WRITING .... WHEN LIFE GETS IN THE WAY LINDA MITCHELMORE

Now then, I rarely post personal stuff in the ether ..... certainly not on Facebook or Twitter unless it's to urge people to buy my books or the magazines in which I have stories. But this blog is, I think, different - albeit in the ether as the others. Writers can't just stop being writers because life gets in the way of things like deadlines and ideas that strike in the middle of the night. But the thing is, my husband hasn't been well for some time and just before Christmas he took an alarming turn for the worse. He was unable to eat, suffered massive weight loss, and everything that goes with those things took an alarming toll on him. A visit to our GP saw him whisked to hospital, but he was too weak to undergo an operation so he was drip-fed antibiotics and tube fed nourishing things until he built up strength which, mercifully he did, and was able to have the operation he needed.

Now then, in the middle of all this worry, and twice-daily drives to the hospital and back, and hours by his bedside, my copy edits arrived from my new publisher. To mention all the above or not? I decided not. I devised a plan. I would get up uber-early (who can sleep soundly with a poorly loved one in hospital anyway?)and do the edits then. I had a week in which to do them. I did. Just. And then said publisher asked for a synopsis for my next novel, also in a week. I said that would be a push and could I have a bit longer .... I could. Phew! And then a magazine editor wanted some tweaks to a quite long short story .... contradiction in terms but writers will see that as a normal statement. Could she have it back in 48 hours .... she could and she did. Phew!

And then there was the thorny question of whether or not to take our grandchildren in to see their granddad. They spend a lot of time with us and were missing him and asking for him. Would they be upset by drips and machines buzzing at random intervals and granddad not being able to play hide and seek with them? In the event they seemed to be far more interested in the control panel at the end of granddad's bed that raised and lowered the head rest and various other things than they were in the poor old boy in it. And the free hot chocolate in the day room was pronounced far superior to anything they'd ever had in a cafe anywhere although six-year-old Emily grumbled about the lack of mini-marshmallows!

And talking of hot drinks .... a young Polish man - a patient in the bed opposite my husband's - was going into the day room to get himself a drink and stopped to ask me if he could get me tea, or coffee, or hot chocolate. And that's when another short story idea came to me. Right there in the most inappropriate of places and I did get a pang of guilt, but it's what writers do - we can't help it. I'm sure other writers will understand. P.S. My husband is now home, I'm pleased to be able to say.