Dangerous doldrums can take hold this time of year when nights stretch as long as Rumplestiltskin's nose and the warmest spot in the house is buried under a mountain of comforters in your very own bed.
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In the past, you may have noticed a trend in these columns to focus on introspection, and you might expect more of that as Winter Solstice and the approach of Candlemas lend themselves to navel contemplation. I'm not dissing contemplation, not at all. But writers must avoid passivity.
When I have suggested to you that relaxation opens the door to creativity—so that you can produce ideas and words as if you were a relaxed dairy cow turning on her spigot—I'm not suggesting somnolence. When you moodle about the house, take a relaxing swim or a walk, strum your guitar, consult your gut, chat with your inner kid and all that good stuff, the creative product only appears on the page if you write it down.
I have to remind myself of that this time of year. I'd rather stare out the window for hours and be mildly surprised when dusk shades the windowsill by 4:30 in the afternoon. I'd rather lose myself in following link upon link on a dream quest for an affordable fare to the Caribbean, or hunt for an enticing recipe for bean soup.
A writing colleague complained the other day that she can't get into her novel. She's hung up. She thinks it's fear that's quelling her words, and she may be right. We know that fear, that sly old stinker, can mask itself with aplomb. Doldrums may be a mask for fear. I hate to see her hung up. She has a brilliant idea for a novel, and the first chapters are stellar. She has set up a conflict for her main character, Anders, that's a doozie.
She's decided to listen to Anders. We think he might be lingering somewhere behind and slightly above her right ear. He might appreciate seeing his words in print. If she hears him, she could jot down what he says even if it never appears in the novel. I have a sense that he's frustrated and wants to speak.
It's never good to leave a character languishing.
So, what would you suggest she do? Moodle? Meditate? Contemplate?
Yes, and then what?
Ah, take up her writing tools and put down words. You know, something magical happens between the brain and the fingers, but the thing is—the fingers have to be moving and forming words for the magic to occur. My colleague needs new Moo.
My dear readers, it's a time of long, dark nights, of cold and fatigue, sometimes even of a bit of depression. But you know what? If you peek from the corner of your eye, it's the time of year that fairies twinkle between old vines entwined around the roots of a tree. It's the time of year that the Northern Lights cascade like green and red curtains from the black-domed sky. It's the time of year that words appear on a page when you move your fingers.
Happy writing!
Nan Lundeen
www.nanlundeen.com
Nan Lundeen's book of poems, The Pantyhose Declarations, is available at amazon.com. She is seeking a publisher for her handbook, The Moo of Writing: How To Milk Your Potential.
Artwork copyright Cynthia Morgan.
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