Writing on the Day You Absolutely Can’t Write Because of The ….
the minor surgical event (fine) and then I left town for two days and when I came back, after not sleeping well at all because of Certain Casino Hot Tub People ( and ?), my tiny frail Alzheimer’s mom was missing. On the same day, my father’d had a cardiac event and was sent to a nursing home without my knowing, against the social worker’s instructions and many not-right things surrounding this sequence of events exploded in vital and upsetting ways. And, David Junior went to boot camp and the handout said emphatically and mis-spelledly Do not send anything, your person will be mocked horribley; you can write a letter in two weeks. I accidentally brushed my teeth with a medicinal tubed ointment. When I came home, Cubby immediately rolled in poop. And, I discovered my fridge had died, all my beautiful food melted and stinking and turning to green juice (all food turns to green juice in a closed, hot space). I got down on the linoleum on my knees. And I threw away all the food, even the freezer containers. I threw away the piece of wedding cake I’d saved during my short marriage and long, long, long post-marriage.
Writing has to be done on these days. It does not seem possible. Contemplating writing in such stressful conditions feels like you weigh hundreds of pounds and you are about to begin a running program. You know it’s good, and you know you need doctor supervision. And you know how hard it’s going to be. It’s going to hurt. But writing is one of the most vital ways we have of being truly ourselves and present and that is the only that helps on days like this. You have to find a way to put yourself into experience so deeply. You have to have a moment in the day, Blake writes, where satan can’t find you. Writing offers this. As does a walk on the coast. I did both.
The word prose (unlike poetry) contains in its history the wish to get from one place to another in a straight line. Poetry stops, starts again, breathes, becomes breathless, chants, prays.
If you can break through the thick seal that is the pain of the hard days you can keep a part of yourself open that will heal not just you, but others around you. The demons can’t reach you when you are writing and you must—I must—fight my way to that space. The writing doesn’t need to be good. The point is to let that part of yourself that is wise and true and calm and really you come forward. Writing makes space. It’s like a second set of lungs. Your power lungs. Your pain-management lungs. The words, strung out, make a line to follow and following it, you have, perhaps, all of the sudden, one good breath.
So, when I sat down to write, my electrician called. (I need a whole new plug because new fridges are grounded; I am not.) He said, “Don’t you think it’s safe to say I illuminate your life?” And he told me about the books he’s read and the books he’s writing and it’s good.
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I had never thought about how hard days could be the necessary days to write, but I feel like I need to think about it and do it now.
Also, thanks for the recommendation from when I bumped into you this summer. I get to watch Max tomorrow!
I am so proud of you for still writing on that day. If we can learn to write through stress and the worst moments/days– we will not only become better writers, we will be better people.