Thoughts on writing and life for March 2021
The other morning, I went out early for my walk, even though despite the sunshine it was still cold—really cold. (That’s the thing about Ohio. How it looks from inside the house is vastly different from how it feels when you go outside!)
But I went, not because I was particularly enthusiastic about doing my 2.7 miles but actually because of the reverse. Lately, I’d been feeling sluggish, tired, generally pooped out, and I hoped that at least doing some cardio (such as it was) might rev me up, physically and mentally.
While I walked, I went through my list of what I had to accomplish: a couple of client projects, a redo of the Powerpoint slides for a webinar I’m giving next month, new strategies to generate book sales. But it all felt a little too “been there, done that” like I was spinning my wheels but going nowhere fast.
Then, as I walked up my driveway, I saw it: the first early blades of something green (crocus, maybe?) poking through the still-cold ground. How brave of that plant to stick its little nose out (so to speak) when there was a very good chance that in the next day or so, snow might fall again!
When flowers like irises, snowdrops and hyacinths emerge, it reminds us that, no matter how cold and dark the winter may have been, there is still life ready to appear, and that spring is just around the corner!
And I suppose that also applies to our writing life. While in theory we should have been very productive since COVID eliminated the possibility of going anywhere but to our home office, the fact is that all that enforced restriction and isolation has led many of us (myself definitely included!) to feel burned out and bummed out.
It’s hard to be optimistic about anything when it seems like all we are doing is waiting. We pitch a story idea and wait. We reach out to reviewers and wait. We submit our work to competitions and wait. We query agents or publishers and wait. And the longer we wait, the more we believe that it has all been in vain, that no one wants what we are writing, that what we have written isn’t good enough to win an award or get us representation or be published.
That’s how I was feeling when I spotted those brave little stems of green. And ridiculous as it may sound, that’s all it took to make me feel a little better, a little hopeful, a little more like there might still be something ready to blossom for me. There was just a tiny stem of hope, a tender blade of enthusiasm, poking through the frozen soil that was my spirit.
Tomorrow when I go out, I’ll look for more signs of spring in my flowerbed. And when I get back in my home office, I’ll do my best to keep that reminder of possibility alive. And maybe, just maybe, something will bloom.
But I went, not because I was particularly enthusiastic about doing my 2.7 miles but actually because of the reverse. Lately, I’d been feeling sluggish, tired, generally pooped out, and I hoped that at least doing some cardio (such as it was) might rev me up, physically and mentally.
While I walked, I went through my list of what I had to accomplish: a couple of client projects, a redo of the Powerpoint slides for a webinar I’m giving next month, new strategies to generate book sales. But it all felt a little too “been there, done that” like I was spinning my wheels but going nowhere fast.
Then, as I walked up my driveway, I saw it: the first early blades of something green (crocus, maybe?) poking through the still-cold ground. How brave of that plant to stick its little nose out (so to speak) when there was a very good chance that in the next day or so, snow might fall again!
When flowers like irises, snowdrops and hyacinths emerge, it reminds us that, no matter how cold and dark the winter may have been, there is still life ready to appear, and that spring is just around the corner!
And I suppose that also applies to our writing life. While in theory we should have been very productive since COVID eliminated the possibility of going anywhere but to our home office, the fact is that all that enforced restriction and isolation has led many of us (myself definitely included!) to feel burned out and bummed out.
It’s hard to be optimistic about anything when it seems like all we are doing is waiting. We pitch a story idea and wait. We reach out to reviewers and wait. We submit our work to competitions and wait. We query agents or publishers and wait. And the longer we wait, the more we believe that it has all been in vain, that no one wants what we are writing, that what we have written isn’t good enough to win an award or get us representation or be published.
That’s how I was feeling when I spotted those brave little stems of green. And ridiculous as it may sound, that’s all it took to make me feel a little better, a little hopeful, a little more like there might still be something ready to blossom for me. There was just a tiny stem of hope, a tender blade of enthusiasm, poking through the frozen soil that was my spirit.
Tomorrow when I go out, I’ll look for more signs of spring in my flowerbed. And when I get back in my home office, I’ll do my best to keep that reminder of possibility alive. And maybe, just maybe, something will bloom.
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