Writing when Unwell

This past week was a rest week for me. If you follow me on twitter (@AmandKWrites), you may be aware that I have bipolar disorder. This can cause me all types of issues. One of those issues is I have agitated depression and dysphoric mania. What does that mean? It means that even when I'm depressed I'm still a little manic and even when I'm manic I'm still a little depressed.

You'd think this would cause an balancing effect, but that is not the case.

Both states cause my executive cognitive function to suffer.  Executive cognitive function is not intelligence, but rather things like memory, concentration, processing information, and being able to organize. When you look at a list of symptoms of bipolar disorder, there are hints at how it affects these functions, although it's only recently becoming more widely researched. Also, it affects everyone differently.

For depression symptoms, you see things like "restlessness" or "slowed behavior, and "difficulty making decisions."

For mania, you see symptoms like "distractability" and "poor decision making."

One that's often left off is forgetfulness. Working memory takes a big hit.

Anyway, this brings me to the fact that when I am struggling along my brain is doing all of these things at the same time. Instead of balancing out, it overwhelms. Racing thoughts make for poor writing thoughts. It's hard to write when you can't grasp your ideas fully. Also, even if I have so many ideas it's hard to write them down if I have no motivation thanks to the depression.

The writing advice out there is to write every day, but that is bad advice for some people. Even if you don't have bipolar, you may have other reasons that you can't write every day. Instead, I go by my own advice: If I feel like writing I will. If I feel like my head is about to explode, I'll just relax instead.

That was how this week went. I didn't write but I did other things for my writing. I participated in hashtag games about developing my story. I thought about my characters. I allowed the story to "download" into my brain. Once things even out, I'll be ready to go and writing again. If you need proof that my process works, I have started and completed a book. I didn't write every day, but I did finish what I started.

I hope this helps some people to know that taking care of yourself is important and there's no need to feel guilty if you can't write every day.

Inspiration Strikes

It has been a week of ups and downs.

Mainly downs.

Yesterday, however; I had a sudden inspiration for a project I've been working on for a few weeks. This particular work was going to feature a wealthy young woman born into a long-time upper-class family struggling with her position. While I had three chapters completed already, it suddenly hit me that this story would be great as a Regency Romance - a style similar to that of Jane Austen.

I've always wanted to write a romance along those lines, but I've never tried. I've been nervous about writing in the genre because I know that the fans are very good at spotting errors. Well, I've decided to stand up to my fears and give it a try.

Last night I fully rewrote chapter one, researched, and watched Sense and Sensibility (BBC, 2008) just to get me rolling. As if I really need an excuse to watch Sense and Sensibility.

I have a really good feeling about this project!

You may have realized by this time that I am a pantser. I admit it. I research as I go (and then more research is done later as needed in editing.) I write when I feel. Romance, in my opinion, needs to be felt. I know others are able to plot the course, but I like to run blindly into the trees and see where I end up.

It's an adventure.

Now for a treat. Here is the opening to my project in its current state. The working title is Good Intentions. 

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     Joanna was late, as usual, for luncheon with her mother and sister. She had tried to be on time for once but had chosen to walk too far along her normal route, which only resulted in an equally long walk back. When at last she arrived in the morning room, her mother and sister were already seated at the table.

     “We were beginning to think you had forgotten,” Jenny said with her usual smug affectation.

     “It wasn’t my fault.” Joanna protested although she knew quite well that it was a falsehood.

     “Indeed,” Mother said, her tone was such that Joanna knew that she thought otherwise. “You wander so far afield it is a wonder that you find your way home at all.”

     Joanna grimaced at the observation. She was considered rebellious for her love of the local flora. Few were the days when she was not found outdoors with her notebook and her fingers were not blackened from her drawing pencil.

     She did not comment on her mother’s remark. The food was already served and Joanna was famished. Filling her plate with fruit, cheese, and bread slathered in honey, she took a hearty bite of the latter followed by a long draught from her tea. Her mother and sister stared at her with raised eyebrows.

     “I hope you recall your gown and not require another fitting,” Mother said.

     A blush crept up Joanna’s neck.

     “Shall we begin our business?” Mother asked.

     Jenny took the opportunity to draw the attention away from her sister. “The invitations were delivered from the printer this morning and I saw to it that they were paid in full. We can begin delivering the cards tomorrow morning and I suggest calling upon Mrs. Greenwood, Mrs. Watson, and Mrs. Ashford promptly as they will be most displeased should news reach them before their cards are in hand.”

     Mother nodded approvingly.

     “I have also ordered the candles to be delivered by the end of the week and the musicians have been paid in full,” Jenny continued, proving she was the pinnacle of domestic management, perfectly suited for whatever husband she managed to catch.

     “Well done, Jenny.” Mother’s eyes, bright with contentment, then turned upon her younger daughter. “Joanna?”

     Sitting straighter in her seat, she realized it was her turn to give her report on the duties mother had assigned to her. “The flowers shall be delivered the morning of the ball, and have been paid in full.”

     “And?” Mother asked, raising an impatient eyebrow.

     “And…” Joanna glanced around, hoping for a distraction, but none was to be found. There was something else? She could not remember.

     “Have you scheduled an artist for the floors?”

     Joanna swallowed hard as she remembered the task. “No,” she answered, not having more to say.

     Mother sighed impatiently. “Never mind. I shall add it to my own list of what remains to be done."

     Although the task had been whisked away from her own schedule, Joanna knew she had made a grievous error and caused her mother great disappointment.

Amanda Kestrel, 2017

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