Being a Writer is SCARY

This is how I am feeling.

      Why? – you ask. Because I’ve just submitted the first complete rough draft of my latest novel to the editor/publisher with whom I worked on HIGH WATER.

It’s a little like dropping my kid off at kindergarten on the first day of school. Like handing him off to the flight attendant the first time he flew on Southwest Airlines down to Southern California to visit his grandparents and cousins. Like watching him drive off in a car by himself after getting his driver’s license. Like waving goodbye to him after moving him into his dorm at UC Santa Cruz his freshman year, and then crying when I returned home and saw his empty bedroom.

I have been working on this latest novel for about three years, and have experienced many, many moments when I thought I should quit. “Who is gonna care about any of this?” I asked myself during each of those moments. I’ve heard numerous stories about writers who agonize over their writing process, explaining how torturous being a writer can be, and quite honestly – I find those stories annoying. Boo-hoo. Cry me a river! But I kind of get it now. It’s not so much the act of writing that I find excruciating. It’s the feeling of – What is the point? Because I’ve also heard that writers basically write what they need to read. And to my great surprise, I have discovered that in my case, it is indeed true. Therefore, who else will be interested in all of this personal angst? And yet. . . Something compels me to put my musings out into the world even if there is a chance that no one else will ever read them. So, there ya go.

In the spring of 2022, I met someone who inspired one of the themes in my novel. I was so moved by a personal story she shared that I decided to dedicate this book to her. In telling her this, I realized it was a method of holding myself accountable. Now, I had to finish it. It didn’t make the process any easier. Nor did it alleviate my doubts, but it did keep me going. However, I still found plenty of reasons to procrastinate.

Then recently I underwent a medical procedure. Although it was a fairly “routine” procedure, it did require that I undergo general anesthesia. And while I am and have always been in excellent health, the reality remains that general anesthesia comes with some risks. The irony of my history of exceptional health is that when something appears to be wrong, I suddenly become a hypochondriac. I immediately thought, “Well, there’s a chance I may not wake up from this.” So, I began putting my “affairs in order.” I filled out a new Advanced Health Care Directive. I told my husband and son where to find all of my passwords. I informed them of my “Memorial Playlist,” which they could find in my Spotify library. I wrote out specific instructions about my desire to donate my organs and cremation and printed out a list of all the locations where I wanted my ashes sprinkled. To which my son cheekily replied, “You’re not that big!” He obviously inherited his dry wit from his dad. Then he said, “I’m pretty sure sprinkling ashes in those places is illegal.”

“Of course it’s illegal,” I said, “But you’ll just have to figure it out, cuz that’s where I want to be!”

Then my husband said, “We’ll just scatter her on the side of the road.” (He’s so funny.)

To which I said, “No you won’t! Cuz I’ll know, and I’ll haunt your ass!”

I’ve always said that I do not fear death. I honestly don’t. But I do fear pain, misery, and suffering. And when my son was little, I feared dying before he became an adult. So, as I prepared for my surgery, I asked myself if I was ready to go. And the answer was, “Yeah. I’m okay.” I didn’t feel that I had left anything unsaid to anyone. I regret that there are still several places on my bucket list that I have not traveled to, but oh, the places I have been! I’ve had a lot of great adventures. However, the one thing I still had left to do was finish this dang book! So, with that motivation, I sat my ass in this chair and finally completed the first draft. It still needed editing and tweaking, but the story was done! And I figured if I woke up from the procedure, it would be a pleasant surprise.

Spoiler: I made it!

Thank you to all the wonderful nurses, doctors, and other staff members at the San Jose Kaiser Surgery Center. A special shout out to nurse Leticia M. who prepped me for the procedure. As she read my paperwork, she said, “Okay, so you’re here for such & such.”

I said, “Yeah, I know I could’ve had this done during an in-office visit, but when I’ve had it done before it was so horrifically painful, I need to be put completely under.”

Right away, nurse Leticia said, “Oh, I know. I had the same thing done and I thought I was gonna die!”

“Oh, my God,” I said. “Thank you so much for saying that. I was feeling like such a baby for wanting to be put under.”

“No, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I get it.”

Then, the anesthesiologist came in. (Okay, side note: You know you’ve reached a milestone when all the doctors are younger than you!) In great detail, he kindly explained everything that would be done, and what I could expect, and asked if I had any questions. Once again, I clarified that I understood that I could’ve had this procedure done in a less dramatic fashion, and he said, “No, no. Don’t worry. You don’t need to apologize for anything or explain anything. You’re fine. We’ll take good care of you.”

I wanted to cry.

Anywaaaay, all of this is to say, I’m good! The pathology report came back negative and everything is normal. And I am determined to travel to all those places remaining on my bucket list, if for no other reason than to add to the places I wish to have my ashes sprinkled. I’m gonna be EVERYWHERE.