National Novel Writing Month. The kick in the ass that gets me going every year. I’ve only written a little since having gotten pregnant again. The exhaustion and pain from both that and the Fibromyalgia halt me in my tracks in doing most things. However, NaNoWriMo gives me a goal, a community and forums in which to consult. Finishing the last book in my series Pieces of Artyx is the goal. Return to the Forest is the fifth and last book in the series. After finishing I plan to go back and edit the whole series minus book 1. At the earliest I hope to publish Book 2 in February which makes it a year since I published Book 1.
I hope to achieve the NaNoWriMo goal this year but I have no expectations of myself to finish. Being pregnant and in pain is highly distracting, it’s a wonder I get anything done, ever. And basically I can only take Tylenol, which is like putting a bandaid over a gushing wound. Pointless. I’m going to push myself and try to get in the mandatory 1667 words a day to meet or beat 50k words. With the rest of my novels they will definitely exceed the 50k mark and go to 100k. It’s exciting and daunting especially with the stresses that I’m under. I’ll do as I usually do; my best.
Crickets. That’s the sound that my Facebook page and blog have been making recently. But I haven’t been woefully absent for no reason. Nope. I’m fourteen weeks pregnant. I’ve been overcome by nausea, fatigue and pain from being off my medication. So, that’s not ideal conditions for wanting to write. I hope to continue writing my fifth and final book, Pieces of Artyx, Return to the Forest sometime soon.
In the meantime I’m taking a break until I get in the spirit again. I’m going to try to post on my Facebook page though.
I found the excerpt from Book 4, Soul of the Earth that made me ugly cry when writing it. After typing it out I had to take a break to deal with the emotion backlash at recognizing my own feelings when dealing with my illness. Keep in mind, it’s not edited.
“I’ve always thought I was a terrible burden to my family. Someone needing constant care can’t exactly give back for the kindness received. You feel trapped, unable to fully live up to your potential. It’s a wasted life, being this way. The unending pain is a reminder of that. But this…I can finally use a part of me even if it is only blood and tears to bring joy to others.”
“I want you to do me a favor.”, Yolara said. Clydella turned to pay attention and found her face set in a serious manner. She imagined angering a mother would be a lot like this.
“Never say that you are a burden ever again. Never say that you are a wasted life. Everyone is important and needed in some way. Your pain is not punishment for anything you’ve done. It just is. I understand your feelings but there’s no reason to feel this way.”, Yolara told her. Clydella leaned over and buried her face into her shoulder, fighting more tears. The words, “Your pain is not punishment” echoed in her mind over and over again.
The common cold, a short lived viral disease. A nuisance for most people and for people like me, a major incapacitation. The Fibromyalgia turns it into a least a weeks worth of a nightmare causing a painful flare. This time the pain was mostly in my legs and back and I’m only just now feeling better. For the last few days I’ve gotten, on average, four hours of sleep per night. Which makes the pain in the daytime worse and in turn makes my job as a stay at home mother so much harder. I can’t clean. I can’t play with my son either indoor or out. I can’t write. I can’t draw. I can’t call people. I can’t spend time with my hubby when he gets home because I have to rush upstairs and try to quell the pain with an epson salt bath and bed rest. So for the last few days I’ve left my keyboard lonely.
Recently in my books I introduced a character, Clydella Eisling who is afflicted with my illness. I don’t come out and say it’s Fibromyalgia or name it but that’s what it is. It felt therapeutic to write in a character who is going through what I go through on a regular basis. I also based her character on me but much younger. Naive, timid, scared of the world, finds the good in most people. I wrote a scene between her and another character and Clydella confesses that she feels that she did something wrong in her life to feel that she deserved her illness, that somehow she’s being punished. Yolara, the other character, talks her out of this way of thinking. It was at this point that while writing I broke down and cried. Because it’s exactly how I felt/feel sometimes. It’s not logical by any means but it’s not something I can help but feel. In the end it made me feel better. In writing you put a piece of yourself in it to give it depth and strength and sometimes to heal.
I sincerely doubt there will be a cure for Fibromyalgia in my lifetime. My bitterness, skepticism and lack of faith leads me to believe that. However, in writing I can at least heal my mind of the slings and arrows that Fibromyalgia has railed against me.
So I’m 120k+ words into my fourth book of my Pieces of Artyx series, Soul of the Earth. It will be my longest book of the series yet and will culminate in the final book, Return to the Forest. In finishing the book comes a lot of stressors and they are silly stresses. These little freak outs are due to my very poor memory and are due to asking myself questions over and over in regards to the dreaded consistency factor. Am I making sure all the details are the same through all the books? I keep asking myself this over and over, being paranoid and unnecessarily neurotic about it.
Though this is my first book series with characters that have been with me for over fifteen years and I know it won’t be perfect, I still want to be as thorough as I can be. Pieces of Artyx, The Forged Journey is published, however, the rest have yet to be edited. I keep stopping and going, I didn’t just mention this five minutes ago, did? or Am I sure the color is supposed to be this?. Did I mention the weather? Time? Am I being redundant? Do I need another coffee? (Which is almost most certainly yes).
At the end of the day despite the stress of wanting to get it nigh perfect, it’s relaxing and enjoyable. Writing is something I wish I had started long ago and at the same time am glad I waited till I was more mature intellectually.
There is nothing more frustrating like writer’s block, chronic illness and other life stuff getting in the way of writing. Lately my fibromyalgia has gotten under control to the point of almost no pain. Which is super awesome. Now the fatigue gets me down but I try not to let it effect me too much. So an extended break is needed when my body bids me to do it. As of right now I’m in Book 4 of Pieces of Artyx, 112,144 words. I think that puts me at 3/4 of the way done.
I hope to blog more soon. I must go to transfer my writings to the new computer. 😀
I haven’t been able to write or blog much at all. I’ve been teaching Little Bug how to use the potty. This has to be the most horrific, stressful thing I’ve encountered in child rearing thus far. Pull ups were just like diapers so that didn’t work. “Big boy underwear” he just peed in those too. No pants at all now…this seems to be going ok. Two accidents. However after the second accident we ran to the potty and he went the littlest bit in the potty. Much praise was had as well as a smiley face on the chart and a candy. It’s so frustrating in that there’s the mess that’s made, the constant hawklike vigilance I have to keep over him and actually doing the act.
It’s a miracle I was able to write as much as this paragraph. I need to be able to write more often but Little Bug comes first. Always.