It's nine in the morning and my feet are soaking in a ginger root hot bath once again. Why? Well, Diane suggested it and the quad of women playing recorder in the house yesterday agreed that it will help me recover from the flu I picked up on Friday that manifested itself on Saturday and beat the snot out of me on Sunday...nasty, nasty, nasty. The house smells of ginger. Good thing I like ginger. I feel that I might have to deal with this for a few more days at least.
BUT...It did not stop me from writing my minimal 500 words yesterday. I won't look at the muddled words I put down for a while, but I put them down. Don't forget your words. As a writer, that's all you can depend upon.
I think my next book will be, "The Year of Being Sick". While nothing I've had since Thanksgiving has been deadly (well, the flu can be), no matter how much I carp about it, being under the weather for an extended period of time does lead you to have some weird thoughts that can be extrapolated into a weird semi-humorous conspiracy story. Just what was in that flu shot? My wife and I had different flus and different times. Who sneezed on me to give me the cold I had? Was it on purpose? And why can't the doctor identify the type of respiratory infection I had? What isn't he telling me? Is it really an alien parasite? So much bullhock to write. So little time. Time to heat up the ginger root water.
Write on! Write on!! Brothers and sisters, amen. Write on!!!