Working on Endurance has done wonders to chase the cancer goblins out of my head. I can’t actually write when I’m in the middle of being pissed off or actively afraid, but with even a little distance from the immediacy of those emotions, the book calls me back.
Likewise, I find myself approaching this book with an intensity that is unusual, even for me. I figure this is Fred burning off nerves in the text.
We’re not talking about writing-as-therapy, per se. My issues aren’t being gamed out on the page, at least not consciously or directly. (They can scarcely fail to inform the mood of the book, of course.) More like the act of writing is therapeutic.
I hope this never becomes a struggle for me. Laying down words on a page is such joy, and I need that in my life right now perhaps more than I ever have. It’s an interesting phenomenon, how this all fits together.
PS, for those of you who have not yet read your newly-acquired copies of Green [ Powell’s | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Borders ], Endurance is named after the ox in Green, with nothing to do with either of my cancer experiences as that book was drafted before the first outbreak. In fact, the ox is named after the cat in Gwyneth Jones’ Divine Endurance, a book I dearly love.