Most writers struggle with finding writing time in their busy lives and they search for ways to be more productive with the time they do have. During a pandemic, it has become even more of a problem than ever before. As a writer, we have many other things to do besides write the novel.
Some of us are juggling extra “writerly” tasks such as:
I invented a new condiment.
I know you’re probably thinking we don’t need a new condiment. After all, we’ve got ketchup, soy sauce, mustard, relish, plum sauce, salsa…is there space in the fridge and on the table for another one?
As a writer, I sometimes wonder if I have anything new to contribute to the book world. Occasionally when I enter a bookstore I have a moment of panic. There are so many books in there and how can I write another one to jostle for space on the shelves? Would anyone even pick up my book if I ever get published?
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A few very bright sunny days had arrived in the middle of ‘The Lockdown Winter’ as I refer to it. I’ve had trouble focusing on writing since December 26th. I can’t imagine what is worth writing about, as I am only conscious of the things I am not allowed to do at the moment. The way my brain works this thought took me scurrying down the familiar rabbit hole of “why am I so stuck?”
It’s December 21st. Happy Solstice everyone!
Winter solstice – the longest night of the year, marking the beginning of the planet’s slow tilt and turn toward spring’s days of increased light.
The changing of the seasons has been revered throughout the ages in ancient civilizations, indigenous cultures and various religions. Celebrations included feasting, gathering with loved ones and gift giving and were the origins of our modern traditions at this time of the year.
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Bah Humbug (def’n): An expression used when someone does not approve of or enjoy something that other people enjoy, especially a special occasion such as Christmas. (Cambridge Dictionary)
The BAH HUMBUG Christmas of 2020 is coming, steadily advancing, crawling along, daring us to disregard all the Public Health Warnings that bombard us daily with the dangers of Covid-19. Upwards of one half the population of Ontario is in the Grey Zone … locked down once again. We are all cautioned not to travel, not to shop except for essentials and to stay home to protect ourselves and others.
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Here it comes, the darkest days of the year as we slide into winter—and we’re in a pandemic. I think most of us are ready to say goodbye to 2020. It wasn’t a great year, but it won’t quickly be forgotten. Now Old Man Winter is begging us to hibernate and the government is asking us to stay home too; stay safe. What better time for a writer?
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My writing is going really well these days. Almost ‘happy dance’ worthy.
At the risk of jinxing whatever forces are at work here, there it is, stated out loud. Well, written in black and white on the page.
I’m a bit giddy about this slow but steady shift taking place. There’s no time to waste wondering why this is happening right now, or worrying about how fragile or temporary the momentum may be. I just tip my smiling face downward and keep on writing.
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An early Thanksgiving in Canada, with the prospect of another Covid-19 shutdown looming over us, has brought on the “winter blues” a few weeks earlier than usual. The common phrase “it gets dark so early now” has many people beginning to hibernate. The colour display this weekend on the back roads of Grey County was breath taking. Yet my morning musings seem to draw me unwillingly into the yawning void of the future.
In two months the first year of the newest pandemic Covid-19 will be logged into each of our ship-of-life books. The world moved incredibly fast in my life time (1946 – 2020) and it seems destined to continue to do so. As maudlin as it may seem I keep struggling with the question:
“What am I leaving behind?” or put it another way “What of me lasts?”
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