VI: Stressful moments, sweaty people, tired faces, I can see

For Christmas this year, Kate asked for a laptop for the sole purpose of writing.

"Well, if it had really been just for writing, it would have been some kind of chrome book, and that's not what we got. We answered a lot of specs questions that Danny had about how we would use it, and he decided it would be better to get something else, remember?" said the Researcher.

"I hate specs. They are so easy to drown in - analyzing every single stupid little detail that doesn't really matter - trying to compare things that you can't even see! And then, when you finally get to hold the thing in your hand and see it in real life, it's always different. You can read hundreds of reviews and still not know how it will work for you." This was an ongoing argument between the Anxious One and the Researcher. The other selves currently sided with the Anxious One more, albeit a bit grudgingly.

I am going to spell out the logic in a straightforward way:

Kate just had a baby.
Postpartum recovery is difficult.
Daily exercise helps the recovery be less difficult.
Exercise is not very fun.
Writing is always very, very fun.
Running is fast and easy and can be done outside.
The fresh air, sunshine, tiny pathetic strip of forest in the suburban subdivision near Kate's house - all of these things are wonderful to experience daily.
But it is too cold.
Kate caved and bought a gym membership.

Issues with the gym membership:
It is at the local community college gym.
The gym facilities are excellent.
Kate has lots of friends who go there.
It has an indoor track.
It has nice showers.
The gym's price includes childcare for up to two hours every day.
The gym's price also includes Danny's membership, a zero-entry pool that is not freezing, and exercise classes.
The gym parking lot is always crowded.
The front desk people at the gym are morons. But that's kind of expected.
There is also a cafe with the nice smell of coffee.

The gym is attached to the student center of the community college so there is a nice area in the lobby to sit.

The question: 

And write?

Is it it a nice place to write? That is what we are experimenting with right now. How long does it take to get through a workout? How does the lure of writing affect the motivation to get out the door and do a good workout? How can we somehow create a system that helps satisfy these two innate needs: consistent exercise and consistent "consecrated" time for writing? Does this solution make sense?

Holding a physical copy of the first book I wrote was incredible. ("I can't believe you're posting a link. That's blatant self-promotion," scowled the Anxious One. "It's also logical; whoever reads this will need a way to figure out what we are talking about," retorted the Researcher) To be honest, words cannot really describe -

"You moron. Of course words could describe it." said the Anxious One. "I bet now you're going to waste a lot of words attempting to describe it."

"Waste? It was GLORIOUS! We could write volumes about how glorious it was! And I mean literally, volumes!" said the Tragic Romantic.

No, no. We are not going to do that. The point of this time - this system, this plan - the point is to set apart time for us to actually finish some of the more pressing, more important projects.

"Right. But it also makes sense to start with something easy, low-stakes, and somewhat fun. Like a warm-up. I read about it, but I guess I could read more..." mused the Researcher.

The Anxious One scowled. She hated change of any kind. She liked routines. When the routines changed, she always complained. Everybody by now was used to this. It was just a fact. She also had a strong aversion to, for lack of a better word, cheese. She just hated it. The mere idea of a "writing warm up" seemed ludicrous. It's not like they were writing a marathon. And the idea of warming or stretching finger muscles seemed...just totally pathetic.

It remains to be seen if this is going to work. The only way it will is if the warm up time is limited.

It literally expires this very minute, so that's all there is to say about the topic for now.

V: "This is my idea of FUN!"

Everybody within the Mirrors of Self was staring in awe at the computer screen. The expressions ranged from the Anxious One's mildly raised eyebrows to the ecstatic spasms and convulsions of ecstasy of the Tragic Romantic.

The proof copy of their first self-published book would be arriving on Thursday.

"Well. This is...amazing," the Writer said. The Reader-cat purred in perfect, utter contentment and joy.

"You guys are forgetting the one obvious problem with this situation, though," said the Anxious One. "Now that we've written a book, what will be writing about now?"

The Researcher suggested, "Well, we could go back to that novel we started - "

"NO. NO. NO. NO." The Anxious one was adamant.

"There's no shortage of poetry. We could certainly continue to explore that world," said the Tragic Romantic. "My list didn't actually get shorter after we finished the 70th poem for that book."

The book was called The Kates of Wrath. The name had been Dorky McDorkface's idea as a wordplay on the great American novel that everybody loved to hate and had really creepy imagery about breastfeeding on the final page, something which Kate was intensely involved in these days. The cover art was a picture of the giant basket of grapes that all the kids had picked that one summer - they had picked indiscriminately, so about half of the grapes were not yet ripe and were nasty sour things.

The Researcher was not miffed at all by the refusal to go back down the road of that failed novel attempt. "No, this was a great experience you guys! On Thursday we will get to see what the book looks like for real - "

"Hmmph. I am positive that there are typos. And I can't believe that you accidentally clicked the 'publish' button before I had the chance to look things over more carefully! What if somebody buys it and the page numbers aren't correct! What if somebody buys it and there are typos and they leave a bad review and -"

"Now, now, let's remember the reasons why we decided to write that book in the first place!" calmly reminded the Researcher.

"It's because it's a safe outlet for all of these emotions!" suggested the Tragic One helpfully.

"It's because it's a safe outlet for all of my weird words and puns that I like to make up!" added Dorky McDorkface.

"It's because it's a safe way to try to communicate certain ideas to friends and family who otherwise might not have any clue about our inner world, and how we sometimes really struggle with relationships, feelings, motherhood..."

"You're just listing off the sections of the book - Relationships, Feelings, Teenager, Motherhood, Ideas...but like, the most fun one to write was definitely Ideas," said Dorky McDorkface.

"I concur!" said the Philosopher.

The Researcher made a motion with her hands as if to say, calm down. "Yes, yes, of course, that's all true and well. But like, the other reasons had to do with testing. Could we manage to actually get our act together enough to write a book, especially with the looming deadline of Christmas - a slightly socially acceptable time of the year to randomly send friends and family a book of poetry in the mail? Could we handle the chore of editing the manuscript? Could we follow the directions on Kindle Direct Print paperback print - or whatever it's called exactly - could we do it? And then the other logistical questions: how long would it take between submission and getting a book in our hand? What would the quality of the book be like? Do we actually notice different errors in the print version than in the online version? What can we expect for the next book? Can there be a next book?"

"I guess we will have to wait until Thursday to really tell that for sure," said the Philosopher.

"That's...that's in forever!" sighed the Tragic Romantic, and collapsed onto her plush chaise.

"Hmmph. Well, I know of at least a couple book projects in the works, but are any of them good enough for publication, I mean, really? A silly book of poetry is one thing. We are obviously not going to expect to get rich off of this, or even to sell as single copy to someone who isn't our family," said the Anxious One grumpily.

The Researcher smiled and nodded, "Of course you're right - who buys poetry? That was just a fun, quick, low-stakes, high-rewards project. But I think you're quite underestimating the book project potential. I have several books I've been planning, myself..." The Researcher took out her android phone from her jean jacket pocket (she used the Google Keep app to record all kinds of ideas and facts).

As a side note, I want to mention that regular jeans do not have pockets big enough for much - "Hey! I helped you wrote a poem about that!" squealed the Tragic Romantic. "I also helped!" chimed in Dorky McDorkface. It goes like this:

Women’s Pockets


An old receipt.
A ticket stub.
A yellow Lego hand.
Lots and lots of tidbits
on their way to the trashcan.
But nothing that is wider
than a twoish-finger span.
It's obvious that these are the
invention of a man.

Now why I lose my phone so much
I think you'll understand.


* * *


"Yeah! I added that part about the yellow Lego hand!" said Dorky McDorkface. "I thought it was funny!"

The Anxious One rolled her eyes.

"By the way, I have lots of ideas for poetry books we could write!" said the Tragic Romantic. "Let me show you!" She pulled out her notebook. It was some knock-off moleskin thing that was utterly in pieces. A pen was shoved between the pages along with about a dozen random papers with lots of words and sentences jotted down and crossed out. It was a mess.

"I think we should write a practical book about some of the things we have figured out about how to optimize meal planning so that it's healthy, economical, tasty, easy and each meal uses elements that can overlap with the others," said the Maternal One. She got along very well with the Researcher when she was trying to tackle housework and mothering optimization problems. These occasions were generally somewhat limited.

The Believer said, "Well, I think we could write something about our faith that others might find interesting."

The Mystic chimed in, "Oooh, like a book of prayers or something?" The Believer glared at her. "Ummmm...no. That's not a thing. At least, not a thing for us." 

The Fitness Enthusiast was bored with this conversation. She didn't really like writing much. She was also a pretty insignificant voice, though of late she had been hanging out with the Researcher, the Good Friend and me, the Writer. Because the weather had turned so nastily cold, Kate could no longer run outside, so she had bought a gym membership. Both the Mystic and the Fitness Enthusiast had insisted that physical exercise be a priority for Kate, who had to deal with the world outside of the mirrors of self and which included a postpartum body with 50 pounds to lose ("Ughhhh why do we have to put that number in writing?" groaned the Anxious One). 

It turned out that the Good Friend especially enjoyed these trips to the gym, since it was an opportunity to spend time with multiple good friends. It was actually worth the hassle of packing and unpacking children, driving across town ("And past at least ten other gyms!" sighed the Philosopher. "Isn't that...well...strange?"), and shrinking the available time in the day for other things. "Well, of course," said the Researcher. "We can get a lot of Czech audiobook listening in on the car rides, and plus running gives us a chance to listen to the audio from the flashcard app!" "I was actually thinking that I like that there's a bit of peer pressure from a friend to get there at a certain time, and that there's dedicated time while working out to text with other friends, actually," said the Good Friend.

"Do you have any ideas for a book?" the Researcher asked her, suddenly curious.

"Oh...I dunno yet. I'd have to think about that one." 

"I have LOTS of ideas for good books!" said the Philosopher. "Remember how Kate's friend suggested that there should be a book of Kate's Thoughts? We could just gather the 'best of' Facebook posts and reformat them as a book!" 

The Anxious One groaned. "That is literally the dumbest idea of all time."

Dorky McDorkface said, "Oh! I have an idea! You know how in the Swan Princess, Rogers says that Prince Derek should write a book called, 'How to Offend Women in Five Syllables or Less'? Well...what if we wrote that book!"

The Anxious One blinked. "Mmmkay. Well. I stand corrected."

I, the Writer, also have lots of ideas for books. But most of them are for tweaking things which I have already written. I don't have a strong opinion about what writing project we work on (the Researcher definitely does!), just so long as we are writing. But if we ever do get in a slump, we could repackage our blog about living in Jordan, for example, as a real book.

"And an ebook, too," reminded the Researcher. "We need to explore that world of things, too."

To be honest, I think that most everyone within the Mirrors of Self has their own writing projects which they dream about. But maybe that's because I am not really capable of imagining an existence outside of that paradigm. I guess the Sexy One and the Fitness Enthusiast might be excluded...

"I wonder what kind of books they would write about, if they were forced to?" pondered the Philosopher.

"Do NOT write down any theories about the Sexy One, please!" snapped the Anxious One.

I guess there are a good dozen writing projects somewhere in the works right now. It does not really matter which one we are writing about specifically here, only that there is some kind of outlet for it. 

"I guess the real point of this blog is for a way to explore the awful journey of postpartum recovery," shrugged the Researcher. Everyone's face fell a little bit. Remembering this was A Thing At All For Kate was always pretty crappy. 

All of us work our hardest to contribute in our own way to make Kate sane, happy, healthy, productive, interested and good. The forces beyond anyone's control sometimes prevent those things from being a reality. There had recently been too many episodes of shaky trembling of the hands and sometimes entire body, dizziness, blackness where she should have been able to see, horrific nightmares, unstoppable migraines and even full out panic attacks about literally nothing. It was obviously not coming from the Mirrors of Self, but some hardware (aka body) malfunction. Maybe some brain chemistry issue having to do with hormones. That was the most likely guess, after all.

What little I can contribute is to write both about the journey towards recovery, and the world within that still exists though it's sometimes so hard to see from the outside. It is a fun world to explore. Perhaps even useful?

The Reader purred again, this time as if in agreement. Somehow, the Reader's idea of 'usefulness' seems less selfish. The writing which she reads is most often something interesting - and therefore useful - to her. Perhaps our writing will be useful to someone else, as well.