A Novel Idea

I last posted over a month ago, but not for any lack of writing prompts.  There was no shortage of moments when I found myself thinking,  “I need to write about this.”  I coulda-shoulda provided an entire post about the first-ever WriteOnCon, for instance — an online conference in August for writers of children’s and young adult literature.  The savvy group of bloggers who dreamed up the event ingeniously added live chats, live panels, and live workshops to the hourly offerings so that some sessions were even interactive.

I missed an author’s welcome and keynote, scheduled for 5 A.M. in my time zone, but I savored editor Molly O’Neill’s 7 A.M. session called “Give Yourself Permission,” wondering how many of the 1400 other “attendees” were jotting down her advice, still in their pajamas.  She provided what may be the exhaustive list of ways writers must give themselves permission… to kill a character; to write something new; to royally fail, maybe more than once; to be where one is in the writing journey (instead of farther along); to stop measuring oneself against other writers.

“I need to write about this,” I thought, but when real-life concerns took precedence, I not only didn’t blog about her very valid points, but ended up missing the rest of the editors’, agents’, and authors’ talks. Last night, however, I discovered that the conference hosts — bless them — ensured that every session would remain accessible for an entire year.   Anyone can go to the website for exposure to these freebies.  How cool is that?

Incidentally, this is not to be confused with KidLitCon, the 2010 national conference happening in Minneapolis this year on October 23^rd.    Organizers of the annual convocation are dedicated to providing writers, bloggers, and editors, who typically connect in the kidlitosphere via blogs, emails, Twitter, and Facebook, with the rare chance to interact face-to-face.  NYTimes bestselling author Maggie Stiefvater, who also happens to be a blogger – one of the three Merry Sisters of Fate with legions of devoted followers, says the bio   — headlines as the opening keynoter.  I’ve registered for the gathering.  If you’re up for such a meet-up, find out more here.

Truth be told, I’ve been so busy that I’ve barely had time to take a deep breath, much less do any writing.  As soon as Peter, the partner with whom I’ve shared most of my days on this planet, received a diagnosis of cancer a few weeks ago, our survival instincts took over.  The two of us morphed into hunters and gatherers, hunting for the fittest medical team, gathering the most relevant info and options as well as resisting the fear-based “what ifs,” refusing to play any what-are-the-odds head-games.  (I did find myself reading The Hunger Games, at last — the popular dystopian YA novel –a first of three– in which each teen battles for survival, yours truly identifying with the characters much more than I would have just weeks ago.)

I also felt as if I spent a few days inside an enormous bubble during a reunion in California with women all lost to each other for decades, but reuniting suddenly, amazingly, for a magical weekend.  The hubster insisted that I go since a benevolent Universe perfectly timed the gathering to fall between our Thursday afternoon interview with a third surgeon whose clinical manner and reputation prompted Pete to sign on as a patient and the Tuesday morning procedure to insert a portable catheter into his chest, prior to a first chemo treatment.  I told no one at the celebration, btw, about this ongoing challenge.  Here were women with stories to share of myriad roads taken, and sufficient distance from the experiences, to be able to laugh (often uproariously) about them.  It was so therapeutic.  “I need to write about this,”  I told myself.

Storytelling at the Reunion

And then it dawned on me.  I need to write. About anything.  Period.

So I’m back to blogging.  And journaling.  And querying.  And revising.  Even daydreaming about writing a letter to the Universe tomorrow.  (More about that later.)

You’ll get no argument from me about laughter being the best medicine, but writing, in all its forms, has got to be the next best thing for healing what ails me, keeping me whole.  I’m so thankful for this gift in my life.  Such good medicine.

This entry was posted on September 22, 2010 at 3:30 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.