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| Nail nicely manicured |
Yesterday I deleted a post I’d posted the day before. Nobody had commented but then few people do at the weekend.
The subject was ill-health and I’d been deliberately tangential in the way I’d tackled it. Avoiding answering questions most readers would probably put, then sliding away into another subject that rarely draws comments, weekend or not.
Why the deletion? I had in fact rewritten it several times, delicately walking the tight-rope I’d erected. Sitting on the couch a few hours later I decided what I’d written was puckish. Over-puckish, to tell the truth, since I’m regularly guilty of puckishness.
Had someone commented things would have been awkward. I’d have betrayed the reader. As it was there were only five page views.
During thirteen years of blogging I have occasionally offended readers. Not intentionally but I can’t pretend I’ve been entirely innocent. I try to be original and that means taking risks. They don’t all come off. I’ve been dropped more than once.
By risks I don’t mean being rude. More often offences are the result of digging too deeply into my personal life. The offence may lie in an unintended reflection on others’ lives. A complex matter.
One writes to be read. In my former trade – journalism – the rule of thumb was: grab the reader by the lapels within the first two sentences. You can see the risks. Lapel-grabbing isn’t always welcome.
Ironically this post is not one that’s likely to draw comments. Honest responses that stick to the point and don’t veer off into more comfortable regions carry their own risks.
I’ve retained a copy of the deleted post. Despite being puckish it’s well-constructed. Perhaps a little tweak here, a hint of compression there…
Waste not, want not.
I read the post and did not comment. I was going to ask what the coming surgery on Monday was all about, but I didn't think it was appropriate since you didn't mention it. I came back to see if anyone had commented and elicited a response from you that explained the surgery, but the post was already gone. I do remember that you had mentioned Bronchiectasis, which I googled to see what that was all about. So... how are you feeling? Hope all is okay there. Is the surgery tomorrow? or next Monday? Keep on singing!
ReplyDeleteNB: puckish = impish, whimsical
Deleterobin andrea: I don't think bronchiectasis deserves a capital letter. Any more than "real bastard" does.
Yes it's tomorrow. To meet Covid regulations my daughter, who lives 45 minutes away, is picking me up at 06.10. If the surgeon asks me if I've any questions (unlikely, I've already posed dozens) I shall ask him if he can sing Schubert's An die Muzik and take it from there. Getting my priorities straight.
Roderick-- Thank you for the laugh... "real bastard." I'll remember that. Good luck tomorrow. Hope it all goes well and that you and the surgeon belt out some Schubert together in perfect harmony.
DeleteI'm sorry I missed that post. Whatever your surgery, I hope all goes well and causes you as little pain as possible, with a speedy recovery.
ReplyDelete(I understand the risks of writing about health and other deeply personal issues. I've often tripped over those of my own making. Wishing you the best outcome for your surgery and recovery. [Bears repeating, friend.])
NB: puckish = impish, whimsical
ReplyDeleteCrow: There was one other reason why I deleted the post. Although I did my best to weave the surgery into other aspects of my life I couldn't rid myself of the likelihood that it might be taken as a plea for sympathy, something I strive mightily to avoid. In fact the laconic way you detailed your recent hospital experiences seemed to suggest we both share similar aims on these matters.
I look forward to hearing about the hospital experience. Listen closely to what the nurses gossip about in the hallways. You can use that in a story later on. I also look forward to hearing that you feel better as you begin to heal. Cheers.
ReplyDeleteIt's now Monday. I sincerely hope all goes well and you have a good recovery.
ReplyDeleteI echo Avus' comment. Have been thinking of your trial by scalpel since early morning, keeping my fingers crossed.
ReplyDeletePost-op update.
ReplyDeleteSurgeon's first act - hands still dripping with gore- was to phone VR and PB and say oop had gone exactly as he had planned. They texted me saying they were drinking champagne and wished I "was there".
My reply:
"Alas, I would only have been watching, since reduced temporarily to half a mouth. I have never been a tidy eater/drinker. Two or or three hours after op I was quickly in need of a new (ie, drier) hospital smock. Having discovered that the best way to drink black coffee was via a syringe. Never mind. Just consumed my best dinner ever: orange-flavoured jelly (US: Jello) with natural yoghurt. Food for the gods! Dad."
I'm going to put the kettle on, make a pot of tea (not decided yet which blend) and drink the whole damned thing to your good health and speedy recovery! Hurrah on the successful outcome of the surgeon's work.
ReplyDeleteAll: How vain I turned out to be. There are more mirrors at home than there were in the hospital and the leftward droop is confirmed in almost every room. Miserable on one side of my face, familiar on the other. I'm told it will heal but even if it does I shall spend time as this other me: semi-truculent, semi-pathetic. Now there's something to write about but not lightly.
ReplyDeleteCan't wait! I've been worried.
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