Writing Through Changes
Day 8: A Old Knee, a Migraine, and a Murder Mystery walk into a bar
Ah, the joys of bodily betrayal. My knee has decided to audition for the role of "Most Dramatic Joint," and it's giving a performance worthy of a daytime Emmy. Meanwhile, my mind is off to the races, crafting tales of vampires, witches, and werewolves. It's like my body and brain are in a long distance relationship, strained, but still making it work.
Navigating the emotional terrain of impending surgery while trying to maintain creative momentum feels like being trapped in a fantasy novel penned by Kafka. Some days, the pain fogs up my thoughts like a steamy bathroom mirror; other days, the inability to pace around forces me to sit and actually write. Silver linings, I suppose.
Chapter Fourteen
Guess who's made it to chapter fourteen of their fantasy murder mystery? This gal. That's fourteen chapters filled with supernatural beings who have very strong opinions about homicide. The word count is sitting at a respectable 19,206, which is surprising considering the number of times I've been interrupted by migraines that feel like my brain is trying to escape through my eyeballs.
Migraines are the divas of the ailment world. They demand attention, offer no room for negotiation, and leave you lying in a dark room questioning your life choices. But even they can't stop the story from unfolding, albeit at a slightly slower pace.
Accountability and Camaraderie in the London Writers' Salon
Left to my own devices, I can spiral into a very convincing internal debate about whether it's more important to write or reorganize the spice rack alphabetically. Spoiler: it's not the spices. But the London Writers’ Salon and their daily Writing Hours have become my quiet rebellion against distraction and self-sabotage.
Every weekday, I log on. Faces from around the world flicker to life on the screen, a global patchwork of writers showing up, not always bright-eyed, but always determined. It's not about reading each other’s work or doling out critique. It’s about showing up, together, to honor the work.
The accountability is gentle but powerful. There’s magic in the silent solidarity of a Zoom room full of writers, all tapping away like we’re cracking codes that might just save us. They’ve helped me hold my promise to write, not just when I feel like it, but especially when I don’t.
And let me tell you: the inspiration is real. These are people writing novels, essays, memoirs, poems, screenplays…across genres, time zones, and coffee cups. There’s something quietly heroic about it. They remind me that this writing thing isn’t just solitary. It’s communal, even when we’re all on mute.
So to the LWS crew: thank you for showing up. You keep me anchored, honest, and just caffeinated enough to keep chasing the next chapter.
#1000WordsOfSummer Journey
Once upon a time, I was a morning-hating gremlin. Now, I'm up at 4 AM, not because I'm disciplined, but because my body has a twisted sense of humor. These early hours have become my sacred writing time, when the world is quiet and my characters are loud.
Participating in the #1000WordsOfSummer challenge has added structure to my otherwise chaotic writing routine. It's like having a gym buddy, but for writing. It’s someone to guilt you into showing up, even when you'd rather be doing literally anything else.
Balancing Act
Life without a traditional job means my time is my own, which is both liberating and terrifying. Writing has expanded to fill every nook and cranny of my day, leaving little room for mundane tasks like laundry or dishes. My house is slowly turning into a set piece for a post apocalyptic film, but at least the words are flowing.
This period feels like a grand experiment, testing the limits of my creativity, patience, and tolerance for clutter. So far, the results are inconclusive, but promising.
The knee will get fixed when it gets fixed. The migraines will come and go. The house will continue its descent into chaos. But the writing? The writing persists. Each morning, I return to the page, ready to see what my characters have been up to while I was sleeping.
Maybe this is what a sustainable creative practice looks like, not the absence of obstacles, but the ability to write through them. After all, the stories aren't going anywhere. They're patient, persistent, and always waiting for me to return.
Until next time,
Harlo
