Life on the Edge (Suzanne Forster)

Life on the Edge (Suzanne Forster)

Don’t let anyone tell you that writers aren’t wild and crazy people. Just because we sit at a desk all day—sometimes all night—and stare at blank screens for hours on end doesn’t mean we don’t live on the edge of that steep precipice called life. Strangers to danger, we’re not.

Writers are thrill seekers. Oh, yeah. And I’m here to dispel any myths to the contrary. Consider this a public service announcement to all yee who aspire to take up this profession. You won’t be living dangerously only in your books.

Let give you just a glimpse of how wild and crazy it can get:

Just this week I drank milk that was past its expiration date. How’s that for living on the razor edge? I also walked all the way to the mailbox in my jammies. Call me an exhibitionist. I’m sure the neighbors will. But since I usually work in my pjs it seemed like a lot of unnecessary effort to take them off and get fully dressed just go get the mail. And get the mail writers must. Snail mail and email are our lifelines when we’re on deadline. They’re the only way we know the world outside our workspace still exists. TV is mostly pre-taped, so the world could have gone to hell in a hand basket, and we wouldn’t know it for two or three days.

But that doesn’t mean we’re not adrenaline junkies to the max. This very morning I had cherry vanilla ice cream for breakfast. Believe it, breakfast. I’m going to do it again, too. Next week it could be rocky road. Depends on how edgy I’m feeling. For some people living large might be having pie before ten a.m. For me, it’s ice cream. Everything about the stuff feels decadent and forbidden. I guess we can blame that on my mom.

I also killed a spider in the bathtub today. This is huge if you’re from a deeply superstitious family. My English grandmother had a superstition for every occasion, including never kill a spider in the house. I can’t remember what would happen if you did, but I know it’s bad. Really bad, as in plague, pox, pestilence, years of draught and disease, and probably a sudden, irreversible allergy to chocolate. One of her other favs was: “Never start a project on a Monday.” Yee gods, how are you supposed to get anything done? Hm, perhaps that was the point?

Okay, so out of respect for my slightly dotty Mamo Tee-sin (my pronunciation of Gramma Stephenson), I tried to get my cat to commit spider murder. I whispered to Mandy, the Cat, that she was The Great Spider Huntress and All Powerful in the Realm of Arachnids, but when the spider started toward her, she ran. I fear Mandy wouldn’t do well in the wild.

Okay, more craziness. During this last holiday season I discovered shopping at night. Not adventurous enough, you say? Just driving at night is the mother of all adventures for me. If you’ve read any of my prior blogs, you know that driving in full daylight can be challenging.

A couple days ago, I told myself to lighten up and stop worrying about everything, and for about ten seconds, I actually did. It was like being weightless, lovely and scary. Not worrying worried me.

I’m now considering meditation. You’re wondering how this could possibly be a risky proposition? Or possibly you’ve already figured out that traversing the maze of my mental processes would be tricky for Houdini, if he were still around. How am I supposed to it? Don’t know, but I’m committed. Or will be.

I’ve signed up to attend a convention for ventriloquists and their dummies. Why? The answer is probably obvious only to a suspense writer. Research! I can hardly imagine a more interesting suspect in a mystery than someone who can throw his or her voice.

I called a lawyer to get the answer to a legal question and told him it was research for a book so he wouldn’t charge me. Bad Suzanne. OTOH, my mother’s lawyer actually charged me for phone calls made to me when I wasn’t home to answer. IOW, I was charged for her dialing time. So . . . maybe it’s karma.

I microwaved my sponges, only to find out later that they were supposed to have been wet. So, that's what all the smoke was about.

I switched soap operas. Yeah, buckle your seat belts. I just couldn’t handle any more of the evil Spencer Truman on One Life to Live so I recklessly clicked the Channel button and switched to As The World Turns. Now, I’m hearing Spencer’s been killed off. One of these days when I’ve got a head of steam I’ll switch back.

Guess who wrote a sex scene that involved bungee jumping? Yes, I know, that’s pushing it, even for the likes of wild and crazy me. It might also be the reason I don’t feel the need to actually go bungee jumping. Anti-climactic, I’m thinking.

I missed a doctor’s appointment the other day. I had a little crisis at home, and I made an executive decision not to go. It felt so good! I didn't even call and cancel. I just didn't go!!! Does that make me a fugitive who’ll show up on some TV show? America’s Most Medically Wanted? There wouldn’t have been time for the doctor’s office to fill the appointment anyway, but that wasn’t the only reason I didn’t call. I’d been waiting with some alarming symptoms for nearly a month for the appointment. No one in the doctor’s office seemed to care that I was sick, and by the time the appointment rolled around, I wasn’t sick. In the midst of my crisis that morning, it occurred to me that I had no need of a doctor. I was symptom free, a healthy woman. Of course, I'll probably be fired as a patient. Eh, so what.

So, if you had any doubts about writing being a thrill-a-minute profession, I hope I’ve put them to rest. Even our deadlines can be edge-worthy. Deadline dementia is a well-known condition, fraught with ticking-clock pressure, loneliness and isolation. However, if I ever get so lonely that I start looking forward to the telemarketer's calls so I can have someone to chat with, I'll know I’ve gone over the edge.

Okay, enough excitement! I have to catch my breath, but I’ll be back at some future point with another installment of my writerly adventures. Meanwhile, tell me about one of your walks on the wild side. Did you check your expiration dates this morning?

Suz, who didn’t even spell check this blog!