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Month: August 2018

Screenshot of Chapter Files – 1st Draft – Book Three

Here you can get a glimpse of how I ‘do it.’

That first Word file contains a detailed synopsis and outline of Book Three – The Gathering Fails. The files that follow hold finished 1st-draft chapters. The first two books of The Last Elf Series contain 52 chapters (52/4=13). I plan for Book Three to have 65 chapters since it introduces a number of new characters.

I vary in my method – sometimes writing in chronological order, sometimes not. (Yesterday, I drafted a chapter in Book Four – The White Lily. Yes, the last three chapters of The Last Elf Series have been written and modified several times).

If you look closely, you’ll see chapter numbers with triple digits. Consider those as jigsaw puzzles pieces on the table awaiting their insertion into the correct location.

When I begin the 2nd-draft, I’ll string the chapters together into a manuscript which goes to my editor for a first review.

Love to end this with “Ok, back to work.” But, it’s time to give Pepper a trim and a bath.

9 things I learned from my fight with bladder cancer

As Jane Friedman said, “Not everyone can write entertainingly about themselves (and some don’t want to). For writers who aren’t yet known, it will be hard (if not impossible) to interest other people in the details of your personal life, unless you’re a superlative writer.”

I agree with her assessment that many are not interested in the details of my fight to survive bladder cancer. Moreover, I am not a superlative writer … yet. Though after reading Stephen King’s On Writing (which I highly recommend to every would-be story writer), I may never be and should just be happy with struggling to reach competency.

So, why bother? When you get to #9, you’ll understand.

1Though hematuria (blood in the urine) “is usually not a reason for major alarm,” see your doctor right away. I put it off for nearly 6 months. I blamed lifting furniture and boxes after a move, sitting on a rickety high stool for hours, consuming red wine, taking my hypertension diuretic, and a lingering kidney stone. To this day, I’ll wonder if things could have been ‘better’ if I’d seen the doctor right after the first occurrence.

2When you get the diagnosis, you’ll go through the five stages of grief. Whether you are a writer or not, take pen or keyboard in hand and get it all out and down on paper or the screen. It helps. A Lot.

3Pick a good urologist. My dad once told me from his hospital bed, “Somewhere in this world is the worst doctor in the world. I hope he isn’t here.” Put my dad’s genderism aside for the moment. Your insurance may have too much or too little to say about this; but, do your homework. Medical schools attended, references received, hospital affiliated with, and even the size of practice play a role in your decision, all point to a competent doctor. But, by ‘good’, I mean all of that AND this – pick one you trust.

(Side note: If you live in or near San Antonio, Doctor K is the urologist to see. No nonsense, direct, informative whether the news is good or bad. I saw in his eyes that he meant what he said. I knew I could trust him to do what was the best for me and my family).

4Your attitude and your behavior are integral parts of your fight and survival. You can mope and cry your way through chemotherapy. Or, you can bake brownies, tell jokes, work on your first novel, and gain weight. Or, you can do a little from both columns. We’re all different. Each of us deals with life’s problems in his or her own way. Yet, even when they’re pumping poison into your system, you have the opportunity and responsibility to support those around you. Seize both. You’ll be a better person for it.

Trust me, I’ve been there. It helps if your attitude is positive (even at the most negative of times) and your behavior is relentlessly helpful toward those along for the ride, especially the nurses.

5If surgery is still ‘the gold standard of treatment’ by the time you read this, your anesthesiologist is just as important as your surgeon, as is every member of the surgical team. From the surgeon to the staffer who cleaned the OR after the previous surgery, they all deserve your respect and thanks.

6Recovery from a radical cystectomy can be a hoot. They will tell you a good night’s sleep is paramount but wake you at midnight for vitals and then again at 5 am for labs. In between, it’s all about bowel movements and surgeon versus hospital protocol. When you’re ready to leave the hospital re-read the ‘4th Thought’ above. I still regret some of my behavior.

7No matter how much your urostomy bag frustrates you, it’s far better than the alternative. Besides, after a few weeks, you and/or your BRE (bag replacement engineer) will be pros. You’ll adapt to your new lifestyle easier than you think. As a bonus, you get to learn about fluid dynamics and air pressure.

8Laughter and a good sense of humor truly are the best medicines. Sometimes, I let the bag fill to bursting before walking into the men’s room at the Flying Saucer and re-enacting the Tom Hanks’ scene from League of Their Own.

9We all have the responsibility to clear the path for those who follow us. Donate time and/or money where they’re best used and most fulfilling.

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