Day 5: Writing through pain, finding rhythm, and why geese make better therapists than cats.
Whinge Warning & Mini Family History: Go straight to the writing stuff below if you’re here for the craft talk, research tips, and creative inspiration. I won’t be offended. Much.
This morning started with my usual coffee klatch with my cat on the back porch…
Coffee Klatch, noun, synonym for kaffeeklatsch (kaf·fee·klatsch/ˈkafāˌklaCH)
A coffee klatch is what my mountain-dwelling family called it when we sat around drinking copious amounts of coffee while setting the world to rights. The dictionary didn’t recognize when I misspelled it and I went down the rabbit hole of looking for a reference to it. I didn’t know it started with a “K” and not a “C. So, I learned something too. It comes from the German word, “kaffeeklatsch” which is coffee (kaffee) + gossip (klatsch). It was a popular thing to do in the 1950s. And I just looked into some ancestry notes and my maternal grandfather could trace his grandfather Oscar to 1879 Germany. My great-great grandfather I think.
So, I assume my mother introduced me to that term through either that rich generational experience or a cozy mystery novel she read. She has read at least a hundred a year for years. When I was a kid, it was smut/romance novels, that I would sneakily read when she wasn’t looking.
Back to my cat, she’s terrible company, honestly. She doesn’t listen to a damn thing I say, just sits there judging me with those green eyes while I ramble about whatever story is clawing at my brain. Meanwhile, the Canadian geese nod along like they actually get it. Sometimes I think they’re better listeners than most humans.
The whole menagerie was out this morning: ducks shepherding their babies across the water, anhingas stretching their wings like they’re doing yoga, and a bazillion other flying things I can’t name but appreciate now. We can talk about writing out there, or not. The birds don’t care about my plot holes.
But let’s back up to last night, which was rough as hell. We went out for dinner—had a smash burger at this pizza place because apparently I make questionable life choices. I can’t eat pizza right now, which breaks my heart in ways I can’t adequately explain. Food has always been a love language for me. Growing up in those tiny Appalachian mountains, on top of a mountain so small you could miss it if you blinked, food was how we showed love, how we celebrated, how we survived. That’s a story for another time, when I’m feeling brave enough to dig into those particular shadows…
Here’s the thing: I should know better. I have gastroparesis. Still a relatively new diagnosis, but I spent a year puking before anyone figured it out. A whole year of my body rejecting everything I tried to give it. So yeah, the smash burger was stupid, but sometimes you want to pretend you’re normal. Sometimes you want to eat the damn burger and pretend your body won’t punish you for it.
It did, of course. This morning brought puke and knee pain as a lovely reminder that my body keeps its own brutal schedule.
Writing Through Pain (The Craft Talk You Actually Need)
Here’s some auntie advice, not your mom telling you what to do, but your cool aunt who’s been through some shit and lived to tell you about it: Writing is how I disappear from stress and responsibilities. Not in an unhealthy way, but in that necessary way where your brain gets to go somewhere else for a while. The trick is learning that this isn’t selfish, it’s survival.
I used to fight being a morning person. Tried to squeeze my writing into everyone else’s schedule, force myself into someone else’s plan for productivity. But here’s what I wish someone had told me earlier: don’t force it, nurture it. I’ve become a morning person and I’m rolling with it instead of fighting my natural rhythms.
The hardest part isn’t advocating for writing time with other people. My wife has always been supportive. The hardest part is advocating for it with myself. Giving myself permission to prioritize something that feels like play but is actually work. I’m a nicer person when I can write regularly. Everyone benefits when writers write.
Bonus, this connects to something I’ve been researching about gastroparesis and trauma. Turns out there might be neurological connections between psychological trauma and digestive issues through the vagus nerve. Studies show that gastrointestinal conditions like gastroparesis involve delayed gastric emptying, and there’s growing research about how vagus nerve stimulation can help with trauma-related symptoms.
The body keeps the score, as they say. Sometimes writing is my own version of vagus nerve stimulation, a way to regulate my nervous system when everything else feels chaotic. The research is still emerging, but the connection between trauma, stress, and physical symptoms like gastroparesis is becoming clearer.
Point is: if you’re writing through pain, through stress, through whatever your body is throwing at you, you’re not being dramatic. You’re being human. And sometimes the best thing you can do is show up to the page exactly as you are, mess and all.
Research Worth Reading:
“Gastroparesis as a complication in the patient with traumatic brain injury” (Romanian Neurosurgery)
“Vagus Nerve Stimulation and PTSD” (Recent clinical studies)
“Psychological controversies in gastroparesis: A systematic review” (PMC)
My Writing Yesterday
Yesterday I was supposed to write fiction, but instead I spent the day wrestling with technology—rebranding and adjusting all the Substack settings like I actually know what I’m doing. I added two paid posts: the first two chapters of my work, completely unedited…actually, I’m lying. I checked for grammar and spelling because I’m new to this whole Substack thing and I was terrified you wouldn’t like the real mess. I’m only human. I’m allowed to be vulnerable and then pout if it doesn’t work out.
Today’s Plan
First things first: I need to get my 1000 words for #1000wordsofsummer. I’m going to focus on my book, diving deep into the story that’s been scratching at my brain. Then I’ll come back for a second post today. A double post day where I’ll actually talk about the book itself, what it’s about, and where it’s going.
After I’ve been swimming in those words for a couple hours or so, I’ll reread what I’ve written and try to only edit the egregious things. Baby steps, y’all. This is harder than it sounds. My brain wants to fix everything, make it prettier, make it more palatable. But sometimes the rough edges are where the truth lives.
I’m also going to try to be social in the 1000 Words of Summer Slack channels and maybe here on Substack. Instagram can wait—I have no idea what to do there anyway. Maybe I’ll do some research, maybe I’ll just let it sit in the corner and gather digital dust.
The real work today is taking care of my insides: limiting caffeine, no eating after 7pm, taking all my meds like a responsible adult. My head feels potentially messy, so I’m going to try to prevent that with pockets of… well, I haven’t figured that part out yet. Maybe more water or low-sugar juice klatch with the cat. Maybe more conversations with geese who actually listen.
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