Habitus Interruptus. It’s a terrible sensation. When you have a good routine going, and something unexpected brings it to a screeching halt, leaving you unmoored.
Though I’ve been writing all my life, for the past five years I was in the habit of rising early and devoting 6 to 8 a.m. to my fiction work. I loved it. My brain thrived on it and so did my work. Until recently. A knee injury required repair, general anesthesia and blue-masked surgeons wielding sharp instruments, mucking about with my meniscus.
But I looked on the bright side. With knee securely stitched and wrapped, I’d have all kinds of time while recovering to work on my books and blog. I envisioned whole days stretching before me, laptop on my pillow, happily writing away for glorious days at a time. Cue the chorus of angels.
The pain meds had a different plan for me. While they kept the post-op pain at bay, they also sapped every ounce of motivation I had. Blog schmog. Villain schmillan. I can see how people get addicted - I didn’t give a fig about anything except scheduling the meds and the ice pack. I didn’t even have any good dreams I could mine for material!
As I tapered off, the brain fog and not writing made me cranky. My routine was broken, my muse on a bender. Maybe there were just too many words stuck in my brain. Building up like so much plaque in my cerebrum, short-circuiting my synapses.
Thankfully, I'm done with the meds. But the interruption has left me annoyed. It felt like a week-long blackout after a massive binge. What happened? What did my characters do while I was gone? Did anyone get arrested? Time to get reacquainted. Tomorrow. 6 a.m. sharp.