What drives us to write, or to create in general, for that matter? Not just that, but to do so against the odds? Those are questions that easily arise for me at the moment as they have in the past. As I write this I’m beginning a regimen of drugs. It isn’t long since I the first doses so there’s a sense of urgency to finish this before I lose my focus.
What happened is straight-forward enough. I have severe lung damage and suffer from Chronic Hypersensitivity Pneumonitis. Sunday evening I noticed my first cold symptoms. Within 36 hours I was on my way to bronchitis.
Having acted quickly, I’m hoping I’ll avoid the worst of it. I had severe bronchitis in early 2013 and don’t wish to revisit that experience.
More to my topic, through this time I’ve still managed to fit in a little editing in short stints on short stories. Too, I’ve been taking advantage of my down time to indulge more reading. This morning I was at the pharmacy for my bag full of meds and spent my time waiting slumped in a chair writing poetry on my phone.
*All the meds were called in except one, which I had to deliver. I’ve no idea why.
Now I’m home and typing this blog post while the fog starts to surface behind my eyes.
I think some of my drive is knowing a lifetime isn’t enough time to extract all the stories inside. Maybe because I’m older the sense that time is running out is more intense, I don’t know. I do know it’s real. Even when my depression kicks in and hopelessness floods in behind it, still there’s the need to write, to express the experience.
To manage my medical distractions I’ve turned my visits into entertainment (I was at the doctor on my birthday, the 9th anniversary of my time in the ICU and the anniversary of almost dying at birth … I need to skip birthdays going forward). I’ve taken to creating a collection of medical selfies. Yes, I have a quirky sense of humor.
There’s Christina in the exam room, which is a true classic and one I take quite often. There’s Christina in the hospital elevator and Christina fitted with a heart monitor. Hopefully that’ll be the last of those. Now there’s Christina recovering.
Thing is, Christina is seldom idle.
I’m starting to become woozy now so I’m going to move to the couch with a book, but at least I was able to draft this blog post. I’ll do a light edit on it later and maybe more editing on a short story before the day is through. It isn’t even noon yet, after all.
At some point nine years ago when my body was wasting away and there were needles and tubes stuck in my body, I separated illness from my life in Ontyre where my stories waited. When I had to pull an oxygen tank around and have blood drawn twice each week I realized I’d have to live with the intrusion, but I could still write.
Though I might have to write faster.
And so I have and will continue to do so until I’m inanimate. That’s the creative drive.