Wisconsin may be called God's Country by some, but the landscape, especially in the northern parts, is not for the meek. I've lived here all my life. I've ridden the rollercoaster that weather brings and for the most part "weathered" it without major difficulty.
The winter of 2013/2014 is different.
It began with an inate sadness. I hesitate to call it depression -- far too clinical for my present state. There is a restlessness residing in my soul. There is a need I cannot define. Ephemeral. Veiled. Half-formed nebulous thought that needs putting to paper (or computer screen) yet I have no will. Has this long cold winter sapped me? What shall I do? After all it may be months until spring.
Am I not a writer? Am I not capable of creating a world beyond this sub-zero ice-clad snow-to-my-hips place? Of course I am. I can write sun and sandy beach and ocean waves pounding; I can write of music, how it takes me to a different time, a different place. A place where I am free! Unencumbered by mittens, hats, boots and long underwear.When I arrive at any of those places I realize I am overthinking. I can surely find simple beauty in the arc of draped snow, defying gravity. Or the striated layers, another thing of beauty, those white mounds on deck, roof, trees. Or the glistening trees. Or a pillar of woodsmoke rising to the sky.
Hmmmm. This long cold winter seems to be sending me off on a voyage of self-discovery. Not what I can endure, or even my limitations, but how I can stretch myself to reach those very limits and persevere. Find words, blessed words, no matter how well they attempt to stay hidden.
Here's a truth: so much of writing for me is emotion. It spills on the page as happiness, love, rage, that dark side of my psyche that oft needs to escape its bonds. I can find words for that. Easily. No matter what the weather I will find words to bend to my will. I suddenly realize they have not been hiding from me, it is I who have been hiding from them. Even in my discontent I can put pen to paper and create!
A bit of advice: Don't suppress your sense of self when you are writing. There is no need, no matter the topic. To write does not always mean to share. Sometimes we write simply selfishly -- therapeutically so to speak -- to maneuver ourselves past a bad patch, to revel in a good happenstance, to sing without music and to dance without fear. I'll be dancing as fast as I can until spring arrives. And writing all the while.
Was just thinking about this the other day. How a writer's personal mood can drive the tone of the story and bring so much 'punch' to the words. It's always a craft, learning to let the right amount of yourself and your characters into the story.
ReplyDeleteIt's so true. As I said in the posting, so much of what I write is emotion driven. I'm not really sure if that's a good way to be. It works fine for poetry, but when writing in other venues things can "creep in" without my even knowing. Kinda scary.
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