D. Lee Jackson

Words and Music

Am I Really Waiting to Write?

Posted on Written by 3 Comments

I’ll make an admission: I haven’t written a word on my novel since around the end of 2016.

My old secondary laptop (old as in 2009 old) died without warning. My wife let me get a replacement, but I have yet to set it up.

When I had the old laptop, I had a relatively clean coffee table on which I worked. I had my main writing computer in front of me and my secondary to my left. I’d have my chapter up on my main system and my saved critiques (in PDF format) up on the secondary system. No need for split screen or any such inconveniences.

Then my old secondary died. All my critiques were on Google Drive, so I lost no data, but I was stymied as far as writing went for a while. The computer death happened right after I’d gone through a beta reading/critiquing cycle on Scribophile, so I was on a cycle of being unaffiliated with any of The Ubergroup teams. As a result, I was in no hurry to find a new secondary system. I took my time, made tons of comparisons, and finally settled on something that wasn’t too powerful but wasn’t behind the times. That took all of January.

Then I got sick. Sick as in multiple things hitting me at once. I had my right side back pain slam me to the ground. I had a tracheal cough that sounded like whooping cough. My previously clean writing area got cluttered with over a dozen bottles of pills. My wife made me wait until my health improved before I fired up the new computer and started writing again.

So I waited. And I waited. And I’ve been waiting.

Or have I?

Practically every writing manual you’ll ever read will tell you that you need to write every day. Thing is, though, what qualifies as writing?

When I stop and think about it, I have several outlets for writing. I have this blog. I have Facebook. I have Twitter. Most importantly, though, I have a forum where I’m chronicling two of my major life events: the medical problems I’m going through, and the introduction of a new cat. I write something on one of these outlets every day. Is it a copious amount of writing? Sometimes. Today’s blog entry is somewhat substantial, albeit not novel length. It is in the vicinity of a short story or essay, though. The important thing is I’m doing some kind of writing every day, just like the manuals and blogs and training books tell you to do.

I’m not really waiting to write. I’m just going about it a different way until I can get well again, and that’s the important part.

In Memoriam Mildred Jackson

Posted on Written by Leave a Comment

My last grandmother is being laid to rest today. My paternal grandmother. A member of the Order of the Eastern Star, hence the logo.

She passed away on August 21st, in a nursing home in Houston. Just before Hurricane Harvey hit. The standing plan upon her death was that she would be buried in Austin, next to her husband. Unfortunately, Harvey came ashore before they could get her (or anyone else) to Austin, so she lay in a funeral home until the waters receded.

I will not be able to attend the funeral, due to a long-standing appointment with my pain management doctor at the hospital where he did my back injection procedure several weeks ago. It’s also my pain medicine check appointment. I can’t miss it, nor can I reschedule it—his next available appointment is in October.

I have sent flowers and made a donation to the Houston Shrine Hospital in her name. Another good online friend has also sent flowers—totally unexpected and incredibly appreciated. Anyway, physically, that is all I (and others who can’t attend) can do.

In spirit, though, there is a great deal more I will be doing today. I will be remembering all of the times I had with my grandmother, from when I was a small child until I was too sick to travel to see her.

I will remember how she taught me to cook, starting with pancakes. Their kitchen had a bar, on which she’d set an electric griddle. She used a store-bought mix, but that taught me to read and follow directions. We went on from there to eggs, bacon, all of the basic breakfast fare (sans biscuits—too messy). When I was old enough to leave alone during the day (when I’d come up to see my grandparents during summer vacation), she’d turn me loose with a Betty Crocker cookbook. I zeroed in on cakes, which we loved, despite my waistline’s second thoughts.

I will remember how she encouraged the artistic side of me, when almost everyone else in the family wanted me to be a football or baseball player. We’d do crafts. Needlepoint. Painting. I had to drop them at some point of my childhood, but the painting helped me out when I started building model rockets.

I will remember how scared I got when she went into the hospital for a hysterectomy due to a tumor. I will remember the anxiety I felt when tumors were explained to me, including the difference between benign and malignant, and how relieved I was when hers was benign.

There are so many other things I will remember, from the time you became too sick to travel to the time I became too sick to travel. I will remember how we both grieved when we lost your husband, and how you looked at the plot where you would one day be buried next to him when your time came.

That time has finally come.

I wish you an easy rest next to your husband, and I apologize and offer my regrets for not being able to be there today.

Farewell.

Page generated in 0.497 seconds. Stats plugin by www.blog.ca