This is the week my Monday writing group decided to not exchange work. Busy schedules, one person out of town, one using the time to catch up, me working both my regular stuff and some performance interpreting. Busy. Busy. Busy.
But with the two plays and the poetry work I'm doing, I also found I can't read fiction. This isn't a new discovery, but it is a new confirmation of this fact. When I'm interpreting a play, I'm working with that story, getting it and the characters and the production's presentation of those things in my head, in my body, on my hands. It's difficult to really focus on other stories when that one story (or two in this case) is primary.
Luckily, I've just discovered that I can read non-fiction. I can listen to audiobooks about writing, or other things. I find that my other listening habits change, as well. I don't really like listening to the radio - too much talking and extraneous noise. Sometimes usually favorite music CDs don't sit well, so I have to find something else.
These aren';t problems - just interesting facts to discover. What works while I'm in theatrical or performance mode and what doesn't.
I wonder where that fits for writing, as well. I know in the past that I've sometimes gotten particular artists associated with certain pieces of writing. Or found that particular types of music fueled some writing so I would line up those musicians' work when I sat down to write. Now all we have to do is collect our favorite songs on the digital device of our choice and we can add categories or whatever they're called in the particular brand of machine.
And when I'm not doing the writing, not working on feedback on other's writing, I think a lot about writing. Of course I am also listening to Stephen King read his book, "On Writing," about, well that's obvious - writing. So that's on the front line of my consciousness. But I have ideas and inspiration and want to write.
Yesterday I wanted to write a poem and the words were flowing - in my head. I was driving. On the freeway. And when I got to where I was going I had no time to make notes and some of it was gone anyway. But rather than get upset, I figure it will come back. If it was that good or that important, it will come back. And maybe the next version will be even better.
A week off. Ha! Of exchanging writing with my group - yes. Of reading or listening to fiction - yes. But not off from creativity nor performance interpreting nor regular work.
Just a slightly different pace.
And one punctuated by hobbling around on crutches. The update there is that my doctor said I could get off the crutches a week from the date of the injury and continue with the ice/rest/ace bandage care for an additional week. That's good news. The crutches really slow me down and are loud and make things awkward.
Though I'm really not even complaining about that. There is irony that the sprain and complications and crutches happened right now; right when I would have said - no, it's impossible, I could never slow down or be limited in action or movement during this time. No. But I am. It is. And I'm getting through. With a few adaptations. But I'm getting things done and "it's all good," as They say.
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