I’ve never been one of those writers who writes every single day, rain or shine, all year ’round. It works perfectly for some. It doesn’t work for me. But I’m also not a writer who waits on inspiration. There are times (especially when I’m under deadline) that I’ll be writing, whether or not I feel like writing, to get the job done. Neither the clock nor the muse seems to be in control here. I wish that meant that I’m the one in control, but that doesn’t seem to be the case either.
So I’ve been thinking, lately, about the difference. Why do the words come easily some days, and others, can barely be forced into a trickle? Why do I throw myself into drafting new chapters when my research books pile not-yet-read on the nightstand, or pitching essays when the deadline for my next book looms?
I think it has something to do with seasons.
Not the ones outside. Not the weather or the calendar. But some indescribable confluence of what’s going on all around me and within me, changing as the days change.
I think when I’m writing new language, when I’m in a season of creation, all I want to do is create. Recently I finished an early draft of a novel and sent it off to my beta readers, which means it would probably be a good time to either focus on Q&As for a book of mine that’s coming out (under my pseudonym) in another country, or pitch essays online to keep my name and work on people’s minds. What did I do instead, the same day that I stopped polishing one book? [Read more…]