I have been off my coffee since Monday morning. That is never a good sign. Exhaustion, achy muscles, boiling hot in one moment, then teeth-chattering cold the next, have ruled my daily existence. Regular doses of white caplets do nothing to ease the pounding in my head. A darkened room, a fluffy duvet, and sweet sleep offer the only escape. Days and nights meld. The passage of minutes and hours develop a rhythm that defies the norms associated with the accepted standards.
My brain left to its own devices declares a play day. My thoughts wander down overgrown paths, exploring avenues we normally zoom past. I discover characters in unexpected settings, their dialog reveals shocking truths and unimagined motivations. My mind spins new stories, introduces me to interesting protagonists, and intimidating antagonists. The cast grows, and red yarn connectors tie them together in a tangled web of intrigue.
When I wake, I frantically scribble notes. I try to drive as many stakes as possible to anchor the richly textured tapestries to the realm of reality before they dissolve into wispy filaments that retreat to the deep recesses of my dream world. I read my hasty scratchings and smile. There is enough material to keep my writing fueled for a long time. It is a good thing I only get sick once a year.
How does sickness affect you?
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer