Not much to say this week, because I’ve been ill. The problem with an illness like mine is that I cruise all along, pretty much fine, pretty much coping for a long periods of time – and then I crash. And when I crash I crash hard.
So, I’ve pretty much been confined to lying on the sofa, whimpering quietly. Books are too complex, a lot of TV is too demanding, I can’t even move.
Luckily, however, my manuscript is at the copy-editing stage, checking spelling, grammar, gaping plot holes, that sort of thing. I can do that when I’m ill. I can do three pages at a time, not really thinking, just reading and noticing and marking with my little red pen. It’s interesting to discover the urge to write is stronger than the urge to lie still, not moving, watching the wild weather on the news.
At least I’m getting something done. It’s a relief to know that even when everything else crashes, I can still write.