Don't Give Up

William Shakespeare was not impressed when we met.

Me? I'm trying to put on a brave face in front of the diminutive literary giant and failing badly.

It's easy for a writer like me to fall into the trap of becoming overwhelmed by a feeling of inadequacy when confronted by someone I can't ever hope to emulate. I've often felt like giving up writing after reading Iain Banks or Haruki Murakami. I can't write like they do so why should I bother trying?

A couple of people in my writers' circle have recently informed me that they are giving up writing. They both cited disappointment with their lack of success with books they had published. This has got me thinking about my own situation. The odds are stacked against me becoming a literary giant.

So why bother writing at all? It's hard work, demands a lot of time and produces scant monetary reward. Putting in the same hours at work would make much more economic sense.

These are some of the thoughts I've had:

Writing is like golf.

I don't play golf regularly. I've never been tempted to take it up but I have played a few rounds in my time. If I did play golf I would do it without the expectation of winning the British Open. So why expect to win the Booker Prize with my writing?

What would I do someone saw me playing golf and said that I could earn as much money as Tiger Woods and if I gave them a few thousand pounds they would show me how? Laugh in their face, of course. But what about those predatory publisher that make similar promises? What is it that makes us writers so vulnerable?

If I did play golf I wouldn't expect friends and family to spend hour after hour trudging around after me watching me hack my way from hole to hole. So why do I expect them to drop everything and read whatever I write as soon as I send it to them?

Then there's the issue of practice. If I want my golf to improve I need to take lessons, which I have to pay for. OK, I might get some help from a playing partner who could make a few observations about my technique, or lack of it. Another golfer may be able to spot some obvious flaws but if I'm to remedy them I'll need professional help. Writing is very much the same. If I keep on writing the same way for year after year there's not going to be much improvement. Other writers might point out that I'm telling rather than showing, or that my characters are stereotyped but I'm going to need to attend some courses or get some coaching if I'm going to change things. Practice is essential, but it needs to be informed. The right kind of feedback is essential for progression.

Very few get to be professional golfers. It's the same with writers. Yet golfers keep on golfing, they don't give up just because the hurdle to fame and fortune is set unreasonably high. They play because now and again they hit an almost perfect shot and that gives them immense satisfaction. Nobody else needs to see their hole in one, though it's even more fun if they do. Sometimes I write something that makes me sigh with pleasure or laugh out loud. That's why I write. If it makes someone else feel the same way, then even better.

My advice is this. Write. That's what writers do. Commercial success is an unrealistic expectation forced on us by a society that demands instant gratification.

Cancer

Ever since I was diagnosed with prostate cancer I've been meaning to write a blog about my experience. I've hesitated so far because of fear. It's that feeling that keeping quiet about something is safer. If I say I'm feeling great or doing well, this might change just because I've said it. Unvoiced fears are somehow less potent.
So I'll take a deep breath and have a go but please forgive me if I chicken out and bury this draft in the same place as all the others I've started during the last year and a half.

I suppose I'd had the cancer for a couple of years before diagnosis. I'd allowed the pain to increase to the level where I had to admit there was something wrong and needed to have myself looked at. Otherwise, I'd have continued in denial and continued to blame the discomfort on bruising or piles. I'd been needing painkillers in order to sleep for at least a year before I went for a prostate examination. Even then, although my psa level was 6, I demanded a recount before allowing my doctor to refer me to a specialist.

The specialist sent me for an MRI scan and a bone scan. The MRI scan showed I had prostate cancer which had spread locally and into my lymphatic system. He also insisted on performing a brutal biopsy on my extremely sensitive prostate so that he could give me a Gleason score of 4+3. I didn't see the need for this after the scan but my specialist said that he couldn't treat me if I refused to have the procedure carried out. With hindsight, I should have told him where to shove his instrument. I was peeing blood for a week just so he could write some numbers down on his form. But, hey ho, hindsight isn't granted us until well after the event.

When my specialist announced the scan results he called them 'disappointing'. He said I had a particularly aggressive cancer and that it had already spread. This meant that removing my prostate would not get rid of the cancer. I think this was the disappointing bit for him because this was essentially what he did for a living. I asked him what I could do to reduce the spread of the cancer, whether there was anything special I should eat or avoid eating. He screwed up his face in deep thought and announced that he'd heard that cooked tomatoes were good. I was put on three monthly hormone injections.

This was the beginning of my cancer experience. Once I'd absorbed the news and spent some days in fearful panic, I decided to ask for some help away from the mainstream medical system. The stuff I read on the cancer charity and NHS websites was very depressing and warned against doing anything other than things instructed by your doctor. Changing diet was bad, for example, because this could interfere with medication.

I consulted an Ayurvedic doctor. He was absolutely brilliant and provided me with a huge boost to my morale and infused me with hope. He advised me to meditate twice a day, take some supplements and gave me a reading list. Things started to look up.

I started to work with a naturopath who advised me about my diet. I cut out dairy, meat, gluten, fruit, sugar, alcohol, caffeine. I ate a larger proportion of green vegetables together with seeds and nuts supplemented with oily fish.

After six months on this regime, I had another scan. My cancer had retreated and was no longer in my lymphatic system or neighbouring organs. This, of course, was good news. My specialist put this down to the effect of the hormone treatment.

Now, a year later, I'm feeling better than I've done for years. The diet has become a natural part of my life and I genuinely don't feel deprived. I can actually eat or drink anything I want. I just choose to do what I'm doing in order to give my body the best chance I can to heal.

Everyone is different. I've been fortunate that I've had wonderful support and what I'm doing seems to be working. Not everyone can be a lucky as I am. There is, however, a purpose to everything I do. It's to put as little strain on my immune system as possible so that it can start to heal my cancer. If I distract it by making it have to clean up toxins I introduce through bad food or other forms of stress, it won't get the same opportunity. That's it really. There are no absolutes involved only gentleness and kindness to myself.

I don't believe that my cancer can be cured by medicine or radiotherapy or surgery because it's something that my own body has created in response to stress. Only by relieving this stress can I hope to reverse the process. That's why I only eat organic food, drink only reverse-osmosis filtered water and try to keep my mind and body as relaxed as possible.

So far, so good. But wasn't that what the man who jumped off the Empire State building thought as he fell past the twenty fifth floor?

photo credit: Big MRI via photopin (license)