Like a happy promise to myself

Photo by Rutger GeleijnseFebruary and March were hell. Unbearable pain without relief. Lots of you already know this from FB and Twitter and Instagram so I won’t bore anyone, but it was hell and I’m very glad I’m through it. In recovery from that now, which involves 20 hours a day in bed and 16 of them uncomfortably unconscious. No writing as such, but the heartening thing is that this past week or so my creative button is pressing itself on three different projects.

I’m also heartened, ish, in an odd way, about being frustrated suddenly that I haven’t been able to do a minute of preparationĀ on either of the two books I intend to release this year. All ducks are lined up except for the pre-formatting work. You know, tidying everything up before I send them to be professionaly formatted. That’s still a mountain too high in my current state of health, but the fact that I’m suddenly itching to get it done is like a happy promise.

But mostly what I want to do is decide which one of two SF novels I want to write this year, and dive enthusiastically into that story. Keep jumping back and forth from one to the other. I expect I’ll know the answer when I realise that I’m writing one of them. šŸ™‚

The plan for 2018

Photo by Bennett DunganI aimĀ to keep going at the speed that will allow me to keep going. Having proved to myself that I can complete one big novel per year despite health hurdles, that’s my benchmark. I’ve submitted 2017’s space opera, and depending on the responses that oneĀ receives its sequel is likely toĀ be my big book of 2018.

Also, I’ve teamed up with Holley Trent to co-author a small American town cozy mystery, whichĀ promises to be fun.

Once I recover from the relapse that’s sunk me deep since I finished Space Train in October, really recovered that is, I’ll get started.

Hey dude, don’t be afraid.

Photo by Alan KingWow. A month’s gone by since I blogged. Sorry. It’s just been one of those months. My good news is that the hip is healing well. Had to work hard on it and two or three weeks ago if I’d been here you would have heard me crying. But it was worth it, and now I’m very nearly as mobile as I was before the accident.

The not so good news is I’m on the edge of a possible slide into relapse. Not wishing that on myself. It’s just that I know how these things go. This is, after all, my 27th autumn with ME, and probably 25 of them have slid into winter relapses that lasted until spring, or summer, or on three occasions right through the following winter too.

So it’s there. Staring me in the face. Daring me to overdo stuff and bring it on. All I have to measure it with is my productivity. Through August and into September I was averaging 1k Space Train words per evening, 6 or 7 evenings per week. These past two weeks I’ve averaged maybe 5k per week. Only a small dip, but significant when allied with feeling generally shit in that good old ME way.

I’m not afraid. Not stupid, either, so I won’t be challenging the beast. But I’m not afraid of it. Still writing every evening that I can. Still enjoying this novel and aiming to have it finished this year.

Wish me luck! šŸ™‚

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