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As I mentioned yesterday, there’s a lot more writing to be done just to slog through the remaining unwritten parts of my first draft. And that’s just plot, mostly, with none of the subtlety of character and dialogue and glorious, luxurious description that make writing (or, well, re-writing in the case of this draft) so much fun. But today I’m officially giving myself a deadline.
July 31.
Our daughter (“Sprout,” until we decide on a name for her) is due the first week of August, and I’d very much like to have this first draft done and resting comfortably on my harddrive by the time she arrives. I think of it as a mission imperative to get this done by then, actually. Finding time to write with one kid is hard, sometimes downright impossible when you factor in family time, work time, and all-important sleeping time. But with an active toddler and a baby at the same time? What’s the next level up from impossible?
So, yeah, July 31. I can do this. Perhaps at the expense of early-morning Facebooking and blogging, but still—I can do it. And it starts…
RIGHT NOW!
Wasn’t it just a week ago that I said I could see the light at the end of the tunnel on the first draft of my novel? Well… not so fast.
I’ve been having trouble figuring out how to move some of my storylines forward, so I sat down and made a list of all the scenes and/or events that, bare minimum, need to occur to get me to the finish line.
The answer? Twenty-eight more things!
Some major scenes, some minor ones, but all of them vital to the various plots and subplots. Sigh. My work here is just beginning, it seems.
I have this fantasy that someday I’ll wake up from a medical procedure and suddenly, miraculously, the persistent pain in my back will just be gone. Poof! It is no more. To be honest, I can’t even fully imagine what it would feel like, because it’s been so long since I’ve been complely pain free. I mean, my right side doesn’t hurt at all—the pain is only on the left side, and hurray for that—so I can kind of understand what no pain feels like. I just can’t imagine my whole body feeling that way.
Anyway, I have this fantasy—and a fantasy it shall remain, at least for now. When I woke up from the procedure yesterday, I blinked, slowly became conscious of my surroundings, and instantly searched out the pain. There it was, familiar as always, only even worse than usual because they’d just stuck a six-inch needle into my spine.
I kind of knew this would happen. Somewhere deep down I knew it wouldn’t be immediately better, even if the injection worked. I even knew, based on the pre-op research I did on the Internet, that it could take 72 hours to a week before the corticosteroid kicks in and starts working. (Not that my doctor even mentioned that, of course, and I didn’t get the “official” word on it until I read the post-op instruction sheet after the procedure.) But the point is, even knowing all that, I was still disappointed.
And now I’ve just heard from the hospital that the doctor wants to do two more shots just like this one before he even sees me again. So there’s yet another reason to hate the way modern medicine operates. Is it too much to ask that stuff like this be explained ahead of time? Two-way communication between doctors and patients seems to be dead, at least in my experience.
On the lighter side, I did have a funny little Dollhouse-like experience yesterday as I awoke from my valium-induced sedation.
Me: “Did I fall asleep?”
Nurse: “For a little while.”
Exact dialogue. I kid you not. Funny, yet kinda creepy.
I haven’t written much about my mystery malady lately, but suffice to say it’s still an issue—although much better than a few years ago. The weird headaches and pressure between my eyes still comes and goes, but I’m able to recognize what’s causing it (trigger points in my shoulders and neck) and how to treat it before it gets out of control. The lower back and abdominal pain remain an enigma, however.
Since January 2008 I’ve tried four different modes of physical therapy, had three MRIs or CT Scans, two X-Rays, and one spinal injection. My current doctor discovered two herniated discs in the process, but so far none of the treatments have done much good. Tomorrow, we try again with a different approach.
He thinks the back pain might be caused by trauma to some of the facet joints in my lower back. My symptoms match up well (but not exactly) with those of facet joint syndrome, so tomorrow I’ll be getting a “facet block” and a shot of steroids (cue the A-Rod jokes) to reduce the inflamation. The block essentially turns off the pain signals coming from the joints, so if it works then it will confirm the diagnosis. If not, it’s back to the drawing board again.
I’m kind of skeptical, because every time I think I’m on the right path I get my hopes dashed. But just imagine if it does work out this time. No more back pain? Or at least some kind of treatment plan? That would be incredible.
So, hope springs eternal.
Recently Ethan has started exhibiting a passion for headbutts. He seems to think they’re incredibly fun. And, judging from the giggles that ensue, incredibly funny, too.
(Side note: I no idea how he discovered the art of headbutting. It’s not like this is a behavior we’ve modeled for him.)
Obviously, we’ve been trying to steer him away from the headbutting. So today, Ethan unveiled his compromise solution: the “hug-butt.” This is something he’s apparently invented himself, and it’s a vast improvement over the alternative. It basically consists of him running toward you at full speed, colliding into your legs, and wrapping his arms around you while giggling wildly and yelling, “HUG-BUTT!”
What can I say? At least he’s showing creativity and a knack for problem solving. Also, it doesn’t hurt as much.
I just passed the 50,000-word mark of my first draft. In some ways it’s just a number, but in others it’s a big deal, because from a pure word-count standpoint it means I’m a little more than halfway done.
I think I now have a pretty good understanding of a) where I’m taking this, and b) how I’m going to get there. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s a small pinpoint of light, but it’s there. I think I could probably sit down and write the final scene right now if I wanted to.
But, it’s all about the journey, and I’m still making little discoveries along the way. The only thing standing between me and a finished first draft is just finding time to write every day.
Ethan’s favorite place in the whole world right now is, and I quote, “on the MommyDad bed.” It’s like this mystical forbidden playland for him. He just loves being on our bed. This is where he gets his night-night stories, where daddy launches him like a rocketship onto a pile of pillows, and where he usually manages to get us to sing a few songs to him before bed. In fact pretty much the only thing he’s not allowed to do on the MommyDaddy bed is actually sleep in it. Which is too bad, because this is what he truly wants most in the world.
Last night around 3:00 a.m., because he wasn’t feeling well and because he kept crying out from his crib, I caved and he finally got his wish. This sometimes happens when he’s sick, and last night his cold had turned into shallow breathing and a cough. He had similar symptoms last year and it turned into pneumonia, so I wanted him in bed with us anyway so I could make sure his breathing stayed OK through the night.
Well, Ethan thought this was the Best Thing Ever.
In the pitch black silence of half past three in the morning, he started belting out ”Twinkle, twinkle, litte star…”
I shushed him.
Later, the singing started again, this time ”Row, row, row your boat…”
Again I shushed him.
Later, he began pinching us and giggling. Very naughty.
But eventually he finally fell asleep. Or so I thought. Very quietly, I whispered to Penny that maybe we should take him to the pediatrician in the morning, just to be safe.
Suddenly, in a perfectly nonchalant little voice, Ethan added: ”And get a lollipop there!”
Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep last night. But I think Ethan had one of the best nights of his life… on the MommyDaddy bed.
Ethan is making tremendous strides with his language skills—he’s using complete sentences already!—but there are a few words that still give him trouble. My favorites: “marshmuscles” (marshmallows) and “orny” (orange). Maybe it’s just the proud dad in me, but I like his versions a lot better than the real ones.
Ethan turned two this week. Hard to believe, since in some ways it feels like he was just born. But in other ways—in entirely good ways—it also feels like he’s been with us forever. Since his birthday fell on a Thursday this year, and since Thursdays are my day at home with him, I planned a special father-son day to celebrate.
First we went to the bank—you have to understand this is one of his favorite activities because it involves getting a lollipop from the teller—and then it was off to iParty to pick up a coveted “Monkey Balloon,” a.k.a. the Curious George balloon he’s wanted for some time now. Balloons are Ethan’s second favorite thing at the moment, behind only Curious George himself, so combining those two items equals one happy toddler.
Speaking of monkeys, we spent the bulk of the day at Monkey Joe’s, a sort of indoor playground comprised largely of inflatable bouncy things. Ethan had a blast sliding and jumping and bouncing and just playing with other kids.
After a few hours at Monkey Joe’s we moved on to Ben & Jerry’s in Salem, where I ordered his ice cream cake for tomorrow’s family party. We had hot dogs for lunch at the Boston Hot Dog Company right next door to the Ben & Jerry’s, and then headed home for nap time. (We both needed it, but only he really got one.)
All in all, a great day with a great kid. I’m a lucky dad.
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