No run. No fun.


And so, the run streak ends. Again.
Or, as my frustrated TweetRant just proclaimed: No run. No fun.

So what do you do when you can’t “do”? I put on pretty (or comfy) clothes. Maybe have a good cuppa. Light a few scented candles. Get some light housework done.  … … … Write a bit. *cue Rapunzel singing about waiting for her life to begin* Perhaps toss Tangled into the DVD player and make some hot air popcorn. Write some more.

I’ve often been asked — and wondered myself — why I don’t write characters who have the limitations that my health has imposed upon me. Address the issue in fiction. Maybe connect with a reader who is facing the same thing themselves…

For me, my reality is my reality. It’s not epic, or a neat fantasy element, or even all that worthy of depiction in a fictional setting. It simply is. Perhaps if the right story came along or the perfect character moment, I’d change my mind. Then I just might say: hey, this is something I can speak to and here’s how!

But until that time, it’d be a trick. It’d be a ‘check the box’ moment in my breadth of work. An agenda.

Fantasy is my escape.

Maybe what I do today is have one of my characters go on a nice, long, cleansing run…

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