Worry

I normally try not to write on a subject not directly related to writing. (Yes, I know I do sometimes but I try not to.) This is going to be one of those times because of something that happened last night that I know could have affected my writing for, perhaps, years. Maybe even forever.

When I learned last year that I had cancer I couldn't write fiction for several weeks. I have mentioned that in earlier posts. Today's topic is worry.

I am a worrywart. I try not to be but I am, although worry is generally useless. If you worry, for example, about whether an event will happen, it won't affect whether it happens or not. If the event does happen, your worry didn't stop it. So it was useless. If it doesn't happen, again you worried for nothing.

Now to the point. One of my daugthers, whom told me she'd be home around 10 last night, didn't get home on time. At 10, I wasn't overly surprised. I planned to have a mild conversation about being late and let it go. At 11:30, when she wasn't home and hadn't called, I was seriously getting angry. She wasn't answering any calls or texts. This is odd because her cell phone is an extension of her arm. She is never without it.

At 2 in the morning, I drive by the house where I had dropped her off at 7 p.m. and, not unexpectedly, all the lights are out and everyone is apparently asleep. A call to the house went unanswered. So it's 2:30 in the morning and I don't know where my teenage child is. We called the police.

That's when I started to lose the battle with worry. All sorts of things started going through my head. Injury, death, kidnapping by a middle-easterner and sold into sexual slavery.

And that's when I knew that if something serious happened to either my children or my wife, I would be creatively crippled, and for quite a while. Just the thought of something wrong crippled me last night. I couldn't think. I was gripped with worry.

At 3:32 in the morning she calls home, irritated that I had the police wake everyone in the house when she TOLD me she'd be home at 10 IN THE MORNING after a sleepover with a bunch of girls. And I told her she NEVER mentioned that to me or her mother. Last night wasn't a good night for her to go to a sleepover. I would not have agreed if I knew. She said she was EMBARRASSED. I decided to wait until morning to tell her that a parent's worry trumps embarrassment.

I told the police it was okay for her to stay and then my wife and our other daughter, whom oddly enough is actually mature enough to understand our point of view, went to a Perkin's restaurant and ate breakfast at 4 in the morning. The comfort of sleep didn't come until after 5.

My teenager has always been a good child. She still is. But I swear -- she is going to be the death of me, starting with the creative part of me. And I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't write.

Thanks for reading. Now get back to writing. It is the start of Day 6 of National Novel Writing Month and after five full days I have 16,751 words, which is higher than the 10-day goal of 16,670 words. I hope to reach more than 20,000 by this evening. It can only happen without worry.

Thanks again.