Confessions of a Word-aholic
A Writer's Life is not all swanning around in the Piazza and drinking wine on the terrace ......
I'm blogging over at Author's Electric today about the downside of being an Indie author - self-inflicted, of course!
A few weeks after I had my second child, short on sleep and high on anxiety, I woke up one morning and when I opened my mouth to speak, found that only gibberish came out. The link, between what I was saying in my brain and what came out of my mouth, was broken. I was utterly terrified. Exhaustion - the doctor said - what you need is sleep. So, a couple of pills were swallowed, baby, feeding bottles, and toddler were handed over to a panicky 'What do I do now?' father, and then I slept for 14 hours straight, woke for a drink and then slept again. The following morning, my voice was back in its normal place, the tongue articulating what the brain dictated. But I've never forgotten what it was like not to be able to communicate.
Since then, I've been a compulsive communicator. And compulsive is the word. In fact, there's a label for it and I think it ends in 'aholic', and has nothing to do with the amount of wine I drink (though, on the other hand . . . .)
|Kathleen, swanning around in the Piazza|
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