I almost began this blog post by detailing all of the horrible things that happened to my family last week. Between school/work problems, health issues and a fall up the stairs at work, it was just a bad week. (Yes, I said “up” the stairs. That’s an advanced skill and meant to be performed by professionals only, so don’t try that at home kiddies. ) Instead of using my blog to whine, I decided to shift my focus. After all, how can I complain about my woes in a week that contained 9/11?
The thing is nobody is immune from bad days, or bad weeks, or sometimes bad years. It happens. It’s part of the human condition. But when I’m entrenched in a battle with stress or fear or just busyness, I try to stop and tell myself, what’s going on isn’t important. What’s important is how you react to it.
I don’t always react in the best of ways. I give into stress and worry far too often. I’m a worrier by nature. My husband said to me last night, “I’d be worried if you weren’’t worried.” I often devote too much of my brain worrying about things I can’t control. Sometimes though, I can turn it around, rely on faith, and make something good of it. Trust me when I tell you, this is the better option.
So when I sat down to write on Saturday afternoon, I made a distinct decision not to focus on the sore muscles and scrapes covering my feet and knees. (See? Falling up is dangerous.) I reminded myself that the week was over. I took a deep breath and I started writing.
I wrote some of the best stuff I have ever written and ended up with about 6,000 words in one day. In fact, my little tumble up the stairs gave me a great idea for a scene in my book. I guess you can file that one under “Making Lemonade from Lemons.”
Now I’m not condoning creating stressful situations in order to produce creative bursts. Not at all. What I am condoning is letting the stress go. Not only is it better for your health and own outlook on life, but it’s better for your writing.
Now I just have to make myself remember that in the future. Do me a favor – If you hear me complaining about the stresses of being a wife and mother, working full-time and trying to write all at once, kick me up the stairs.