Now, not New Years Day, is the beginning of the new year for me. It comes with the greening of the grass, the leafing out of the bushes and trees, the blooming of the daffodils, the rise of the tiny bluets, and the lengthening of the daylight hours.
Some writers rise early to get their work in first, before they go on to other things. At this time in my life, writing IS my life. Now, I am all about experiences and thoughts, polishing my craft, editing, writing, and rewriting. The work is never done. Something always lingers. I am not retired or self-employed; the hours of my day are not free. I am a writer.
I think a lot about this affliction of being a writer. It means my mind is always working. The characters never stop talking, the story lines never really end. I’m always thinking of a better way to say something, a better path for the story to travel, a wittier way for my main character to respond to the story’s antagonist.
Where is the scene happening? What is the weather? What does the place look like, feel like, smell like, sound like? How does the story person feel? What will they do next? What happens to them?
It is a tortuous life to be a creator of stories and story people. Tortuous – and delightful.
Now, at the beginning of my New Year, there is more light to motivate me and to draw my writing thoughts out onto the computer, or the pages of my journal. There is more time to look out the window, to find inspiration, to let my mind wind around possibilities. Oddly enough, there is a tingling in my fingers that tells me it is time to write – time to put aside the movies and dramas I’ve been watching and gather in my story thoughts. Time, once again, to get it all down and out of my mind.
Spring – the start of the new writing year. I’m ready!