Missing the Words

I can't think of another period in my life since I began my creative writing journey in 2003 where I've lost the Words so thoroughly. It's not that I haven't been creative in this time, in fact, I can honestly say it's been one of the most wonderfully artistic times, but there just haven't been the Words.

Dave begins his radiation therapy on Monday. His fabulous oncologist wants him to do a five week course, five days in the week to knock the tumour back well and good. There is a great deal of concern about how well his bowels will cope with the radiation as there is the chance that they may become paralysed. This would mean a period of hospitalisation and the end of the treatment at this time. 

It's meant Dave's return to his abode outside of Norwich as it will be easier for him to get to his daily treatments from there. I've had a re-shuffle of my bedroom and have incorporated my studio space in it. I also went through my bookshelves and removed two-thirds of my books, keeping only those I am likely to read or are attached to. I now have a plastic crate full and about eight bags of books waiting to go to charity shops. Letting them go was quite hard. Most of my reading these days is genre-based and I tend to download the books onto my kindle out of preference. I find it easier to read on kindle when I can adjust the text size according to how tired my eyes get. And it's not like any of the books are valuable to anyone else. Hauling them around the countryside is an exercise in ego that I no longer have time for. I've known too many people with massive libraries full of worthy books, who were complete tits. I've got nothing left to prove to anyone.

The chickens are fine if a bit of a pain. Canasta decided to go broody again, but with the temperatures being what they were, I was disinclined to let her stay in the greenhouse. I hauled her squawking butt out of there every night and if it got too hot, put the laying bag outside under the damson tree. She got fed up and stopped, but unfortunately all of the hens then stopped laying in the bag. At first I thought they'd stopped laying because they were moulting, they're a scruffy looking bunch these days, but no; they're laying away. I kept them in for a few days and actually, they are laying. Today, I let them out and I'll see what they do. If they keep laying away, we shall have to think again about the arrangements. I can't be having chicks on top of everything else right now (or ever, given Jenga's genetic closeness to the girls). 

You may, or may not remember that this time last year I did a five day artist's skills and methods course and then started a year long drawing and painting course. The five day course led to me falling in irrevocably love with oil paints. I tolerated the drawing and painting course, but had to drop out in January with Dave's diagnosis. I think it must have been April when I thought "fuck it" and picked up my drawing pens and then oil paints. I had to learn as I went along and it was mostly an exercise in frustration. 

Dave lost patience with me and strong-armed me into signing up for a day's course in Oil Painting for Beginners. He also suggested that if I like the tutor, I should ask if they are available for private tuition. He then hit me with the line he used to use on the PhD students in his care: why spend an afternoon in the library, when you can spend six months in the lab? Umm...yeah...okay. 

I really liked the tutor and he seemed to get where I was coming from. We arranged for him to come over and have a look at everything I'd been working on. After he left, I felt quite nauseous. My little shapes, my little obsession spoke to him. He gave me lots of technical advice and his questions made me take myself, my creativity and my art seriously. I'm into the abstract. Shapes and colour in their purest form. Partly because I don't have the skill to do representational art, partly because I'm not terribly interested in representational art. Much of the art scene around here is still life and landscapes. I am booked to do another day's course, this time it's oil outside. I want to know how to draw and paint, if only for when I move on from these shapes. 

Yesterday, I started my four-week mindfulness course. I've never had formal meditation training and I figured this is the perfect time to address this. My mind is like a barrel full of monkeys which is mostly fine during the day, not so great when trying to get to sleep. The past few weeks sleep has been a precious experience. Given sleep deprivation makes me cranky and more vulnerable to daily stresses, anything I can do to help myself right now, has got to be a good thing. Also, because I'm doing this as a course and there are exercises and homework, I have to do it. There are no excuses. Last night, I drifted off to sleep without any difficulty. 

So that's pretty much it darlings. I keep putting one foot in front of the other. I'm pretty sure the Words will be back, so if you could be patient with me, I'd be grateful. I don't take your friendship and support for granted. 

Too Much of a Good Thing...

...is wonderful. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise. It's Monday morning and like most Mondays recently, I'm moving slowly. I'm gathering myself for the week ahead. I had hoped to start writing this week, but I realise looking at the plot outline I worked on over the weekend, that I'm a bit of a coward.

A good story is all about the conflict and how our intrepid heroine gets her dessert with proper whipped double cream and her man. I've been tiptoeing around and the plot is a bit like the cucumber you left for a month in the bottom of the vegetable crisper - you could kinda see what it should be, but it's all mushy, squishy and smells bad. Not what a writer needs. 

Therefore, this week I will be thinking of ways to torture my poor heroine. My readers and I will only see what she's made of in how she gets through that obstacle course. As always, it's not what you say, it's what she does that's important. 

I also have to remind myself that I am not writing Game of Thrones. I don't need to quite go into gratuitous character torture or culling. On the other hand, GoT reminds me the stakes have to be high, so high as to seem out of reach, but she's got to stretch her muscles. 

This week, I am going to have to learn to be a sadistic God and come up with things to throw at her. Wish me luck.

On the other hand, I'm beginning to see the work at the gym paying off and it's got bugger all to do with the scales. My confidence is coming back up. Did I tell you I invested in some new gym gear? I look like a gym bunny on LSD now. I feel fabulous wrestling into my gear and swagger around the gym. The motivation has finally kicked in, to the point where I abandoned Dave on Saturday to go do Leg Day. Happily, he was still here on my return and was able to provide TLC when I hobbled through the door. We spent the rest of the weekend curled up on the sofa watching trash on Netflix, but even managed to go for a walk at dusk. 

I've also got to the fun part of the whole strength training process - the humungous appetite. Unfortunately, people think that in order to lose weight that hours and hours of cardio is the answer. After all, they can check their stats and think "I've burnt 450 calories, go me!" The problem with that is the calorie burning process stops as soon as they step off the treadmill. Strength training on the other hand, keeps the calorie burning up hour after the workout ends. Rebuilding muscle requires energy and it's got to come from somewhere. My focus isn't about weight loss, it's about dumping my body fat and building dense muscle. If you start bleating on about muscly girls be warned, I will have to slap you. 

Women do not have the ability to build muscle mass like men. We simply lack the testosterone to do so. Yes, the female body builders you see are incredibly defined and bulky. Here's the thing, they are on incredibly strict regimes, with every calorie accounted for to keep off the body fat and all of the hours in their day dedicated to working to look like that. Unless you are prepared to be totally obsessed and committed, it's not going to happen to those of us part-timers. Oh, here's a totally fabulous article why women should definitely not lift weights.