My journal was full of bits and pieces of me, not unlike the diary I kept as a teenager, but now there was a big difference. At 34, Rheumatoid Arthritis was ruling my life. My doctor told me to keep a record. “From one to
ten, write your pain level down everyday.” His suggestion proved to be a smart idea. By documenting my progress, we could see what combinations of medicines were working and find out if diet or my daily activities played a
role.

So, I wrote in my journal everyday and added other things going on in my life. Before long I saw an unconscious pattern emerging—I was concentrating more on my pain than anything else. Being a positive person, I didn’t like what I saw. Dwelling on the negative would hurt me mentally as well as physically. So, instead of thinking about my pain so much, I became an avid reader. Reading fiction, I could escape reality and, as I read self-help books, I gained inspiration and encouragement.
As the years went by, I ordered books, I checked books out at the library, and I read every magazine I could get my hands on. The ones of courageous people overcoming obstacles and stories of faith were my favorites. Then
one day while writing in my journal, it hit me—why couldn’t I write a book?
I started with what I knew. That’s the advice given in all the books about writing. With my left hand waiting for a joint replacement, my right hand pecked away as the story in my head was transferred to the keyboard. The more I
wrote, the more I was consumed by it and the more I concentrated on my story, the less pain I felt. Now, instead of sitting idle with a heating pad on my shoulders, I had a notebook in my hand, writing down new ideas for my story. When pain woke me up in the middle of the night, I thought of things to add to my writing. Often, I would fall asleep in the middle of a new scene to be continued the next morning.
Within weeks, I was submitting stories to magazines and sending a book proposal to a publisher. So far, I’ve wrote about my dogs, my childhood, living in the country, and a murder mystery that was never solved. At this point, four stories have been published and two more are pending. I’m not getting rich, but it’s not about the money. I write because it helps me keep my mind busy and off my aches and pains. For years, I looked for an answer. This might not work for everybody, but, for me, writing away the pain is the best therapy I could have ever imagined.
Linda C. Defew © 2007 butyoudontlooksick.com