Other writers will get this joke.

A writer is introduced at a party, “Oh,” one of the partygoers says, “what I would give to sit around an write all day! That’s a job!”

kanga-1-568x365I’ll admit I nurtured the fantasy. Sitting in my perfect writing office, feet propped up, cat in my lap, dogs at my feet inspired by the view and the steaming cup of tea/coffee/scotch to my right. Ha! Many of us share our writing space because it’s called a HOUSE and other people live in it.

Cats are not good for productivity as the Interweb shows us a multitude of evidence. Dogs? Okay, I will say The Writing Staff, in general, are pretty good company aside from the zoomies, (A tame example) the incessant squeaky toy, and chasing the cat.

For me, writing needs an environment. I have difficulty concentrating in clutter and mess. I know, I know, this is a contradiction in my personality as I hate to clean. I’ve expounded on the joys of a cleaning fairy. Writers Need Cleaning Fairies It’s no secret I desire one, crave one, NEED one. Kids interrupt my mojo. It never fails, I’m flying on the keyboard and a request is lobbed my way. “Because I’m not doing anything.” I’ve also discussed my background noise. It depends on my mood, I can write in silence, with music, or with the television going.

I can’t write incapacitated. Let me clarify, I can write under the influence, a light influence. I’m talking injury or sickness. When I broke my ankle last February, many folks said, “Oh well, at least you’ll get in plenty of writing time.” Nope, being bedridden for over six weeks sounds great for writing, but a funny thing happens to the brain when you’re in pain. It stops functioning at full capacity. I couldn’t even read. Needless to say, I watched a lot of television.

Yesterday in the middle of a cleaning frenzy, a tidal wave of nausea and dizziness hit me. I’d say it was a reaction to the cleaning, but fever and chills followed. Waking up, I’m still suffering what is best described as the woozies. This presents a problem. I’m on a roll. The only reason I started cleaning in the first place was to keep my writing mojo going. Dust bunnies plotted against me. My plan to bustle through the house like a whirling dervish served my writing inspiration. Foiled. Even as I write this, I’m lying prone squinting out of one eye to keep the spins at bay.

I have two chapters moving damn it! In this condition, I can’t even watch television. It aggravates my nausea. I need to push these words to paper. Oh boy….but not now. Now, I’m thinking about ginger tea and chicken broth.