A Writer’s Awakening

January 8, 2017

I feel like I’ve just woken up, and I’m reminded of the Yeats’ poem, “Speech After Long Silence.”. I haven’t written anything new, except blogs, for at least nine months. I haven’t had the instinct. I had four mss..with “starts” and no idea how to go any further with any of them. When people asked what I was working on, I replied, “Managing my career.” I was stalled.

One of the things that happened to me was common to “elderly” people—my meds were fighting with each other. At one point I had hallucinations—fascinating people had soirees and picnics and art exhibits in my back yard. When I told my neighbor, he asked, “Why don’t they invite us? We’re fun.” But it wasn’t a joke. My kids and the surgical team jumped in and got it straightened out—I take fewer meds these days, and no wine, and my head is much more clear.

The other thing happening to me was that I was in pain. My leg hurt and my hip hurt. That’s been sorted out too—the leg has healed, and the end of hip pain is in sight with hip surgery scheduled.

With all this “cleaning up my act,” I’ve had a resurgence of interest in writing. I spent the last week reading the 40,000 words I had on a new mystery (I can’t imagine I abandoned something that was at least 2/3 done) and today I wrote a thousand new words. I find I’m wildly enthusiastic about getting back to it, and last night when I went to bed I was plotting what I’d write today. Other writing chores—those “managing my career” things seem to intrude.  But I have older titles to make available as e-books. I’m sending one to a formatter, which requires some preparation on my part, and will post others to a site where I can do it myself—except that I couldn’t do it Friday and have written for help. And on down the line I think I have a publication possibility for a novella. My desk is piled high and I couldn’t be happier about it.

The manuscript I’ve returned to is a sequel to The Perfect Coed with college English professor Dr. Susan Hogan. This time she’s trying to foil a group of open-carry advocates (but it turns out there’s more to their story). And she’s trying to protect Aunt Jenny and her new dog, Lucy. I like it so far, and I hope you will too.

Meantime I’m in a wheelchair with 24-hour help—mostly Jordan but different folk at night. It’s a funny feeling to wake in the morning to an unvaried routine—work, eat, sleep, work, eat and go to bed at night, sometimes unsure who will answer if I wake in the night. I’m glad it’s temporary. Surgery is January 19—yes, it looms on my mind—and two weeks from now I expect to be yet another new person—a writer. Whoopee!                                                                                                                                                                                                     

Hallucinations…or goodbye to the good times

The lovely 19^th-century people no longer party and mingle and linger in my back yard in the middle of the night. Nor does the magnificent wild dog lie next to the wall and survey his peaceable kingdom. My hallucinations are gone.

At first I thought they were simply middle of the night flights of fancy. Then I thought they made an amusing story. Neither my family nor my doctor were amused, and the latter expressed his opinion in one word: hallucinations.

It’s not a bad thing that they’re gone, at least from my point of view. I no longer wonder where I am when I wake up. One morning I’m sure I scared Jordan by asking if I was truly in my own space. Then I sat up in bed and pointed to the foot of the bed—the baby? I asked. She moved a pile of clothes and showed me there was no baby there.

Other mornings—and one afternoon—I thought I was in neighbors’ houses. I remember when Subie let herself in by the deck doors—my first thought was, “Subie, do you know these people well enough to walk into their home without knocking?” Of course, it was my home, and yes she knows to come and go without knocking. Other mornings I woke up in a purple and lavender bedroom—not my style, I assure you. I soon learned that if I closed my eyes and waited the bedroom would once again be a soft yellow.

So, amusement benefits aside, it was a disquieting experience and a huge lesson in the power of modern medicine. Bless my physician, Dr. Richwine, who knew right away what was going on. And my advice? Don’t accept strange behavior as just something that happens—ask your doctor. Amazing what those trained professionals know!

Obviously, I can’t find a picture to go with this. Wish I could. Some of those night scenes were truly lovely. So instead here's a new picture of Sophie.

When Your Mind Plays Tricks on You, or Hallucinations

November6 6, 2016

One thing I learned in 75 years: ignore nightmares or hallucinations. I distinctly remember a nightmare when I was about five. I cowered in bed next to my mom. Every time I peeked another figure leered at me—George Washington, Donald Duck, and the like. But I kept peeking. Last night I didn’t look.

Having lost two nights’ sleep, I decided the best way to handle nightmares was to ignore them. So when my secret friends gathered in the yard, I took one long look—and went to the bathroom. The art du jour last night was sort of an impressionistic painting of a 19^th-century artist studio, perhaps in Manhattan. People mingle and visit and art lines the walls along with gold-framed mirrors. The colors are muted—blue and a sort of taupe, lots of beige and off-white. It reminds me of a Degas or the lines from the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock: In the room the women come and go talking of Michelangelo. It is an inviting scene, and I could linger. I don/t though--I will have a couple more chances during the night, but I ignore them too.

And when I wake in a purple and lavender bedroom, I sigh and close my eyes, knowing it will return to its lovely soft yellow. The result is that I wakened this morning refreshed and well aware of where I was, whereas the two previous mornings I was disoriented, sure that I’d been moved out of my cottage even though I saw it all around me.

A puzzlement: when I first saw the crowd in the artist’s studio, Sophie went crazy, barking to go out (I didn’t fall for it). It was the bark she uses to tell me she has to investigate our safety outside. Do you suppose she “sees” my hallucination?