I'm ill. Usually I’m one of those annoying people who walk around bragging about how they never get sick but at least once a year my family makes me look like a knob by transferring their germs directly into my body via the orange juice. I mean I’m healthy but I’m not Wolverine. In the past my healing process involved covering myself with a blanket and wailing 'my throat hurts’ over and over again (suprisingly effective). However, I’m a writer now which means along with cool things, like picking out book covers, I have deadlines every day of my life. Writing, editing, drafting, character summaries, there is always something to do. So this morning, despite my agonising throat-pain I filled my Shrek mug with bone broth and made a list. Wanna see it?
Heal body through non-complaining means.
Find out if bone broth is just snake oil for hipsters.
Find out if I am a hipster.
Sing Macy Grey songs in my new raspy voice.
Photoshoot for Billy, maybe him wearing my pearls like the amazing non-gender conforming rabbit he is.
Write a blog. Any blog. I'll give me a million dollars if I can just write a blog.
Complete final chapter of novel and give to sister who lovingly corrects things even though she hates me whining about my illness.
About halfway through it I realised my joke list was not helping. As I doddle down the road to becoming a ‘proper writer’ I learn that all the diatribes are true. Hard work is the only thing that works, you can 'wait for inspiration' or bitch about being ill but at the end of the day you have to sit down at your computer and press the keys. That’s the only thing that produces results and you can’t afford to lose focus. It sucks a little but I think good results are all the sweeter knowing you didn’t give up and play Call of Duty until you had borderline PTSD. Eve Ps. After I finished my draft I may have attempted the ‘Billy wearing my pearls’ photoshoot. As you can see he objected to the pearls. That rabbit is so dramatic.