Write Lightning is a blog from writer Deb Thompson.
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Mon, Apr 28 2014

The boot and the basket, not to be confused with the pit and the pendelum

I've somehow injured my foot and have been told by the doctor that the chief remedy is rest, with minimal walking to be done only while wearing a rocker-bottomed, foam-lined, knee-high contraption full of hook-and-loop fasteners and metal bracing. The foot isn't broken, but the doctor tells me that I will end up with a stress fracture if I don't treat it seriously as an injury for several weeks.

The truth is that a lot of us think we're just waiting to be told to get off our feet and relax. We want it to be a prescription, imagining ourselves lounging around and finally writing that blockbuster novel. Instead, I found myself planning and taking longer to do the simplest of other tasks in order to make every step count and then get off my feet as much as possible. And then when I did sit down and command my brain to produce something worthwhile, I ended up unable to concentrate. That was the first two days

I decided that this was not going to work. I finally appealed to the lazier side of my nature and imagined how I could accomplish more with less effort. I grabbed a basket with a handle from storage and put into it the things I'm likely to carry with me from room to room. I've even wrapped and tucked my lunch nibbles into the basket as though I was going on a picnic. (It was actually fun, but I'm trying not to turn life into one big picnic right now because I can't burn off too many calories.)

The whole psychological notion of not moving around more than necessary surprised me by being less freeing and more stifling, so I've tried to work on adjusting my attitude to lean toward thinking of this time as a blessing. If I take an hour to eat my lunch, there's no harm. If I sit there and browse through a hefty stack of magazines and clip the best parts with plans to use ideas later, I've actually gained some control over clutter. If I stare out the living room window at the birds-of-paradise blooms in the sun, I'm building a descriptive scene for writing. As usual, it's not what happens that matters. It's what we do in response to what happens that matters. I do keep plenty of paper in the basket for making notes and rearranging words into poetry. It's a little tough to be so still when spring is full of activity and motion, but I intend to record and filter as much of the season's mood as I possibly can.

posted at: 17:44 | category: /Writing Life | link to this entry

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Stealin' copy is as bad as horse-thievin'
and cattle rustlin'! Lightning may strike
such varmints when they least expect it!