(writing/personal) Thoughts on a grey November day

Winter has come to New England.

Christmas is coming officially now. It’s one month out from today, and my world is full of melting snow at the moment. The November rain won’t last, though – they’re already talking more white stuff for Tuesday, and my joints tell me that this year will be cold. Normally, I’d be back in bed, covers over my head, begging for spring. And I will probably get there on some days this year.

But not now. This year, for some odd reason, I’m not dreading the snow. I’m not counting down the days until it all melts, and I’m not hiding in my room. Part of that is probably because I have a new neurologist and better meds to help with both the depression and the migraines. My knees are achy, but considering the damage I’ve done to both of them, that’s not going to change any time soon. I’m even not worried about driving into work.

There’s a sort of zen peace around me now, and I’m embracing it. This winter is for rediscovering myself. I want to write every day, whether it be a blog post, or a story, or a letter to someone that may or may not get sent. I’m crocheting and cross-stitching in the evenings while I listen to BBC Worldwide (I’ve dropped my cable TV and my land line phone). I’m working on cleaning out my house. I want to read more books.

Today in my daily pages, I set myself a goal: to read in a book every day. And then to decide if I am keeping the book, or giving it away. I’m going to track it on my Goodreads page, just to see how many books I can get through. 

I’ve also decided on some upcoming projects that I’ll be working on after Winter Mysteries is done. I have a short story I want to send in for a contest, and I think I’m in the right headspace to finally write both Resonant Frequencies and Bluebird’s Lament this year. I’m going to crochet some blankets, and try my first sweater.

And I’m giving myself permission to rest this winter. It’s a time for regaining my strength and my center for the coming spring.

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