Did you read that right? Did I just say “Guest Blogger”? GUEST BLOGGER?!!?
Would I really give someone else the keys to my queendom keyboard? Me? The most OCD, Control Freak, Noone-Can-Possibly-Do-THIS-Better-Than-ME person on the planet?
Yes.
But, this isn’t that entry.
That entry will be coming soon, possibly even next week – depending on turnaround time and what my guest blogger has typed out penned out scrawled on a napkin. This entry is your chance to weigh in on his work. Or write in.
In just a few days, I will be having a bit of a nip and tuck surgery, inside of one of my writing wrists. I’m sure no one tires of hearing about the errant status of my bones, ligaments, and other medical words. For those still enthralled (or new), I have years of “I may have overdone that” athletics to thank for most of my aches and pains, especially my right wrist..
In the olden days, when I was a competitive gymnast, there were no fluffy Pit Pads to accept crash landings. Repetition counts and limitations were not monitored obsessively. Nay, it was more of a free for all that led to excessive pounding on various body parts. For example, wrists.
After hanging up my leotards and grips, I opted for a semi-professional tennis career, in which I semi-regularly paid tennis pros to squint with confusion at my backhand. If I had done “later me” math, I’d have realized out of the gate that tennis may not be the relaxing retirement sport that I was going for. Wrists? What? In tennis?
Yes, as it turns out. What I lack in power I supplement with spin and slicing a tennis ball is another amazing way to do bad things to your wrist. And elbow. And also shoulder (which I’ve already had two surgeries on prior to tennis-ing).
In summary, according to Dr. Wrist Whisperer, the inside of my right wrist looks like the remains of Miss Piggy had she been thrown into the play area of a doggy daycare. Her words were more medical (my surgeon’s, not Miss Piggy’s). She knows this because she has already worked inside my wrist once. Before that, another doctor had taken a failed crack at it.
While I’m told that this round will be by scope only (yay!), the work will be more exciting as I do have a torn meniscus somewhere in the joint. Raise your hand if thought your knee was the only thing with a meniscus. Yeah, me too.
I have spent the last month “planning ahead” for items that I would have to back burner once I was post-surgery and splint-bound. Planning. Yes. Not actually doing, in some cases. Had I been really on the (tennis) ball, I’d have six or so blogs written and in the hopper, ready to post during my respite.
Instead, OCD took over and I assigned myself far too many other deadlines to fit all the writing things in (was it OCD, or was it my completely unnecessary yen to be a people pleaser?).
Instead of simply taking the time off to eat bonbons left-handed, I gave myself a slew of deadlines by moving a slew of later deadlines into September so as not to let anyone down because that’s the kind of girl you get to be after years and years of competitive gymnastics and wanting to be perfect for all to see.
Did I just start a therapy session?
Things put on my plate (possibly unnecessarily):
- WTEWYWE, The Book Edits: Round I: No, there are no real deadlines when writing your first book. This is because there is not yet a huge fan base waiting for your pages to print. However, after meeting with my editor at the end of August, I agreed to have my first round of edits back to her prior to September 29th. Normally, no big deal as I pride myself on meeting deadlines and, typically, meeting them early.
However, in the process of authoring, I have discovered what so many artists speak of when it comes to accessing their craft: PROCRASTINATION. In the last month, I have caught myself doing the strangest “who am I?” things. At first, I have been proud of various new hobbies popping up. At second, I realized I was essentially inventing stall tactics.
Have you seen that recipe for Cider Donuts rolling around your social media feed? Let’s just say I dedicated an entire day to perfecting them. I have organized my workspace, my craft space, my purse space, and my sewing space (which I first had to build in order to organize). I have taken piles of clothing to a consignment shop (never have I ever…until now). I have commandeered an entire shipping pallet from our “for the dump pile” to upcycle into a lovely piece of yard decor (I know, enough with the yard decor.
- Freelance Work, A: I love, love, love the group that I do the majority of my freelance writing with. A typical month involves two to four assignments, which is typically just right, what with my real job. But, well, have I mentioned the uptick in procrastination? I wanted to make sure I left none of their stones unturned and asked for the October assignments early which they happily delivered. Could I be working on those right now? Yes. Could they all be done at this point? Yes. This donut is delicious.
- Freelance Work, B: Another freelance frequenter popped into my mailbox asking if I wouldn’t mind writing an article about an event and, oh also, could they have it back by September 26th? Did you know that “freelancers” have the right to say, “No, thanks”? Instead of saying that, I said (quietly), “Well, I’ve already dug most of the hole, so…”
- Freelance Work, C: I really can’t be blamed for this one nor the events that are going to push it right into my no-go zone. I received not one, but two emails from my friends across the ocean at Funny Pearls asking if they might publish not one, but two of my blogs. Sounds easy, right? Yes, sort of.
Because I am an American writer posting in the UK, the articles do require some edits. Did I say, “No, thanks”? Of course, not. And that might have been fine, but then there was that small bit of a surprise mourning period that popped up unexpectedly in their country, so all work was halted for about two weeks. Including my edits.
Could I have used that time to work on any and all of the above? Yes. But,
- The Queen: I had to glue my eyes to ten days of news coverage. I am only slightly obsessed with the Queen. God rest her soul. And, yes, I did look up flights to see if I might attend the events in person, and
the buzzkillmy husband said, “no.”
In summary, for the first time in the history of this very blog, Which Ways Up?, I will hand over my keyboard to a guest blogger, also known as the buzzkill my beloved husband, Rich.
Am I terrified? Yes. Is he terrified? Probably, but he won’t tell me because that’s the kind of guy he is. He has a rather large opportunity to share his uncomfortable stories about me, rather than what is typical on these pages. You know, where I share funny stories about him (mostly without his permission).
I have told him not to worry about content length. One-liners are welcome – as long as we don’t break the weekly-post continuity of the last six years. And (I cannot decide if this makes his assignment more terrifying or not) I suggested asking my readers to submit questions or ideas.
Did you read that right? Did I just say that YOU could offer actual writing prompts to this man who has witnessed all the awkward moments that I would prefer to stay hidden safely in the walls of our home?
Yes, because that’s the kind of writer I am.
No, clearly, I’m not, but as I’ve already dug most of this hole…
Please comment with your questions, your thoughts, or anything at all really that you might like to hear from Rich himself. Perhaps you will find your answers in the weeks following this third wrist exorcism.
