This is going to be a somewhat depressing blog post, at least in a sense. As you’ve probably noticed, I’ve been out of commission for quite a while, especially since the beginning of the year. I haven’t written any new short stories since March, and I’ve barely managed five or six blog posts in total.

The Weight of It All

The reason for this is twofold. First, I really gave it a go trying to write a novel. My first attempt in over 15 years by the way … Second, and more significantly, I’ve just been feeling terrible. I’ve been dealing with all kinds of stress related to being a special needs father.

I don’t want to provide a complete list, as it wouldn’t be very constructive, and for those who aren’t in my situation, it might be difficult to fully understand. But to give you a sense, what I’m dealing with includes:

• Not really having any breaks during the day. And sleeping badly or not at all during nights.
• No real breaks, no vacations. Just no prolonged time to recover and reconvalesce.
• Constantly being concerned about my son’s skin infections and his lack of hygiene.
• More often than not, being worried about his future and what we can do to protect him when we are no longer capable or no longer there.
• Taking him back and forth to school and feeding therapy, which takes hours each day.
• Trying to keep a good mood in the family, even when my marriage has felt more like a piece of paper than an actual partnership. We are committed to this, but it means most of the little time we have together is spent trying to avoid conflict, because we are both so tired and stressed.

And that brings me to the novel. If you’ve read my recent collection of short stories, you’ll know a little bit about our life. Basically, what we live each day is just a variation of what Carrie and Jonathan experience in those stories.

Putting the Novel on Pause

The novel project about Deborah’s experiences in the Paris of 1968 as a missionary daughter of the Latter-day Saints was something I truly felt was my project, something very dear to me—and it still is. I feel this story has to be told eventually. The problem is that I just can’t do it right now. I don’t have the time, the space, or the energy. Even as I dictate this, my son is virtually sitting on my lap, demanding attention. There just aren’t enough opportunities for someone else to look after him, for reasons too long to get into here.

But that’s how it is.

So, I’m stopping my efforts to write the novel for now. It has become another source of stress, and I simply don’t need any more of that. Writing should be something that helps me cope, not another stressor. I have to find a level of writing that is non-stressful and helpful, even if it hurts me to no end to stop this project.

What Truly Matters

A realization struck me the other day after I attended a meeting with some Latter-day Saints for research. One of the speakers said that we just have to do what we can to spread the gospel, and that’s enough; God doesn’t ask for more. Now, I’m not out to spread a gospel—I was just doing research—but that saying struck something in me. I felt that, yes, I have to do what I can. And what I can do right now is take care of my son. That’s what’s most important.

This led me to a thought experiment: If I live to be 80, what will I look back on with more pride? A book series with five or ten books that I could be proud of? Or having ensured that my son could live on without us?

Of course, it’s the latter.

To be honest, given my current state, both endeavors feel like all-or-nothing projects. It feels like a zero-sum game. I have to put everything I have into either writing books or ensuring my son is cared for and – maybe – can learn to take care of himself. When the choice is that stark, it’s an easy one. My life feels like trying to build a career while also being preoccupied full-time with my son’s care—a situation I don’t think will change, even as he gets older. The parameters may change, but the stress level won’t significantly decrease.

You should never say never and of course the guiding star is that things will become easier for my son – but the rest of us are getting older and not stronger and there will be more challenges, such as caring for our remaining parents and eventually taking care of our own health.

The Path Forward: Returning to Short Stories

So, before anyone suggests I can “just write a few hundred words a day,” I’m going to say it plainly: No, I can’t. My mind is burned out. I have to survive each day, and that’s how it feels. A big project like a novel feels psychologically too heavy. Writing a few hundred words as part of something so large is, for me, too much. Other people may be stronger, and kudos to them, but that’s not me right now.

If I’m going to write, it needs to be for a project that is smaller. That means short stories. That, I believe, could work for me again. After all, it worked for me for many years until I had the audacity to think that I could do more.

Therefore, it is with great pain that I must once again throw in the towel and admit I’m a failure—at least with regard to writing a novel. But I am not a failure as a father. And I know I could become one if I put too much on my plate.

My writing needs to be just enough to keep me afloat mentally—a crutch, a support, not something that stresses my ass off.

So, it’s back to short stories. I’m hoping it will work for me. Not every week, but occasionally. Let me know if you have some ideas about where I should begin. I’ve been digging a lot into 1968 and could write something from that, of course. But I also feel I might want to explore the present, the 1980s, or even the future post 2025.

I’ll just begin with one story of a few thousand words and when it is finished and then we will see where it goes from there. And you’ll be the first to know when it comes out.

– Chris