The Empty Chair
My writing space is a corner of the lounge. I’ve always written there. Even when the children were younger and living at home, with the TV going in the opposite corner. Then I simply put the headphones on with music playing to mask the sound, no worries. Once I was in the zone, I could shut out the jagged edges of the real world and immerse myself in my own creations.
I write science fiction and fantasy adventures. Deep space in the far future and parallel worlds full of magic give me joy and tinge the real world with echoes of that excitement, as I work on characters and plot points in my chair in the corner of lounge. So far, I have had one book published and self-published two trilogies. I’m busy working on a series featuring a grumpy grandfather dragon struggling to adjust to family life, after having lived a solitary existence – and no, it’s not for children. It’s for adults who enjoy exploring family tensions with a humorous twist and a dollop of fantasy adventure. And I’ve been having a blast writing it.
Except… I’m not. Hardly at all, in fact. And that chair in the corner of the room – tucked behind my husband’s computer and facing the bookshelves, where I’ve spent hours and hours pouring out words – is now mostly empty. Back in March, we both went down with COVID-19. It was horrible – both of us were very ill. Himself was fighting for breath, to the extent that the GP was phoning him every day for progress reports. As for me, I was battling with joint pain and extreme fatigue. Fortunately, we both recovered without needing to be hospitalised. But that fatigue has never fully left me and I’m now living in a twilight world, where I have to measure my energy in spoonfuls. So if I have a shower and wash my hair, I will need a rest and probably won’t be fit to do much for several hours. On a bad day, walking up and down the stairs finishes me off. Though it tends to vary quite a lot. There have been days when I’ve actually been to the shops, or down to the beach. Mostly though, my world has shrunk to moving between the bed and the settee. Often I’m asleep until mid-morning and cannot get out of bed until midday. I’m also steadily losing weight, which isn’t a bad thing – yet. And losing my hair, which isn’t a good thing.
However, it’s been an unpleasant surprise to find just how much energy writing takes. Not book reviews, or stuff like this. That’s relatively easy. But inhabiting a world, where Castellan the dragon is flying around mountain peaks trying to cope with stroppy daughter, Emmy Lou, and inconveniently curious granddaughter, Sammy Jo, is not as easy as I’d thought. Apparently, creating these stories of mine doesn’t just take spoons, it takes cupfuls of energy. On my very best days, I can only nibble away at my writing in small bites. The most I’ve managed in one go since March is 1,500 words, and I paid for that by being unable to get out of bed for the next four days.
And the worst of it is… I don’t know if the words will ever again spill onto the page the way they used to, back when I was able to sit in the chair in the corner of the room for hours at a time, with the headphones on.
Sarah Higbee is an author of novels and short stories and part-time Creative Writing tutor at Greater Brighton Metropolitan College in the UK.
Website: www.sjhigbee.com