Sick of Being Sick

I almost never get sick. I hardly ever get colds. I think this has a lot to do with my rigorous diet and exercise regimen, which involves gallons of diet cola and pacing in ever widening circles around my home office. Either that, or my organs are so preserved by the many chemicals I ingest via brightly packaged snack treats that they have become resistant to bacteria and viruses. Whatever the reason, I'm very thankful for my strange mutant constitution.

The worst part about being sick for me, believe it or not, is that it interferes with work, although it hardly seems honest for me to call writing work. Not that it doesn't take effort, or that it isn't extremely frustrating or difficult at times because it is, but even when the writing is bad and the process painful I still have more fun doing it than almost anything else on Earth. Outside of being with my family, there's nothing I'd rather be doing. Given the choice between lounging in the shade of a palm tree on a white sand beach, frosted drink in hand, watching the sunlight play across a gentle azure sea, or having a solid day writing in my uninsulated office in New England with the heat off, I'd take the writing. Crazy, I know. (Note: If there's anyone out there that wants to set me and my family up so I can go write while lounging on your white sand beach, drop me a line.)

Anyway, I finally got back to work today, work as in actually putting pen to paper and fingers to keyboard, and it felt great even though I'm still not at 100% (maybe 83.6%). I had the records spinning, the keys tapping, it was all good.

There's something about a congested skull that prevents me from being able to write. Although I don't get sick often, I do suffer from hay fever, but that is something I can usually medicate pretty effectively. Nothing seemed to be touching this cold for a few days, so I didn't get much writing done. Trying to accentuate the positive, I had a lot of time to think, when I wasn't scrolling through my Tivo queue and sucking down chicken noodle soup by the gallon. I think I may have thought through some key problems I was having with a supernatural thriller I've been working on as well as reasoned out some issues with my next book for Hyperion. These solutions came forward when I wasn't trying consciously to think of them, either, which was really pretty cool. I'm glad my brain, which I thought had become one giant sinus, was still trying to write while my body was punking out.

In a couple days I head off to the American Booksellers Association Winter Third Annual Winter Institute, being held in Louisville, Kentucky. I expect to be hale and hearty for the event!