Emily Rapp can write her way through her son's knock-down-drag-out with Tay-Sachs Disease, I really have not an excuse in the world for not writing because of stress.
Not that everybody deals with the stress the same way. But still....
I have decided I'm going to forget a little bit about what I learned (from some people) in my MFA program, and go back to writing my way. And by "writing my way" I mean... in a complete hodge-podge, higglety-piggelty, seat-of-my-pants, don't-care-if-anyone-likes-it-or-not kind of way I used to write in before I got me some larnin' on how to write.
I've decided to write like someone left the gate open. Or like I want the Westboro Baptist Church to protest my funeral when I die. Or whatever other Facebook meme you care to adapt to the situation. (Except any meme with that stupid grumpy cat. Somebody put that cat back in the den window where he belongs, before I strangle him.)
One of the things I used to do, before someone in the MFA program said I shouldn't, was to work on multiple projects simultaneously. I did this always, without giving it a second thought. But then I was told that that "diluted" my energies. Personally, I think it just kept me -- the woman with the attention span of the average Mayfly - from getting bored. So I'm going back to that. Because when I was most prolific, I was writing my way. The odd way. The higglety-piggelty way. And it worked.
I started a memoir. About my life. Which begins with a lie. Because that's the way my life began. Maybe most lives begin this way. You start with a lie, then somehow, if you work hard enough, you end up somewhere nearer the truth.