My decades old copy of “Writing Down the Bones.” Its wisdom helped me this week, too.
Here’s the truth:
I was feeling tired last week.
I was feeling grumpy earlier this week.
I did not write last weekend.
My low back started hurting last Sunday afternoon. I took one Advil, which has always been a magical pain reliever, an elixir I trust. It did not help. I took another one and a single Tylenol before bed. I managed to sleep but woke up around 4:20 a.m to take another two Advil. Monday morning arrived and found me sitting at the kitchen table with a heating pad on the sore part of my back. I started writing with my online writing group. I guarantee I would not have been writing if my group did not have a standing writing invitation every weekday morning at 7:30 a.m my time.
My daughter came home toward the end of last week for a quick visit. We had a beautiful day last Sunday. We drove up to Truckee and walked the Sagehen Creek Trail. The aspens were turning yellow and rustled as we walked past. We had lunch at the end point of the hike, sitting together on a concrete ledge that was part of an abandoned cabin site. The way back to the car had a few obstacles: fallen trees that blocked the path, a swampy spot where I had to crawl over a log. That’s when I tweaked my knee a little. I do not know if a tweaked knee could cause lower back pain. Doesn’t seem likely—but that’s the only thing I can think of.
But let me tell you why I didn’t write last week.
I could say it was because my daughter was home, and that is partly true. We sat on the red couch with Biscuit last Saturday night, when I usually would have been trying to get a blog post ready, and watched the “Project Hail Mary” movie. What is not to love about that? But that wasn’t everything. I also was feeling sad about my writing process. I made the mistake of checking the stats on the back of my Substack; I didn’t know for a long time that I could even do that. Suddenly, I saw how many people read regularly, or read every once in a while, or never read at all.
