RSI and when your books come back to haunt you - by Roz Morris
It's final revision time on my latest novel, Life Form 3 . I've been living at the computer, desperate to spend every moment with it. And yesterday morning I woke up unable to move my right arm. To be truthful, I could move it, but it hurt so much I preferred not to. Reaching for my glasses left me a gasping wreck. Keeping still wasn't much better. I’d felt it nagging the previous day, but never thought it could turn into this. The repetitive strain injury was back. In a way this seems like divine retribution. In my first novel My Memories of a Future Life , I inflicted a cruel case of RSI on a concert pianist. I imagine some deity that sits on the interface between art and life has thought it would be very fine to dump the same fate on me - and right when I need my fingers most. In my defence, I haven’t used the RSI device glibly. Its details didn’t come from comfy googling, they were earned. My RSI journey began when I became a sub-editor in the 1990s, when desktop publis...