Imagining the Impossible

The search for an agent continues. As a working writer, my time is often limited to weekends. Jobs, as many of you surely know, expand to fill the time between Sunday evening and Saturday morning. They’re showing no signs of slowing down.

I was excited that I had an entire weekend with no plans. I was going to spend it redoubling my agent search, and writing up yet more stories. I’d run into an agent’s page that actually asked for other finished works, published or not. I would’ve thought all agents would be interested in how prolific prospective clients might be.

Then I woke up sick on Sunday morning. I don’t get sick often, and this wasn’t head cold sick. It was a profound dizziness and nausea that happens to me from time to time. The only thing you can do is hold your head still and try not to move your eyes. Not very conducive to looking for agents.

Of course this had to happen on what was one of my only free weekends so far this year. An entire day stretched before me in which I could not read, watch television, or use the internet. It’s very hard to sit still and not move your eyes. I couldn’t really sleep because I’d just awoken from a full night’s sleep dizzy as hell.

If it had been a work day I would’ve had to call in sick. How sad that a sick day comes on a weekend! My weekends are my busy time for writing.

My affliction (don’t worry, it’s not catching! This isn’t coronavirus here) involves being unable to read or write. Even now I need to take it easy and avert my eyes from the screen as I type. (I learned keyboarding the old fashioned way, with typewriters in high school.)

It’s a beautiful sunny day around here. I should be outside. Or at least writing what I imagine it must be like. Writers are good at imagining the impossible.

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K. Marvin Bruce

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