Dry January
I've been going through a dry patch in writing. Before Christmas I had all sorts of plans about January -- a new year, getting back into the new novel, maybe being a little more organised, perhaps even a new routine.
But life has had other plans, and perhaps my unconscious has had other plans too. We had two separate bouts of Covid in our household, beginning on 29 December for 10 days or so, then a 2 week gap, beginning again on about 23 January until yesterday. Thankfully I escaped this time, although I don't take my escape for granted as I have had this unpleasant illness twice already, despite all my jabs and keeping as safe as I can, with masking on public transport and in crowded places. I have also had to write a good deal for other purposes, which takes energy and time.
My unconscious -- that's another matter. It laughs at my plans. It becomes shy and unavailable when I think I might want to write. It becomes critical, telling me that really I should be doing other things, that I can't write anyway, and who am I to think that anyone would want to read my writing? -- things I half feel may be half true. It's discouraging!
I rely on my unconscious mind to come up with ideas and people and plots. I don't know if it's the same for other writers. When I write, an amazing magic begins to shape my work, and it's mostly not planned. Sometimes it doesn't work too well, but other times it has a profound effect. I have an idea of where I want my book or story to go, a kind of loose framework, and then I just write and see what happens.
But -- it's been January, and dark, and cold and wet, and quite frankly I have just wanted to hide away. I've also been pretty busy with other things, and that shy and temperamental unconscious mind needs a bit of space, a bit of latitude, a bit of feeding with art and music and books and poetry, a bit of sunshine, a lessening of stress.
So -- February is here, at last! The days are drawing out, the shortest day nearly six weeks behind us, the longest day a mere 20 weeks ahead! And the days will be long and light many weeks before then.
I'm learning not to fret about the daily words on a page, but to allow a bit of space for creativity of all kinds, wherever it comes from. Today I cleared out the under sink cupboard. Creative? Maybe. It certainly feels helpful. There's something about physical clutter that clutters the mind too.