So you know those instincts where you think, “Maybe my body is trying to tell me something?” Mine was trying to tell me that I had a massive sub-dermal bacterial infection in my leg. Turns out that was the cause of all my health problems, starting with the nasty fever on the 18th. Tomorrow marks 2 weeks of massive anti-biotics and a 10 days of lockdown with my leg elevated over my head.
Not fun. But at least we have a clearer idea what’s going on with my leg, and sometime this month we’ll run some tests and get things fixed.
But the last two weeks. Hell. I got so sick of staring at my ceiling, I started looking for somewhere to fix a noose. Not that I could reach my ceiling. So much for those idle thoughts.
The upshot, I’m back at the day job, trying to keep moving for the full 8 hours, and trying to motivate myself to write when I get home. It’s November, or as the faithful call it, National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo for short. This is my first year since 2005 where I’m not actively participating. I am writing, however. I’m taking the month to finish Ink Calls to Ink, and knocked down a few thousand words the other day. Ideally, I will have the first draft done and off to my editor (who also pulled a totally noble caretaker shift or two while I was sick) by Thanksgiving.
Speaking of which, I have writer’s group tonight. I should wrap things up here and find a bus.
The novel awaits.
Tales from the Ragged Edge 