...and a chill that bit as I went from car to shop. I get pensive during the cold times. When the sun hides itself behind a shroud of cumulus I go deep within and dredge up imaginings, memories, and wonderings. Which led me to wonder: when the Earth turns back towards the light, do our thoughts turn lightward as well? And if so, could the turning towards the dark during the days leading up to the Longest Night be the reason I've battled so hard these past few weeks?
I think too much. I ruminate long and can skim the depths for fragments of things long since gone. Current washed is my mind but ghosts remain hidden under seaweed and coral and they tickle at my neurons every now and then. I'm learning to let the past go, even the ghost, drift away and make way for the new. But these thoughts - the hauntings, the wailings - aren't memories. They are distorted realities.
Through the moaning I've heard crashing as if a frozen forest were caving. Large branches weighted by the snow entrapped and I believed I was left to die. To freeze. To become one with the long, cold, dark for eternity. I've had a hard time hearing the rain, that washing that moves mountains and chisels stones. Perhaps, however, I'm listening for the wrong sound.
It is winter and rain is not of winter.
Winter is of Snow.
Not the freezing, driving doom that folds the trees and imprisons but the soft, whispers of cloud down that sing of wonder.
Yes. Wonder. Winter is a time of wonder and of wondering. It is a time for darkness and for contemplation. It is a time to let the old glaciers go and send them downriver with the ever moving, never freezing river of time.
What does this mean for me? It means I've concentrated on the crack and boom, the sturm und drang that is fiercest just before the lightening. Just before Epiphany. What my ears need is the strains of those notes that topple down from heaven with those feather light flakes. The flakes that light upon leaves and eyelashes, that laugh and tease hair. Flakes I cannot see with eyes but with heart and mind.
And what does that song say? Why, it tells of the new year and the chances yet taken. It sings of stories and imaginings, things yet created and wishing, through my fingers, to be born.
Instead of hearing the harsh thrashing listen for the soft beauty. As we pass through this Longest Night, remember the turning of the Earth back to light. Yes, it will get colder but winter is beautiful. It was made for rest, for contemplation and for Wonder.
Good morning and Happy Holidays! Welcome to the December (yes DECEMBER) edition of the Insecure Writer's Support Group. The brain-child of our fearless leader, Captain Alex, the IWSG meets on the first Wednesday of every month to air out our insecurities and to offer help and encouragement to those who are feeling insecurities of their own. Wander on over to the home page to find the list and read the posts of all the members. Also, a HUGE thank you to all of our marvelous co-hosts for this month <3
The past few months have been so crazy. We had hurricanes, car accidents, and unexpected (but not devastating) biopsy results. We also had family members come and stay with us and the joys of wandering about, entertaining, and dipping our toes into the icy Atlantic. Needless to say, I've not done much writing since October!
Still, I'm not feeling that insecure. I finished a draft of a project I've been working on for a few years now and come the first of the year I'll start the first rounds of keying it into the laptop (yes, kids, I write my rough drafts longhand! On paper. With a pen. Gasp!) As for fiction, I've got an idea that's little more than an outline/summary/first two pages. Ugh. And I have a secret to tell you: I'm not excited about it. Not at all. The story intrigues me, though. It's weird and I told myself I'd stick with it because it's a challenge. That said, my goal for January is to have 10-20 pages of this weird story that does not enthuse. Some might say to put it on the back-burner and go after a story that really draws me in. Truth: I don't have one. Not yet. And I'm OK.
Our question of the month is a fun one:
In terms of your writing career, where do you see yourself 5 years from now and what's your plan to get there?
In five years I see myself writing stories that intrigue me, strange tales that tap at the backdoor of my imagination. The ones that go wassailing, that brush icy hands against cheekbones on moonlit nights. The stories I'm afraid of. Yes. Yes, that's it. In five years I will have at least five of these goblins written. That's one a year. Not too pushy. Lots of breathing room.
And speaking of goblins at the backdoor, it looks like that baffling story that I'm so unexcited about fits right in.
"Every book is different. Some of them are pure agony, like having your molars extracted with a pair of pliers and others flow from the typewriter like maple syrup from the tree." ~ Jessica Fletcher, Murder, She Wrote.
Come January, looks like I'll be extracting some literary molars!
HAPPY HOLIDAYS! MERRY CHRISTMAS, GOD JUL, HAPPY KWANZAA, HANUKKAH, BOXING DAY, SOLSTICE AND ANY OTHER FESTIVE OCCASION I MAY HAVE MISSED.