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