Beware the Wages of Work

by Janis Patterson

This is going to be a short post, because both The Husband and I are feeling real puny. He threw his back out (out? practically into the next county!) shoveling dirt while playing with the dinosaurs at the Arlington Archosaur Site (run under the aegis of the Perot Museum) and is hurting terribly. I caught some… something that makes my head feel stuffed with wet rags, my throat scoured with sandpaper and a persistent low grade fever that will not go away.

So what does this have to do with writing? Him – nothing. Me – potentially a lot. I’ve been ferociously struggling against deadlines for over a year while juggling the daily trials of existence – cooking, laundry, birthdays, getting the car worked on, all the things that we all do all day every day. It’s called life.

On the other hand, I’m a bear when it comes to deadlines. I’ve only missed one in my entire life, and that was because of a catastrophic car accident a couple of decades ago. Having been raised in advertising, I was taught early that deadlines are sacrosanct.

No one ever bothered to impress on me that I should not take on so many of these immutable deadlines so close together.

Okay, so I’ll spare the suspense. I made my latest deadline – and promptly keeled over into a coughing, sneezing, fever-ridden mess. It’s not like I didn’t have adequate warnings – The Husband (who has his own weirdnesses) kept telling me, “Slow down, honey – you always get sick when you get overtired…”

I didn’t listen. But I made my deadline!

If there is a cautionary note to my sad little tale, it’s that we have to take care of ourselves. No deadline is worth your health. So – first of all, don’t take on so many projects that you can’t complete them in a reasonable time with reasonable effort. Secondly, live your life! Enjoy your family. If I may be trite, smell the roses. There are other things than the computer – I know it’s hard to step away when all those voices are clamoring in your head, but if your head is stuff with drippy wet rags they’re going to drown anyway.

The Seat of the Matter

by Janis Patterson

I dislike exercise.

A lingering back injury from a crash many years ago, an abomination of sweat and an inclination to indolence all add up to the fact I don’t exercise. Which is bad.

It’s especially bad for a writer, as we tend to sit in pretty much the same position for long stretches of time, and that’s not good for our bodies. Also, a number of us have chairs that aren’t good for us. When I was young and poor I wrote for years sitting on a dining chair. Uncomfortable, absolutely no back support and at the wrong height. Needless to say, I didn’t get much done, either. I was always stretching or getting up because I wasn’t comfortable.

Oddly enough, though, that might have been good. I did get up. I did move every half hour or so, but I didn’t get much writing done.

Nowadays they have standing desks and treadmill desks where you can walk and write at the same time. I shudder at either prospect. I cannot stand for long periods of time. Also, when I walk, I walk and when I write, I write. Although I have friends who swear by their treadmill desk for me they are an accident waiting to happen. I am naturally clumsy; sometimes when I write I get so involved in what I am writing I have to remind myself to breathe. The thought of what could happen at a treadmill desk is downright alarming.

But we do have to look after our health. My solution is a simple kitchen timer. I set it for anywhere from half an hour to forty-five minutes, and when it goes off, I get up, walk around the house for a minute, go to the kitchen (which is at the other end of our long old ranch-style house) for some coffee, do a little cleaning or picking up – anything to get me moving for five or so minutes.

I do have a good chair which, sadly, is so old it is falling apart. I need a new one, but I have had so many bad office chairs which seemed good when I bought them that I hesitate to go shopping for a new one. No, that’s not right. I hesitate to go spending for a new one. Money, as it is with most people, is an issue. I did find the perfect chair – and it costs roughly the same dollar amount as did my first car. Needless to say, that chair’s not gonna happen! At least, not for me, not now.

So – I will go on with my raggedy old chair as long as it holds together and my half hour to forty-five minutes routine. Luckily kitchen timers are cheap.