Writing Prompt: What Would You Be if You Weren’t a Writer?

Summary

A writer reflects on the personal impact of a stroke that affected her creative abilities and contemplates her identity beyond writing, considering an alternative path as an herbalist.

Abstract

Margaret Atwood's writing resonates deeply with readers due to its plausible dystopian elements, a concept that becomes starkly real for the author when faced with a stroke affecting her creative abilities. The prompt "what would you be if you weren't a writer?" becomes a poignant question as she grapples with the possibility of losing her ability to write, an integral part of her identity since childhood. Despite the severity of her condition, she engages in immediate recovery efforts, including writing an article shortly after her release from the hospital, and is grateful for her relatively swift recovery from speech and writing impediments. The author muses on an alternative life path, imagining herself as an herbalist living a solitary life in Appalachia, embracing nature and the local folk tradition of Granny witches, providing natural remedies, and offering assistance to hikers on the Appalachian Trail.

Opinions

The author views writing as an essential part of her being, as fundamental as a physical attribute.
Recovery from a stroke, particularly one that affects creative abilities, is seen as a challenge that can be met with swift and proactive rehabilitation efforts.
There is a sense of gratitude for the author's ability to retain her cognitive functions, especially her capacity for language and writing, after the stroke.
The author harbors a fascination with nature and the healing properties of plants, suggesting a passion for herbalism and natural living.
She envisions a fulfilling life outside of writing, one that is steeped in the rich cultural history of Appalachia and centered around solitude and connection with the natural world.
The author seems to embrace the idea of becoming a local legend, a 'trail witch' who helps others and finds joy in the simplicity and mystery of her lifestyle.

Writing Prompt: What Would You Be if You Weren’t a Writer?

Margaret Atwood spoke of the reasons her books seem to hit people at their very core. Her dystopias, become terrifying. She says the things she wrote in The Handmaid’s Tale happened at some point in history in the world. The horror that a woman may find herself in while reading is not so far flung. It is outlandish but plausible. The writing prompt, “what would you be if you weren’t a writer?” Became a real challenge for me to write.Why? Because it was plausible. I faced this exact possibility in October.

I went to the hospital with slurred speech and a drooping face. I was also choking every time I tried to eat or drink. After many tests, I learned that I indeed had a stroke. The doctor came in and tried to explain what happened to my brain and the location of the damage. My stomach sank when I learned it hit the creative area. Who was I if I could not write? I never asked to be a writer. I never dreamed of being a writer. I just was. All my life, I’ve been writing. Once I could grasp a pencil and make words, I’ve been telling stories. Writing is as much a part of me as my legs. Having a stroke kill the writing section of my brain was akin to a concert pianist losing his fingers. What would I do? Who would I be? Writing is my mental health outlet and my survival throughout difficult things. I felt lost and panicked. It was a horrible feeling. I remember thinking that I would just relearn. I had no idea that the hospital staff did not know yet if I could understand the words coming out of their mouth. They did not know if I was still in there.

My friend Val is also a stroke survivor and is the co director at a stroke recovery center. She gave me advice I took to heart. She said, recovery outcomes are better the faster you start trying. I was trying to regain the use of my hand in the hospital, playing with change and that sort of thing. The day I got out, I interviewed a girl and wrote an article for my job as a newspaper reporter. I immediately pushed that part of my brain to wake up and work. My brain seemed okay, even though based on severity and location, it should not have been. Speech therapy, which isn’t just about speech, it’s more about mental acuity, was surprised. My speech was slurred and I had trouble swallowing but I wasn’t struggling with aphasia, or the loss of ability to understand or express speech. Based on stroke location, I should have been. I was working my butt off trying to recover. But, it seems, I’d dodged that bullet, or blood clot. I know. Not funny. Bad taste. But I’m very grateful to be able to speak, write and understand. Thus, what I would be if I were not a writer is a little too close for me. I would be relearning to write. I would be sad and frustrated. But my determination would astound you.

If I weren’t a writer and I had to pick an entirely different field. I would probably be an herbalist. Or, as I have friends say, a witch. I’m not a witch. I have no power. But I do enjoy being out in nature, collecting and learning about plants and how to use them in natural remedies and skin care. It brings me joy. I’d be selling little pots of hand cream made from things grown or collected by me. I’d probably live in a camper somewhere off grid in remote Appalachia and take off for warmer weather throughout the winter. Because the people of Appalachia have a rich folk history that includes Granny witches, I’d probably scare people. But they’d come to me to get rid of their maladies. I’d like solitude. I’d spend my days hiking and exploring and taking deep breaths. My companions would be the trees, the birds and the furry little rodents scampering around. I would settle close enough to the AT to leave trail magic for the hikers. I’d give myself a witchy trail name and help the hiker suffering from painful skin conditions. I’d grow my hair long and feral and allow it to mat up in knots. Hikers would hear of the legend of the trail witch and hope to catch a glimpse of her. They’d learn how she healed blisters or bug bites while providing easy calories in a can of coke. Her legend would grow as legends do. And she’d live out her days happily giving little gifts of good while being lost in nature.