Hi everyone.
I'm back. Back-ish. The head trauma is slowly healing, to the extent that in 20 minutes I will leave for a Beginner Yoga class. Hooray! My third attempt at yoga since my accident, December 17th, and what I've learned is that I'm mostly capable of a Beginner class, but can only do about half of a Room Temperature But Not Beginner class. Apparently my head still doesn't like being moved swiftly in three dimensions, which means sun salutations are no good for you. But it feels excellent to be moving, however slowly, again.
I'm still months away from riding again. I miss it like crazy.
Right now I am full of News that belongs to other people. It's frustrating the way not being able to do your life's work because you have a concussion is frustrating. I could tell you all some really awesome stuff, except I can't, because it's not mine to share.
That's something I've really learned writing this blog. There are stories that are entirely mine, and stories that are part mine, and even some stories that are not mine at all but are okay for me to write about--with permission--and then there's a whole lot that are really great stories, really fabulous, and sometimes I can even see the perfect way to write about them, the structure and the words and everything--and they are not my stories and I don't write them.
I've come to realize that the job of a novelist is to take all the other stories and mix them up with your own, and use the feelings you get from them to write about some completely other fictional world in a wholly authentic way. When I talk to schoolchildren about The War That Saved My Life--which I do a lot, thank you email and Skype--they want to know what parts of the story are based on my life, or on anyone's actual life. I tell them, almost nothing. For starters, I wasn't alive in WWII; my parents were, but only barely. (My mother was born on the one-year anniversary of Pearl Harbor.) But the emotions are real; I know about them either by feeling them or by paying very close attention to other people's feelings.
So anyway, here's today: full of joy and happiness, and glad to be feeling that way. It's not my story, but it is my joy.
I'm back. Back-ish. The head trauma is slowly healing, to the extent that in 20 minutes I will leave for a Beginner Yoga class. Hooray! My third attempt at yoga since my accident, December 17th, and what I've learned is that I'm mostly capable of a Beginner class, but can only do about half of a Room Temperature But Not Beginner class. Apparently my head still doesn't like being moved swiftly in three dimensions, which means sun salutations are no good for you. But it feels excellent to be moving, however slowly, again.
I'm still months away from riding again. I miss it like crazy.
Right now I am full of News that belongs to other people. It's frustrating the way not being able to do your life's work because you have a concussion is frustrating. I could tell you all some really awesome stuff, except I can't, because it's not mine to share.
That's something I've really learned writing this blog. There are stories that are entirely mine, and stories that are part mine, and even some stories that are not mine at all but are okay for me to write about--with permission--and then there's a whole lot that are really great stories, really fabulous, and sometimes I can even see the perfect way to write about them, the structure and the words and everything--and they are not my stories and I don't write them.
I've come to realize that the job of a novelist is to take all the other stories and mix them up with your own, and use the feelings you get from them to write about some completely other fictional world in a wholly authentic way. When I talk to schoolchildren about The War That Saved My Life--which I do a lot, thank you email and Skype--they want to know what parts of the story are based on my life, or on anyone's actual life. I tell them, almost nothing. For starters, I wasn't alive in WWII; my parents were, but only barely. (My mother was born on the one-year anniversary of Pearl Harbor.) But the emotions are real; I know about them either by feeling them or by paying very close attention to other people's feelings.
So anyway, here's today: full of joy and happiness, and glad to be feeling that way. It's not my story, but it is my joy.
Hi Kimberly,
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing here and there on your experiences with your head trauma. As a fellow post-concussion-er, it is heartening to hear someone else describe the recovery process in a humanized way. After all of the doctors and WebMD cram sessions, the entire subject feels very cold and clinical and, frankly, lonely. I resonate with your desire to get back to exercise; this has been my primary complaint. That and my weekend writing (a hobby), though I've stuck to that and actually become more productive out of stubbornness I suppose.
Anyhow, thanks again, and I'll keep reading if you keep writing.
Kindly,
Tony Hunter
Tucson, AZ