely evil, because they say a villain must have some redeeming qualities and also because she isn't really all that bad. With that problem solved the other ideas began to flow. Lucky for me I had my notebook and pen I carry to jot down these ideas before they run away.

Ice cream was now a must and a chance to work out on paper what had been swirling in my head. Now I am off to resume my role in reality; pick up the kids, clean the house, toss the food containers and silverware I'd been collecting from breakfast, lunch and ice cream into my radioactive trash pile, take the kids to the pool to play at least ten feet from me and watch them enjoy another seventy-seven degree January day in sunny San Diego.

SOLITARY CONFINEMENT- DAY 1

My day started at five am so that I could get one last meal in before six hours of fasting in preparation for my thyroid ablation today. I was back in bed by five fifteen after yet another bowl of oatmeal and plate of egg whites- some of the only foods I could find that are easy to prepare, somewhat appetizing, and on the low-iodine diet I've had to be on since the first of the year. But since I have been off the anti-thyroid meds for five days, there was no chance I'd be able to go back to sleep.

I saw Tony off to work at seven with a big, gotta-last-for-seven-days hug and got the kids ready for school. I dropped the kids at school and had coffee with a friend, or rather, I watched a friend drink coffee- damned fasting rules- while sitting in the morning sunshine. Then off to the doctor's office to swallow a pill they brought to me in a lead vial.

"Don't touch it. Just take it straight out of the vial," the doctor told me. I do wonder what on earth I'm doing taking a pill that isn't safe to touch. And thus began seven days of solitary confinement.

While everyone was at school I had free reign of the house, but once the kids were home, I was confined to my office in the garage. Once Tony got home and had to do a workout in the garage, I was sent to the upstairs bedroom. If I had to enter the common areas, I found myself calling out to warn everyone of my presence. I felt like a leper calling out, "Unclean. Unclean."

I have dutifully used paper plates, cups, and utensils, double bagged all my trash separately, and stored it outside. I have stored all my radioactive clothes and towels in my now radioactive office and always flushed twice when using the bathroom. I waved goodnight to my kids and gave them air hugs from down the hall. My evening ended with a quick hazmat sweep of the upstairs bedroom and making my bed downstairs all alone.

Since I could not spend any time with my family, I spent most of the day writing and editing and I have to say, I absolutely loved it. Although I miss my family desperately, six more days of my writer's retreat and I should be one very content writer.