I’m sitting here waiting for a call from my insurance company’s claims adjustor, which I’m pretty sure will be followed by waiting for people to come out and dry out my water-logged den. Earlier this week my water heater sprang a leak in the night and gushed a ton of water into my laundry room and next door into the den. I spent yesterday moving books, photo albums and furniture, sopping up water with every towel in the cupboard, watching TV, playing Spider Solitaire, and crying. My husband is gone, I live alone in this house that is too big, and the shelves were full of un-filed photos of people who are gone . . . I felt so sorry for myself. I didn’t write anything except some whining in my journal and a sad status report on Facebook. I know, I’m supposed to be your expert, your good example. But sometimes life just jumps up and beats the stuffing out of your writing schedule. It happens. Forgive yourself. Take a day off. Then climb back on the writing horse.
So I’m waiting and writing. I suspect later today my house will be full of noise and people, and I’ll be happy to hide in my office and work. And you know what, this is giving me ideas for things to write about. For example: I could do articles on the life-cycle of water heaters and how to maintain them or on what to do with water leaks in the house. Can this carpet be saved? I could use this incident and these feelings for a character in a story or novel or even write a poem about how I have been forced to deal with all the stuff from my past that I’ve shoved onto shelves and into closets. I could write an essay on why people save books after they’ve read them and how e-books give you nothing to save. I could even add this as an incident in my memoirs.
Tomorrow is Saturday, and I usually don’t write on Saturdays. But I am writing this Saturday. I’m simply adjusting my schedule. The trick, my friends is to adapt when you have to, but never give up.
Now go write.