My fifties have been a roll out of brand new physicians. And it has just dawned on me that I should attempt to make all of my appointments in one day. I will call this my Spa Day. I won’t return home until each part of me has been treated, prodded, stabbed and squished. Mammogram-check. Annual physical-check. Blood work-check. Skin check-check. When did it happen that we need so many specialists? Isn’t there someone knowledgeable enough to do it all? It gives me pause that I am a series of disconnected parts to be diagnosed.
I would like to apply the same philosophy to my writing life. My disconnected pieces of writing, from my recently completed novel, to my attempts at poetry and various articles, all need to be gathered together and poked or prodded. I wonder, is there a doctor for this? Is there someone knowledgeable enough (and naïve enough) to take on my body of work and tell me, “Get out now, while you are still partially sane!”
Anyone, anyone? If I call it a Spa Day will you reconsider?