When I got really ill as a teenager, and had to leave school for a while, my mum suggested that I finish writing it and send it off to a local children's book competition. The entries were read blind, a fact I think worked mercifully in my favour, as I now cringe in embarrassment at what the judges must have thought reading it against the entries of adult, professional writers. That particular manuscript will probably never become anything other than a file on my computer, but I have since written others that will hopefully turn into "real" books at some point (with some luck and hard work.)
Writing all of them taught me several things, one of the most important being: you cannot write a novel in day. Even if you are an extraordinarily fast typist, or dictating your work, trying to write 50,000+ words in a day will leave you with crippling RSI or an MIA voice. Writing a novel has to be done in chunks, whether it's a little bit every day, or a little bit whenever time allows. I wrote that first novel primarily in the school holidays, so there were long gaps between picking it up and putting it down. Finishing it was a matter of not giving up, doing it a little bit at a time, even if it felt like it was taking forever.
These days, a lot of tasks take me a long time. When I have people coming over, I have to start cleaning up several days in advance because I can't do it all at once. And no, my apartment isn't excessively dirty or untidy! Making soup is a three day process - Day One: Chop onions, celery and other fresh vegetables. Day two, boil them in stock, along with any canned or frozen additions. Day Three: Puree, and you finally have soup. There used to be a fourth day - strain the soup before serving, but then I realised life is short and I'm not on an episode of Master Chef (plus I tell myself the stringy bits are extra fibre.) I'm often asked "Can you do stairs?" and the answer is "Yes, it's just takes a while." The same goes for getting in and out of cars.
The thing is, none of these tasks would get done if I didn't start. Nor would they get done if I gave up in "chapter one." Sometimes you have no option but to keep going - there's no alternative but to keep climbing when you’re halfway up a staircase - but sometimes you do have the choice to give up on tasks, and the motivation to keep going has to come from you. As tempting as it may be to try and do everything all in one go, it's just not going to happen when you're ill. Even if you manage to push yourself enough to complete the original task, you're going to screw the rest of your week up by making yourself too tired to do anything useful the next day. Writing has taught me the patience to pace myself. Or perhaps chronic illness has given me the patience to write.
Another thing writing has taught me is that there doesn't always have to be a tangible reward for the things you do. Ask the majority of writers if they make enough money to live on, and the answer will be no. Ask them why they still want to write, and they'll stare at you with a vaguely perplexed look indicating the idiocy of the question and answer something along the lines of "How can I not?" The writing itself is what drives most writers, not the possibility of monetary success (though I bet they'd all say a bit of that would be nice too.)
I've made some money from writing and associated work. Not a lot, not even a medium amount, just some. But that's never been a reason not to do it.
I don't know if I will ever be well enough to be able to work enough hours in a week to support myself financially - in any job, not just writing. I do know that I need to work at least a few hours a week, and spend at least a few hours writing, to keep myself sane. The monetary rewards from those hours are not a lot. But the intangible rewards are priceless.
Finally, you don't have to know what's going to happen for things to work out okay. Each time I've sat down to write a novel, I've had an idea of a few scenes that I want to include before I get to the end, but haven't had a clear idea of how to fill in the blanks in between them. Invariably, I've ended up writing other scenes that turned out better than the ones I originally had in my head, writing thousands of words of rubbish that made no sense and had to be deleted later, and followed plot bunnies for pages at a time in the hopes that they'd lead me somewhere useful. At the end of it, I've either finished a "manuscript" or written a "something that will never see the light of day, but taught me some lessons anyway."
I don't know what's going to happen with my health. Not just long term; most of the time I don't even know what's going to happen with my health in the next couple of hours. But so far it's all worked out okay anyway. I'm hopeful that things are going to continue to work out okay, even if my story is turning out to be something quite different to the one I thought I was living originally.
Thanks for reading,Little Miss Autoimmune.