[cancer|writing] Another painful thing

As I have frequently commented, the narrative of cancer is a narrative of loss. I haven’t written a word of new fiction since last June. At this point, I don’t expect to ever write again in my life, unless something very good arises out of these NIH studies. So be it. My career continues — Tor is releasing Last Plane to Heaven next September, stories from last year are getting favorable mentions — but it’s definitely deep in the wind-down phase.

What I see right now on blogs and social media are my auctorial friends and colleagues posting year-end reviews of work published in 2013, summaries of work contracted and planned in 2014, travel and convention schedules, and the like. All the usual change-of-the-year stuff we talk about.

I’m not really part of that world any more. I have no more new work contracted, since I can’t produce it. I have no writing goals. I have no convention plans for 2014. Being sick is a full time job, and besides which I don’t have the energy or the money. I expect to pass away next summer anyway, unless that very good something arises. I’m watching the party move on without me.

It’s natural, it’s logical, and it has nothing to do with me except in my own mind. But it’s quite painful at times.

Like I miss so many other things, I miss that part of my life.

Fuck cancer.

10 thoughts on “[cancer|writing] Another painful thing

  1. Laurie Mann says:

    I think your essays have been wonderful. You may not be writing fiction anymore, but you’re writing a lot of fascinating memoir.

    1. Stevie says:

      I heartily agree with Laurie Mann; your essays have illuminated so many things which would otherwise have remained in the shadows.

      You are standing in the proud tradition of Montaigne; I think that it’s pretty cool that you continue to do so…

  2. Asakiyume says:

    Could you (do you ever feel like, and would it be possible to) write tiny things? By tiny I mean drabble length or shorter. Or even just lists of thoughts and scenarios (do they ever arise)? Maybe that would just make you feel worse, not having the energy or possibility/ability to develop them. But maybe giving some time over to that sort of creative effort, in a tiny way, would be fulfilling? Or does your mind simply not turn in that direction at all anymore. Which, I can totally understand, too, if that’s the case.

  3. Well damn. Sans everything — Shakespear wasn’t kidding in “As You Like It.” Holding you in my thoughts.

  4. Dave Baker says:

    Agree with Laurie. You’re still a great writer, Jay.

  5. Ben Fenwick says:

    You’re still writing. It’s for real, it’s stirring, it’s hard-hitting, and it counts. You know, Tennyson.

    “Though much is taken, much abides; and though
    We are not now that strength which in old days
    Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
    One equal temper of heroic hearts,
    Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
    To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.”

  6. Terry says:

    You have so many friends hurting along with you, and wishing you the very best. Wishing we could do more.

  7. Paula Helm Murray says:

    Love and hugs your way.

  8. Jan says:

    You may not be writing your wonderful books anymore Jay, but the words your write everyday in your blog are touching, and touch so many other people. Your words continue in a different way.

    ((HUGS))

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