This Year, I Won't Poison My Daughter

With the Vocal challenge deadline looming, I was immersed in my story. The only thing better than reading a fantasy tale is the feeling of writing one. The world I had created floated before my mind's eye like a virtual reality headset. I watched scenes play out, twiddled with the action, fine tuned my characters' voices. I slashed wordy passages as if repelling noisy intruders.

I propped a printout of my draft in front of me while I folded laundry. As I cooked, I contemplated word choices. I walked the dog holding the leash with one hand, jotting in my notes app with the other. In free moments I lingered at my laptop to make edits, until diverted to the next task.

And that's how I ended up giving my wheelchair-bound daughter rubbing alcohol to drink instead of water.

It was a hot day. She called to me that she was thirsty. "Coming, honey," I said while finishing up a sentence.

My thoughts still wrangling with a troublesome passage, I filled her cup, then set it on the counter while I looked for a straw. Absently I handed my daughter the cup, then turned back to my laptop.

Her choking cry yanked at my attention. Gasping and retching, my daughter held the cup out to me. One sniff told me it was not water.

Long story short, her younger sister (for some unfathomable reason) had decided to clean her new earrings in the kitchen. In a drinking cup. Which she had left half-full of rubbing alcohol, on the counter. My mind had been so distant that I failed to notice I had grabbed the wrong cup, and my daughter had been so thirsty she chugged several swallows before noticing the odd taste.

Trying to explain this story at the ER generated skeptical looks. Perhaps they would have found my fantasy tale more believable.

Thankfully, my daughter soon recovered enough to laugh at the incident with me--or perhaps at me. Another chapter in the legacy of the absent-minded mom!

But sometimes, I worry about chapters that won't end as benignly. One of my greatest fears is doing something careless, or carelessly forgetting to do something, that results in harm to another. As a teen, for example, I put off getting my driver's license because of all the terrible outcomes for which I could imagine being responsible.

That poisoned cup was a warning. The more I care about my writing, the less I take care of other responsibilities. I do love how writing takes me out of this world. But there is no escaping this-world consequences of that escapism.

So, Vocal, I make this vow: I will practice safe authorship.

- I will not write while driving.

- I will not write while minding children.

- I will not write while doing activities involving open flame or toxic chemicals.

But ... I still reserve to myself the right to be moderately irresponsible with my writing.

I might write in the bathroom, or in my car by the side of the road. I might write in the morning when I should be exercising, or into the wee hours when I should be sleeping -- or at any time when I should be doing something else mundane. And I certainly can't guarantee that I won't switch tabs on my computer at work to slip in a few paragraphs of a Vocal story, when the inspiration strikes.

My Vocal writing in 2024 will remain sporadically, giddily irrepressible. I give myself permission to succumb to the siren song of the unfinished story ... just as long as no one drowns (in rubbing alcohol).

I wish I could promise this year to respond to every comment (already blew that one -- apologies to the kind readers I've left unthanked!). If only I could resolve to submit challenge entries before the last day (obviously, already blew that one too). And it would be a dream to participate in every challenge (nope).

I'd also love to leave more love for all the amazing Vocal authors whose creations leave my jaw on the floor, my heart warmed, my mind abuzz, my spirit sparked. Every time I read a great piece without offering affirmation it feels a bit like shoplifting. I should make time to leave more comment coinage. But, again with apologies for my sticky fingers, I probably won't.

I gotta be real about how I manage my Vocal activity, this precious respite from reality, this haven for my imagination. If I start piling "shoulds" on how I use this platform, it will end up just another bullet point on my to-do list. My camel's back simply can't take many more straws.

So, Vocal, this is my final offer for 2024:

I will first do no harm. And I will create with joy.

*

P.S. As I was writing this piece, my husband came in to ask about what I had left burning on the stove. So now I have to add to my resolutions:

- I won't write while cooking ... unless I set a timer first.