It seemed as if every time I turned around, my writing was interrupted. I expected some but not all the interruptions. Most were brief, from a few days to a few weeks, but one shut me down for much longer. All were frustrating. I feared I would never finish my novels. The words churned in my head, desperate to get out.
Tax preparation took time out of each February and March. Vacations and trips took equally as long, but unlike taxes, they were fun.
The longest interruption was seven months of waiting for surgery, recovery and rehabilitation. It sorely tested my patience. The physical therapist warned me up front that she would cause me pain and that I should not expect any sympathy because she wouldn’t give it. She kept her word in spades, but when she was done, my joint worked well, and we were both pleased, as was my orthopod. And the long break was probably good for The Pig Parts Series, allowing me to return to it with fresh eyes.
And then, of course, the Coronavirus Pandemic and lockdown descended upon all of us. While it caused only minor interruptions to my editing, it disrupted my life. Things changed drastically. Plans and priorities changed. Long established routines changed. Suddenly, acquiring new and different skill sets became a matter of life and death. Like everyone else on the planet, I had to find ways to accept the changes and cope with deadly threats from invisible, ill-defined and unwelcome intruders.
