Dreaming of rhinos - by Harini Nagendra

February can be a bleak month. How do you overcome periods of lethargy and re-energize yourself creatively and otherwise? 

This has been an especially bleak February - I'm recovering from an awful cough, and I passed it onto my mother - who is now recovering from a bad bout of pneumonia. Not fun.  

Here in Bangalore, it usually gets warm by early February, which is when we begin to see some of the earliest signs of spring - but it's been unusually cold this year, and the chill persists. The effects on my writing have been visible - I should have started writing book 5 in The Bangalore Detectives Club in January but thanks to all the chaos at home, weekends have passed without a word. 

How do I re-energize creatively? Well, I was in one of the most gorgeous places on earth recently - in the incredibly beautiful grasslands of Kaziranga National Park, in early January - and got to see rhinos up so close. I have seen rhinos in the wild before - in 2000, when I was in the buffer zone of the Chitwan National Park, on foot, and we spotted a rhino in the distance - and quickly retreated. That memory is a bit of a blur. We scooted away as fast as we could. 

But on this trip, we went on a safari, in a jeep with an experienced driver - who took us close, safe but close. 

Kaziranga is home to the largest population of the Asiatic wild buffalo. Here they are, in the background.

 

Yellow footed green pigeons on a tree - just before sunset. Aren't they gorgeous?

We saw otters, hornbills, wild buffalo, swamp deer - and rhinos. Their armoured hides are spectacular, but even sweeter is the memory of watching a rhino using its soft flexible lower lip to suck out massive quantities of mud from a hole and gulp it down. 

A rhino crossing the road - we stayed a safe distance behind, but it seemed to take no notice of us.

Mud, mud, glorious mud 

When I'm feeling blue, one of my best cures is to switch on music, close the door, and dance like a maniac. Or - to get out into nature, head out to a park, or take a walk around a neighbourhood lake. But nothing can come close to a forest - so this February, the memories of Kaziranga and its rhinos are what's keeping me going - that, and the hope that I will eventually be able to buckle down and dive into writing book 5!

Writing in the Nude from James W. Ziskin

February can be a bleak month. How do you overcome periods of lethargy and re-energize yourself creatively and otherwise? 

I love bleak weather. For writing, moods inspire, and what provides instant mood better than weather? Maybe music? Okay, for inspiration I also use music.

I would argue that the winter months are better for writing than other times of the year, and not just because we find ourselves trapped inside with nothing better to do. We could go skiing or shovel the walk, after all. No, being trapped inside is not why. Rather, it’s because we love warmth. We happily fold ourselves in layer after layer of clothing and blankets to keep warm. Yes, we love the warmth, but only in contrast to the cold. No one loves sweating on a sultry summer night, do they? Of course not. Certainly not me. In summer, I’m a fan of closed windows and air conditioning. No sweat, no mosquitoes, no humidity. I like to be freeze-dried, desiccated like a Slim Jim or an Egyptian mummy. But on a cold winter’s evening? Bring on the heat! A roaring fire in the hearth comforts and cossets. It provokes those delicious, cozy tremors of contentment. Like a drowsy cat, stretching each thew and sinew to its ticklish limit, before—satisfied—it curls up again and slips back into slumber’s warm embrace.

Damn it. Now I want to take a nap instead of writing.

Beware of falling into that trap. Stay vigilant. The goal is comfort, not coma. 

For winter writing, follow these instructions. Your results may vary.

1. Dress appropriately. Acceptable clothing might include a cardigan sweater, roomy pants, slippers, and warm socks. Not wool. That will itch. And no argyle, for God’s sake. You’re not a British fop, are you? (Apologies to our resident Scot, Catriona.)

2. Turn the thermostat to 72 degrees Fahrenheit. Not Celsius, you idiot, or you’ll regret it. Rather, your next of kin will regret it, because 72 degrees Celsius will kill you.

3. You may, if you swing that way, write in the nude, but I can’t recommend it. No one wants to read that kind of filth, you pervert.

4. Pour yourself a piping-hot cup of coffee or tea, but not cocoa. That will put you to sleep, and it’s the whole cat thing again. And, since your cuppa is a piping-hot liquid, must I repeat my admonition against writing in the nude? Blisters…

5. Find some good music to set the mood. Nothing too soft or—again—you’ll be nodding off before you know it. Me? I like Bach. It’s jaunty and has a metronomic quality that keeps my fingers typing even when my mind is wandering and wondering if the greats of the Golden Age ever wrote in the nude. Certainly not Dorothy Sayers.

Re: musical accompaniment, I advise against writing to songs with words. Lyrics—words—will distract you from the task at hand, viz. coming up with words. Mendelssohn’s Lieder ohne Worte is a good choice for music to write by. Sorry, my German’s not too good so I don’t know what the title means. But at least there are no words in the songs.

6. Now, sit yourself down in a reasonably comfortable chair, position your keyboard in such a way that your fingers can reach it—I wasted two weeks before figuring that out—and start writing. Most writers agree, by the way, that writing is the hardest part of being a writer.

If you follow the simple steps outlined above, you’ll find that writing in winter can be an enjoyable pastime, one that beats shoveling snow or slipping on the ice, neither of which you should attempt to do in the nude.

The perfect weather for writing

February can be a bleak month. How do you overcome periods of

lethargy and re-energize yourself creatively and otherwise?

by Dietrich

The cold months might just be the best time for writing, the bleak of

winter driving me indoors and to my desk, while the nicer weather’s

more likely to tempt me outdoors with all of its balmy distractions.

Personally, I like the changing seasons and I try to make peace with

whatever it’s doing out there, even when it’s cold and wet for long

stretches. Inside, it’s always warm and toasty, and it’s where I can

write up a storm of my own. 

I don’t often feel lethargic at this time of year, but there are things I

would consider to shake off any doldrums that might show up.

Pursuing another creative outlet can be rewarding and also re

energizing. I’m often working on different art projects or I’m

picking up my guitar and noodling away. 

Sometimes, it’s nice to just get out and go for a coffee with friends.

Or, if it’s raining sheets, I might turn on all the lights in the house,

put on the fire, turn up the heat and bake a batch of cookies and

make the place smell nice. Cookies have a way of fixing any gray

mood.

A visit to the gym or going for a long walk can keep me from

feeling like a sloth. And it’s a heck of a way to work off that

impending big cookie-butt too.

Laughter is also a great way to avoid the glum. Switching on South

Park and watching Kenny get killed again and again is always good

for a chuckle — as is watching comedians like Dave Chappelle,

Jimmy Carr, Greg Davies and Sarah Millican. 

And filling the air with great music — playing tunes that feel

empowering or ones that evoke happy memories — it’s uplifting

and has a way of transforming any dull mood.

Writing a to-do list and ticking off things that I’ve accomplished is

yet another way to counter feelings of inaction and boost my mood

— just look at all the things I’ve done today! 

And a nice reward for those earned ticks is to put on a record and sit

by that warm fire with a good book, one that might also inspire me

to get back to writing.

The Bleak Midwinter

 

1. Feb. 3 Group 2 - February can be a bleak month. How do you overcome periods of lethargy and re-energize yourself creatively and otherwise? 

 If there was ever a bleaker February, I don’t remember it. It isn’t lethargy I have to overcome; it’s rage. So in order to avoid the topic that brings that on, I’ll just go with the last part of the question; how I re-energize myself creatively and otherwise. The best way, of course, is to take a long, wonderful vacation. I’m thinking lying on a beach with a tropical drink:

Or maybe a little swimming, a little snoozing, and a lot of beach reading. 

But that isn’t always possible, so here are some mini-vacation ways that I energize myself. 

 Art—A good play, opera, symphony, art museum, or gallery. 

I didn’t mention moves or TV series because although they might be satisfying, part of the energy boost is getting out! So it might also be going to a craft fair. The trick is to immerse myself in the experience. Really look at the art, really listen to the music, really get engaged with the theater. 

 Outdoors—a hike, a bike ride, a bird-watching expedition, a drive to someplace beautiful that I’ve never been, an excursion to a flower conservatory,
or a neighborhood garden walk.

Again, the renewal comes from paying close attention. Look at the tree trunks, look at the tiny flowers on the hike, stop and find out what kind of succulent that is in the garden. 

 Food—cooking it and eating it. I love to cook, especially for a group. I like to sample new recipes, combine things so they look beautiful on the plate, and prepare them carefully so they taste exquisite. But I also love to eat out. There’s a particular restaurant here in LA that always has a new twist on the dishes they serve. The menu changes often and it’s always an adventure. It seemed like a passing fad, but a lot of people used to post their meals on social media. I always enjoy looking at the photos. I think the visual aspect of cooking is almost as important as the taste.

Drink—I don’t mean slugging back a so-so glass of wine. I mean ordering a cocktail that is inspired, or paying a little extra for a bottle of wine that is a gorgeous color, has a wonderful scent (oh, excuse me, nose), and tastes divine. But it doesn’t have to be alcohol. I have a friend who brings over exotic teas, and I love sampling them. A well-made cappuccino is satisfying, and it isn’t just the caffeine that’s restorative, but the smell and taste. 

 Reading—I read so much for work (editing, blurbing, editing my own work, reading because I promised I would, book clubs), that sometimes I forget to read my favorite authors or a book that sounds intriguing. When I’m feeling gutted creatively, I can really get renewed by reading a well-written book. Or sometimes it doesn’t even have to be well-written if it has characters I can engage with or a plot that intrigues me. I do have to admit, though, that if it has more than a couple of grammatical errors, I don’t find it satisfying. 

 Conversation—a good, in-depth conversation with one or more friends where there is laughter and good will can be just what I need to renew my creative spirit. (and good food and drink during the conversation does hurt either).

I’m looking forward to many of these conversations in five weeks when Left Coast Crime kicks off in Denver!

Getting Creative in Gloomy February

February can be a bleak month. How do you overcome periods of lethargy and re-energize yourself creatively and otherwise? 

Brenda

Living in Canada, the winter months can be gloomy. At the darkest stretch, the sun sets about four-thirty in the afternoon, adding a few minutes of sunlight a day after the winter solstice, but it is still getting dark around five o'clock as I type. The sky is often overcast, and we usually have snow or frigid temperatures with the odd above-seasonal day. The warmer temperature melts some of the snow, which later freezes when a cold front comes through, making walking and driving hazardous. Little wonder we Canadians are obsessed with the weather, heading for southern vacations when we can this time of the year.

I spend more time indoors in January and February than other months of the year. My way of escaping is to write. Sometimes, though, it's difficult to make myself settle down to work, but I have a few tricks to get myself energized and focused. 

First, I open the manuscript that I'm currently working on first thing in the morning on my laptop. I reread whatever I wrote the day before to get my brain thinking about the next scene. I don't force myself to get started at this point unless the feeling moves me.

I normally work out in the morning and find this is the best way to get energized. The days I don't feel like exercising, I bribe myself by saying, just do this exercise and you can stop ... then I go on to the next and usually complete the entire routine. I also curl a couple of times a week and find this break from the house and all concerns helps to refresh me. Curling is a very social sport, so interacting with others balances the solitariness of writing.

In this regard, last week, our chapter of Crime Writers of Canada held a social gathering that I helped to organize. Seventeen experienced and new authors got together over dinner and drinks to talk about our writing and the business. It was fun and invigorating.

When It's time to sit down and get to it, I often light a candle, sometimes turn on the gas fireplace - set a calm, creative mood. Music playing in the background is also helpful for creativity. I aim to write at least 500 words a day, especially important this February because I have a June 1st deadline to submit the manuscript to my publisher. A deadline certainly is a big motivator, but setting my own goals keeps me on track.

Reading also stokes my creativity, and I always have a book on the go. Watching a movie or another creation motivates me as well. I started watching Mad Men last week (never had watched an episode before) and find relaxing and taking in an episode or two clears my mind. I use it as a reward when I hit my word count for the day.

I used to dislike February because it's the middle stretch of winter when we're all tired of the cold and snow, but I've learned to embrace the early darkness and the opportunities to write with fewer distractions.

If any of my ideas help to spark your creativity, then my work here is done :-)

Website: www.brendachapman.ca

Instagram & Facebook : BrendaChapmanAuthor

Bluesky: @brendachapman.bsky.social 

The Winter of My (Writerly) Discontent by Poppy Gee

Q: How does winter affect you and your writing? 

Reading the other authors’ essays about the merits of winter-writing has convinced me that if I ever get stuck with my writing, it’s not my fault, it’s because I live in a place that has an almost year-long summer! 

In short, winter doesn’t affect my writing habits. I write every day, regardless of the season. The only days I don’t try to write are when I’m spending time with my family on holidays or on busy weekends. But even then I might work on something briefly. It keeps me sane. This is my desk (the kitchen table) and my cat, Venus, who is a very loyal writer's cat. 

The biggest challenge I face writing in winter are my cold hands. Old Australian houses are not built for the cold. We live in what’s called a Queenslander, a pretty, timber 1880s cottage that stands on high stilt legs. The idea is that air circulates underneath, and flood water drains away. The house is not insulated – it has thin glass windowpanes and ‘single skin’ walls which means it’s built with just one layer of timber palings. There are cracks in the floorboards that let in a draft. The cottage has a lovely wraparound veranda with a bull-nose roof which keeps it shaded in the summer. In winter, the month or two when temperatures drop, it’s colder inside than out. Kookaburras nest in the top of our chimney, so we’ve never lit the fire. On cold mornings I wrap a blanket around myself while I type. Inevitably, my exposed fingers feel icy and stiff and I have to make a hot drink to warm them up. Thanks for your compassion – mine is a very sad, moving story of winter hardship!

Writing has its own winter – the bleak, lonely days of rejection, failure and despair. This winter can come when you least expect it, but thankfully, like a summer storm, it doesn’t last. All writers experience the frustration of not using allocated writing time properly, or of shelving lengthy manuscripts that didn't work. There are the moments of envy as writer-pals soar to amazing heights, the sting of a bad review, and that first gut-punch for new authors when you realise that you won’t necessarily get invited to literary festivals, book conferences and author events. 

Writers learn to stave off the cold creep of writerly discontent. We learn that to write well, we must close the curtains on the pervasive bitterness of external elements that are beyond our control. It’s a difficult lesson to learn. 

The most devastating thing that has happened to me in my writing career was in 2013 when the publisher of my debut novel passed on my second manuscript. Their polite ‘no thanks’ took me by surprise. I was so embarrassed and ashamed I didn’t tell anyone, not even my husband. For months, when people asked me when my next book was coming out, I forced a smile and told them, ‘I’m still working away on it.’ 

The rejection felt like a mortifying failure. It was hard to tell friends and family the truth. Everyone was so excited for me when I signed that first contract. My mother’s group bought me a fancy passport wallet for the inevitable book tour I’d embark on. My dad asked me for the date for my USA launch in the hope he might be able to attend. I bought a stylish pink woollen coat that would be good for a New York winter, as the book was released in January. I soon learnt that most authors (and especially unknown Australian writers) don’t do international book tours. Instead, I organised my own book launch in a local bookshop and it was wonderful. 

I was naïve about the publishing industry and didn’t realise what a rollercoaster it was. I thought it was more like a first-class train that once you’ve got your seat, you can relax and write in peace while it cruises along. Wrong! There have many ‘writerly winters’ since then and I know there will be more to come. Hopefully I’m better prepared and more resilient. 

My pink coat did eventually go to New York, but not on a book tour. We went there a few years ago on a family holiday. By then the coat was a bit tight for me (d’oh!) but my teenage daughter wore it - it looked great on her!

To finish, here are some fantastic wintery thrillers that I have enjoyed lately.

Writing in a Winter Wonderland, by Catriona

 How does winter affect you and your writing?

Could be either - but it's CA

Scottish Me: I love winter. It's my favourite season. The light is beautiful. The shrubs in flower are all scented - daphne, witchhazel, forsythia . . . There's not a lot to do in the garden, so you never feel like you're scrambling. 

California Me: I love winter. It's my favorite season. The light is beautiful. How the frilly hat can there be flowers on lavendar and rosemary and gerbera and pelargonium and snapdragons . . . ? It's January! Where am I? Oh my God, I need to cut the grass.

But the nights are still dark. I can feel cold by being outside on frosty mornings and sparkling nights (and by not putting the heating on: it's 57F in my house right now). I can light the fire and read, eat soup, wear an extra jumper, wake up with my breath clouding and the tip of my nose pink. (What a failure of an immigrant, eh?)

As far as writing goes, winter has been my easiest and best time for the last sevenish years. I started doing Nanowrimo because 50K words in November left three weeks of December to bang out another 30K and get to Christmas with a first draft of a 80K Last Ditch Motel novel. Then two weeks' holiday, which you hard-working Americans can pry out of my slightly-greasy-from-all-the-turkey-leftovers hand (but know that you made Baby Jesus cry), and I've got about the same amount of time to knock it into shape for an end of February hand-in.

Baby Neil at Christmas back in Scotland,
where our house was proper cold

I couldn't write anything else in my oeuvre like that, but the Last Ditch books are contemporary (no research to speak of), largely peopled by characters I already know (fewer names to make up) and, also, because they're fast and funny*, they suit being written at breakneck speed while I go "Wheeeeeee!" and being edited in a tsunami of post-it notes while I go "Whoaaaaaaa!" 

*Don't take my word for it. SCOTZILLA just got the series's fifth nomination for the Lefty award for best humorous mystery.

And I don't even have that late November stick in the spokes that uses up a working weekend. No, my fork in the socket doesn't come till late January.  There's a Scottish holiday on the 25th, that has heretofore taken up a lot of editing time. Burns Night is the anniversary of the birth of Robert Burns, our national bard, and we get together to eat haggis, drink whisky and claret, read poems and make toasts. (It's a bit like a Passover Seder, with haggis as the gefilte fish and 18thC Scots poetry as the Haggadah.)

One night? you say. That doesn't seem like much time. Huh. Well, the thing is . . . for the last fifteen years I've had to make my own haggis, over the course of two days, three if you count the roundtrip to Corti Brothers in Scaramento to get suet and a big chunk of lamb's liver. I can't tell you how bonkers it is to make your own haggis. No one in Scotland makes their own haggis. It's like making your own cornflakes. But one of the traditional ingredients is illegal here. (I'm not telling you. Suet and liver are in there. Do you really want to know?)

All set for the supper last weekend

However, my mum told me on the phone yesterday that Macsween's - haggis makers to the stars - have announced a USA-compliant haggis for January 2026. Gentle Reader, I have grated my last lump of boiled lamb's liver. 

I mean, food regulations might a quaint memory by then but otherwise, next winter, I'll be picking up a haggis in a shop and throwing it casually into a pot to steam like the rest of civilised society, freeing up hours of editing time for Last Ditch Book 9. My only reservation is . . . imagine if my US pals don't like Macsween's haggis and demand a return to home-made? If that happens, I'll tell them the tale of meeting Jo Macsween out for dinner one night just up the road from a bookshop where I was doing an event. I told her about my yeartly woes and, after one of the booksellers nipped back to pickup a copy of The Macsween Haggis Bible, she wrote this in it:

 

just like Mr Kellog would have done in similar circs. Truly, no one makes their own haggis, including from next year - me.

Cx

A storm's a-coming. Can't ignore it. by Eric Beetner

How does winter affect you and your writing?

In live in Southern California about a 4 minute drive over the hill to the beach. I play beach volleyball all year round. I haven’t seen snow on my front lawn in the 33 years I’ve lived in L.A. I grew up with actual seasons, both in the midwest and New England. Brutal cold winters, blizzards, shoveling out the car to get to work or classes. I know the suffering. I also know the coziest place on earth is to be warm by a fire while the wind howls outside. And there is no place better to read a good book.

I’ve never understood the idea of a ‘beach read’. If you’re at the beach, be at the beach. Don’t read a book.

But if you’re trapped inside on a blustery winter day? Put the hot cocoa on the stove and crack that spine.

You all know about the Icelandic tradition of Jolabokaflod, right? It’s the tradition of trading books with loved ones on Christmas, and then reading together on cold nights when the sun sets early. Having just been to Iceland last year, I can tell you they are a happy and well-adjusted culture and we could learn a lot from them.

Now then, how does this lack of a true winter affect my writing? Not at all. Sure, my office gets cold. I write in what is essentially a box built into my garage so it has no insulation and whatever temperature the garage is, that’s what I’m writing in. So yes, it gets cold. But I have a space heater for that, and nice slippers for my feet.

In summer, I wear shorts and no shoes because in the afternoon the sun hits the garage door and I end up working in a walk-in oven. I have seasons in my office, at least.

What does affect my writing, I’ve learned recently, is the larger world around me. The third book in my Carter McCoy trilogy is due this year (release is April 2026) and my logline pitch way back when I sold the series is changing.

I’d started outlining, plotting, finding obstructions for the hero, set pieces for the action, a fitting end to the whole trilogy. Then the election happened. The idea of who the bad guys are shifted for me. The story I had been planning on suddenly didn’t seem right. There were larger evil forces in the world. I started re-writing.

I’m not interested in writing a polemic. I don’t want to deviate from the world I’ve created in the first two books. But a storm hit and I had to react. If a blizzard snowed me in for weeks on end, or floodwaters began to rise outside my window, it might start to affect the book. Well, a deluge of bad news began falling every day and it shows no signs of slowing. So now the antagonists in the new book will reflect real-life horrors. I don’t want to make caricatures, or straw men, but I don’t want to ignore the real world. It also makes for a great plot driver for the book. These are some bad dudes, after all. I never try to be political in my work, but I have a point of view and I don’t want to ignore the chill outside my door.

So even if the weather doesn’t affect the words going down on the page, the world does. But typing will keep me warm, at least in my soul.  

Winter, the most misunderstood season

 

How does winter affect you and your writing?

If you’re a writer, you are familiar with the fact that the seasons are metaphors for the stages of life. Winter is the time of scarcity, a time of stasis, a time for silence, and a time for reflection. The repetition in that last sentence is both rhetoric and an echo of Ecclesiastics. With the dying of the light comes reckoning, and we are uncomfortable with it, but for reasons I think most people ignore.

 

I’d argue that we have misinterpreted the circadian rhythms of life and creativity.

 

When we were children, winter was a wonderland of snowball fights, sledding, and truancy from school when snowstorms hit. We appreciated the warmth because we had experienced the cold. There was hot cocoa, a fireplace, perhaps, and memories. We were ignorant of the menace of time.

 

I don’t dismiss that with the dying of the light, the onslaught of prolonged darkness has a psychological and physiological effect on us. I wish to point out something we have forgotten - the subtle majesty of vibrancy of life that accompanies the season. Yes, it is slower and starker, which is what makes winter so undeniable. We associate death and dying with winter, but I say that is a misunderstanding. Winter starts out white and bright with snow and then becomes dull and gray with slush. It is beauty that ages dramatically in front of us, and that is disconcerting. We see change in other seasons, but it is comforting. Winter is undeniable. Odd, is it not that white is the color of purity and innocence, while black represents evil? In Asian cultures, white is the opposite, the color of death and mourning. Black is black because it contains all the colors. White is the absence of color. Ahab’s nemesis is a white whale.

 

I suspect our difficulty with winter has to do with stillness. We don’t know what to do with ourselves when we experience solitude. We don’t want to admit that certain things we face alone. American culture values activity and results, something we associate with youth and success, however that is defined. The connotation is speed is valued. Age and wisdom are seen as slower, less relevant, and passé. The lack of frenzy denotes weakness and lack of relevance. It’s in the still point that we are most uncomfortable with the season because Nature conspires against us, and forces us to seek shelter from the literal and metaphysical elements. We are isolated and the terror is our own silent scream. Winter makes us feel alone, and we have to make sense of our experiences, in our own way and words. 

 

T.S. Eliot wrote, “At the still point, there the dance is.”

 

For me, winter is my most productive season because I explore the longer arcs of my ideas. I can see the water moving beneath the frozen ice. I try not to take offense when someone says I write genre fiction. No, I write the literature of struggle. At the surface, a mystery is a puzzle piece and the end-game is justice. The appeal is we implicitly know life is unfair, and we know damn well that the arc of justice doesn’t bend because gravity wins; it is bent through sacrifice and persistence. The battle is long, ferocious, and bitter because conformity and self-interest must be overcome. Think of it this way: corporations and governments have acted like organized crime, and they were rewarded for it until people have had enough.

 

Each and every season is a memo: Tempus fugit. Therein is the choice. We can chase all the external validations: the big house, the fat bank account, and checkmark the items we are told we should have: spouse, children, etc. In my experience, the currency here isn’t cash; it’s time. The irony is with success comes the struggle to maintain it in the Hobbesian ecosystem. There is a difference between what you need and what you think you need. As a former nurse, I can tell you there is nothing more terrifying than seeing and hearing someone dying who regrets that they spent too much time working and so little time with their loved ones. The common denominator, the true democracy, is Time.

 

Rather than see the spare landscape as a menace, seize the day. If you are a writer, pick up the pen or touch the keyboard. Write that story, decide on the right word, in the right place. Pay yourself first. Find the current under the river of ice. There is a current and a heartbeat there. It is better to find your song and sing than scream into the abyss. You are doing yourself an act of compassion.

 

Kindness and compassion to yourself and others knows no season.

 

Baby, It's Cold Outside, by Angela

 

 

How does winter affect you and your writing?

Sister Souljah wrote a book called The Coldest Winter Ever, a classic in the Black community. This is not the winter she meant, but I’m guessing plenty of folks would prefer her version at this point. It’s cold! That’s a bit of an understatement. There was a time where only we Northerners understood the brutality, joy, and yes, beauty of the frigid winter months that could start as early as October and linger well into April, sometimes even May.

 I live in Cleveland, Ohio, and there was once a surprise blizzard on Mother’s Day. We Clevelander’s never batted an eye. We just added a hoodie to our Sunday’s best and kept it moving. That’s what you do when you’re born and raised in a place that spends at least three months a year masquerading as Alaska. But now, the South has entered the chat and I dare say they are not loving this single digit air temperature mixed with freezing white stuff falling from the sky. It’s called snow, y’all. Don’t panic—it’ll be gone by the time your morning grits are finished cooking. But since we’re all here, lets talk about the upside of temperatures too cold for man or beast; more writing time!

Am I right? Sure, writing’s a great four-season (for those that have them) pastime, hobby, or job, wherever you are on your writing journey. But there’s something about sitting in my favorite writing space, looking out onto the world outside my window—shrouded in a blanket of snow, the sound of wind ripping through the naked branches of frozen trees, mixed with the occasional rumble of a snow plow—that just calls me to put more words on the page.

Maybe, it’s because, although I am a Cleveland native, I’m a bit squeamish about actually braving the elements; I prefer the picturesque view from indoors, thank you very much. And you can only watch so much reality TV. Don’t judge me. So, once I’ve watched Shay and Amara’s friendship implode one too many times, or solved yet another Dateline crime, I can lock myself in my little office, fling open the curtain, turn on Chopin radio (my current favorite station) and escape into the warmth of all those lovely words waiting to be born.

Sure, I write in the warmer months as well, but too often, it’s with half a mind on getting outside, or worrying about what I’m missing by not being outside. And as a thriller writer, you must agree the sun beaming through your window doesn’t exactly set the mood, not for writing, that is. So, summer writing tends to start later, which means ending later, which means less sleep, groggy days, and excuses. Lots and lots of excuses, that typically end with a promise to write more on the weekend. But then there’s BBQs and trips to the park, family vacations, and cold drinks with umbrellas, and guests. Fun fact: Clevelanders don’t visit each other during the winter, except for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and maybe New Years’. Okay, that may be an exaggeration, but only a small one.

Winter, on the other hand, is a thriller writer’s dream. I find it so much easier to escape to the lonely cabin in the woods where a maniacal killer awaits when the world seems wrapped in a cocoon of silence, the night comes faster, the bitter cold biting into your skin carries its own menace.

Also, I know I’ll be undisturbed because everyone is asleep by 7:00 o’clock.

I do have my own cabin in woods. It lives in my writer’s brain. And yes, it does look a lot like the cabin in Stephen King’s Secret Window, Secret Garden. It’s always winter there. There’s an old potbelly stove, a fireplace, and it’s full of books and a cat. And the only people there are me and all the characters that wander in and out. Some sit and stay a while, while some are just passing through. But it’s here that I can hear their voices the clearest. Some are evil, some are good. Some live. A lot of them die right there at the tips of my fingers. The cabin is always there just waiting for my arrival. But I have to say, it seems a little easier to get to from October through April when the world seems to be, if not in a deep sleep, at least a light doze.

Maybe if I were a romance writer, I’d find the cool rainy spring days and hot summer nights, the perfect inspiration for a love scene. But for me the short gray days and long cold nights, egg me on to one goal. More words. 

 

Photo by Dimitri Kolpakov on Unsplash