This is what writers do, out themselves on paper. We struggle with what should be private and what should be said. When is it ranting on paper (or on blogs) or when is it being honest and open about our life, and maybe connecting to people who need to hear our stories?

These were some of the thoughts I had last night at 3:00 am when I wrote the perfect blog post about privacy in my head but failed to take notes. I’ve been private about my personal life the past couple of months (except for that brief post showing the inside of my head as an exploding volcano); this is after all a blog about writing.  I think I did mention the plumbing disasters, and the sudden real estate drama last month when I sold my beloved cabin in Lake Arrowhead to move across the street so we could have a view – all of which happened in the space of three weeks.

But what’s really going on is that R. is having daily radiation for the big C and every day at 3:30 we’re at St. John’s Hospital for his treatments. This is what my life is revolving around; not my writing, not the ants or the plumbing or even the new house in the mountains, but R. – what he can eat, how the pain meds are working, and the new cast of characters in our life – the doctors, the nurses, the technicians – and needing to make sense of this by writing about it. And also to read other writers who are caregivers too. – [Thank you, Denise (http://leavingdivorceville.blogspot.com) and thank you, Elizabeth (elizabethaquino.blogspot.com/) for your beautiful, brave, heartbreaking and witty posts about life as caregivers.]

We are what we’re living, and what we’re living through is our material. And one way or the other, that’s what we have to write about.