Going with the flow

A reminder I am not really in control of anything

After an incredibly productive writing binge while we were at sea for five days straight, I came home feeling rejuvenated and ready to tackle the last third of the novel. I was this close to finishing the first draft. Then I got sick and my well ran dry on all fronts.

I medicated and pushed through for a full week of legal work. The memoir class I’m teaching also started last week (more on that later) and I had to dig deep to bring high energy and excitement to the classroom. I struggled with every word I wrote. I shook off the brain fog so I could support my kids through their own stuff. I tried not to wince when my husband had a bout of coughing, knowing he was a day ahead of me in symptoms.

It was the kind of week where I used the Libby app on my phone to download the ebook of a book I’m reading on my kobo, completely forgetting about the Kobo app I already use to do just that.

The pinnacle of punishment was Friday morning when, after three mornings of nose bleeds, I zoned out and lost time. I typed three sentences of dialogue. Forty-two words.

I didn’t even feel bad about it. Instead of focusing on what I didn’t accomplish, I changed my internal conversation to what I might accomplish next week.

But I still had the rest of the day to get through. Filming a medical appointment. Processing video files from the week and getting them out before the Purolator cut off time. Mailing a copy of Shift to the UK. Taking the dog to the vet (Moon is fine; it’s her annual with shots, and she has a weird growth on her foot that is being investigated). I helped my husband prep dinner. As I was mixing marinade and sauce, I was dreaming of sitting on the couch, sipping a glass of fizzy soda, and diving into a book for a bit.

But then….

Jeff dropped the deep fryer.

Our kitchen was now the site of an oil spill. There was a 4-litre puddle on the hardwood. All the pieces of the air fryer were slick and dripping. This was a colossal mess.

Jeff and I are a solid team. With the help of our youngest, we had the whole disgusting, slippery pool cleaned up in roughly 40 minutes. Jeff and I tore off our oil-splattered and soaked clothes, getting them in the laundry, him standing in his boxer briefs, me in my bra. I felt sexy and trashy at the same time. So maybe the week ended on a high note, after all.

Life moves beyond our control. As I get older, I fight less and give in more. I go with the flow, even if that flow is canola oil snaking it’s way under the stove.

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Is it weird that I wasn’t nervous about teaching a memoir class?

I guess since I’ve written three memoirs, I’m comfortable with the subject matter. I put a lot of behind-the-scenes work into the lessons because it’s important to me that all the participants walk away feeling confident and eager to write.

I got an email that night, just after midnight, from one of the participants:

“I am so thankful that you are teaching this course! The environment that you have created is so welcoming and safe. I really am looking forward to the rest of the sessions!”

Wow. That’s some excellent validation. She followed up with another email on Thursday. An agent has asked her for an author bio and she wanted my help.

Like a smart ass, I thought of responding, “Great! Here’s my bio. Thanks for passing that along.” But a) I already have agent and b) this person doesn’t know me and my wit, yet. Give it another week. Instead, I gave her the best advice I could and I’m crossing my fingers.

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What I’m reading watching

By the time Friday arrived, I had very little left to focus on a book. I turned to Netflix instead, cueing up season 2 of Sex Education. The writing is solid, the characters are rich, and I could see where I wanted each characters arc to go. It’s pure fun, a little uncomfortable sometimes, and totally relatable despite the viewer’s age.

Happy reading (or viewing),

Dana