Once again this has been a strange week. I suppose I now have very little idea of what a ‘normal’ week would be like! I hope it wouldn’t involve Lemsip, Ribena and other cold cures popular in the UK, not so much falling asleep at 3.30 in the afternoon, and a lot less coughing and spluttering.
This morning I’ve had to get up out of my sick-bed to take an artificial plant (and some other essentials) up to the theatre for our latest show. Actually, buying the artificial plant has made me think perhaps I’m being unfair to the real plants I have languishing in various stages of terminal decline in my conservatory. I think it might be kinder to put them out of their misery and replace them all with fakes.
The way I’ve felt this week has reminded me of a debate that took place not long ago on a writers’ forum I frequent, about whether it’s possible to write if you aren’t well. Although my feelings about that were ambivalent when I read the posts, I think I can safely say today that I can’t. Fine if I were ‘walking wounded’ with a bad cold or maybe a minor injury, but if I’m not physically able to sit at the computer for hours then I’m not usually fit to write – before computers I would write my first draft on pieces of paper, but I haven’t done that for years and my handwriting is now such that if I reverted to the old ways I would have terrible trouble afterwards transcribing it. And when my head is apparently filled with fluff, rendering me incapable of thought, then I can’t write either. The most I have done for the past week or more is to consider the possibility that I might write again at some point in the future. Even writing this blog post is more than I could have considered doing yesterday or the day before.
Under normal circumstances I would be buoyed up by the knowledge that ‘A Tasteful Crime’ has been in and out of the no. 1 slot in ‘Cozy Mysteries’ on Amazon UK. That’s still excellent news and I’m grateful to everyone who has bought it.