Winter Rest
By Barbara O'Neal | November 22, 2017 |
Photo by Pavan Trikutam on Unsplash
Here in the Northern Hemisphere, the earth is bedding down for a long winter’s nap. The daylight hours are short, shorter, shortest, and the nights are long and cold. Bears are hibernating deep in their caves. Deciduous trees have shed their leaves. In my garden, all life has fled underground, where energy is being stored for the next season of growth.
We humans are meant to bed down, too. If we follow the wisdom of the earth, we’ll go to bed earlier, sleep a little longer, eat good soups and soothing stews. It’s a good time to let go of hard striving, and step back to consider what is, and what might be, and what we’d like to grow in the spring.
As writers, creative beings, we must have fallow times in order to produce good work. Winter reminds us that we can’t grow all the time. What does that look like?
Winter is a good time to read. A lot. The early dark and unkind weather means we’re trapped indoors. Instead of pushing to outline a new book or write another three pages today, consider reading a new book, or a lot of new books, all kinds of things, unrelated to any project that’s brewing—or maybe all related to a new project. Remember the pleasure of going to the library and bringing home a big stack of books? I don’t know about you, but I’d bring home all kinds of things, mysteries and romances and historical sagas and whatever else caught my eye. In those days, I didn’t realize books were curated by those who pronounced them good or bad, I just read. And read. And read.
What would happen if you gave yourself permission to read all winter, the way you used to read when you were a kid? Don’t read what you think you should–read whatever you want. Every evening, in a chair and then in bed, maybe in the bathtub in between. What would that do for your nerves?
What might all that reading do for your writing?
Another thing you might consider is—seriously—getting more sleep. Maybe move up your bedtime by an hour, incrementally. See how it feels. Often, we’re staying up to fill some imagined need to cram more into the day, but usually, it’s just a lot more nothing. YouTube or Facebook (guilty) or binge-watching something. What if you just gave it up and slept instead, like a hibernating bear, giving your body and your soul some downtime? Sleep gives your brain a chance to scrub the floors, organize the bits and pieces of everything you’ve gathered, work on the sticky plot points that have been bothering you. It also gives your body a chance to repair broken points, heal some tears and take out the trash collecting in this spot or that before it turns into something serious.
This is a good time of year to ask yourself what might be next in your writing life. Not to solve anything—answers come in a different season—just to let the questions rise. What feels good? What feels off? What habits are wearing you down, tattering your creativity? What things are good and healthy and right? What might be next for you on your path as a creative being? Is there something brewing you haven’t noticed or have been afraid to acknowledge?
Again, this is not the time to get serious and start planning, to set up steps in your planner or start heavy thinking. It’s easier than that, softer, like snow drifting from a dark sky.
This is a good time of year to do some journaling, noodling, let your thoughts wander, much as a gardener looks at seed catalogues, dreaming about what she might plant in the spring. Don’t get too caught up in it. Just let the possibilities dance in the back of your mind, now and then. Easy. Try to make everything easy and quiet.
Which goes for the impending holidays, too. Our culture makes the holidays a frenetic, noisy, overwhelming time. No matter how much we do, it can feel as if it isn’t enough.
This year, step back from that as much as you can. Set boundaries about how much you’re going to do. How much you really can afford to spend. Offering simplicity and love to your family and friends is the best possible thing you can do. You are allowed to say no. Try doing more of it.
Of course there are days and maybe even a week or two that will be busy and maybe even a little bit crazy. That’s okay. Try to just stay true to the idea of the quiet season. Give your all to those busy, noisy, joyful days and then get back to the honoring of the spirit of winter.
It’s also a good time to write, of course. Many of us write for a living, so it’s impossible to go months without writing, no matter how dark the days. It can be good to cut back a bit, in the spirit of honoring the season of quiet. Maybe a less hectic schedule will give you room to see something new in the work.
In general, winter is a slower time of year. A time to renew, rest, honor the cycles of productivity and rest, so that when spring comes, you’re fresh and vigorous, ready to grow like a field of new plants.
What can you do to honor the season of quiet in your life? What rituals or ideas have I missed?
Hey, friends—want more like this? I’ve created a Patreon world, filled with essays and notebook prompts and even a monthly podcast for writers. I’d love to see you there: https://www.patreon.com/barbaraoneal
[coffee]
Barbara O’Neal is the author of more than a dozen award-winning, bestselling novels, including the runaway bestseller, When We Believed in Mermaids, which has been published in more than 20 countries and spent many months on the Amazon Charts, as well as the Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and Washington Post bestseller lists. Barbara lives on the beach in rugged Oregon with her husband, a British endurance athlete who vows he’ll never lose his accent and their zoo of cats and dogs. You can find more information on her newsletter and where to find her on social media at barbaraoneal.com.
I find it hard to write in the winter. Having completed and submitted two novels already this year, I’m currently taking a break. Unfortunately my breaks tend to last several months. I do expect to be writing again in early 2018 though.
Till then, I’m reading a lot, including some books that may turn out to be important research material for my next novel.
Sounds like your brewing time is in the winter, which is perfect. I find myself doing a lot of brewing over the winter, too.
Living in a summer resort area, I relish something you touched on: the quiet. I doubt many adults anticipate a blanket of snow quite like I do. It adds to the quiet–sort of muffles the world, and keeps the busybodies indoors. The whole world slows down around here. We can take long hikes and never see a soul (unless… do deer have souls?).
And you’re also right about the unhurried writing. Seems less harried, anyway. And yet it seems I do some of my best work during the winter. It has to do with the quiet, of course. But I think there’s more to it. Seems like the short days, long sleeps, quiet roads, muffling snow–they all contribute to better access to the dormant mind. You know, the place where our dreams touch our waking lives. They’re in the crackling hearth fires, in the silent snowfall. Having those dream ghosts so much nearer, living with them in close quarters, makes them easier to talk to as I read and as I write.
Or maybe it’s just the quiet. ;-)
We’re on the verge of chaos (a house-full of guests is on the way). Which gives this lovely essay all the more meaning for me today. Thank you for that gift, Barbara. Have a wonderful, Thanksgiving, full of love and peace.
Yes, Vaughn, deer have souls. LOL. You read A Keeper’s Truth… :)
Hugs,
Dee
The only thing I love more than a blanket of snow making the world quiet is a blizzard when it’s falling. Snow-brother!
What a beautiful meditation on the still season. Thank you.
Barbara, this is such a lovely post! Just the title makes me want to sigh and relax into my natural rhythm that HAS slowed down with the shorter days & the first harsh breath of winter. You give us the wonderful reminder to let ourselves dream … and let things come. Like a gestation period.
Our creative life flourishes when we honor our bodies and their cycles. Getting more sleep when needed is important. Our brains – and our imaginations – do much better. I would say, “cut out excessive TV watching” as well, and instead pick up an interesting novel. Or dream your characters into life.
As for rituals, I would say, light a candle in the darkest nights and soak in the peacefulness. Also, journal your thoughts, letting whatever is bothering you rise to the surface so that you can access whatever needs to be expressed that lies deeper. We need to connect with our hearts to open to positive change in our lives – both on and off the page.
Yes, cutting excessive or mindless TV-watching is a good thing, too. I am not an anti-TV person–stories come in many guises–but it’s hard to mindlessly read a novel. Either you read or you don’t , but you don’t zone out.
Love the image of the candle. Peaceful.
I often find winter a time for rich ideas to arise, especially in November and December, as the days get shorter and darker. My natural inclination is to secede from the world and spend more time going within. I love this time of year and I loved this post.
I see I am not alone in my retreat into winter. It begs for a hot cider, doesn’t it?
Barbara, you are so wise and your words soothing. Winter means I play the piano more, sing more, and read more. I laughed when I read about reading in the bathtub :) Doesn’t everybody? I have a good husband who doesn’t mind if I read or write in bed so it can be very cozy with him and my furry friends. But really, I should try to get more sleep. It’s hard when I’m in the middle of a good book. I keep saying, just one more section, just one more chapter, and I’m a goner.
Happy Thanksgiving and thank you for the gift of your words and stories.
I do that with books when I’m reading in bed, too. Sometimes I don’t even realize how much time has passed!
The joke in our house is that even if I had a shower early or went to the gym (or both), I will nearly always also have a bath before bed, just to read and let the day go. It’s the easiest of things, right? Ah….
Movies I meant to see. Friends I see too rarely. Deep reading. Shopping for gifts. Hot latte in a crowded coffee bar. Bulky sweaters. Baking smells. “Don’t come in here! I’m wrapping!”
Ice skating. Car heater turned up high. Monopoly epics. How many more holidays with Mom are left? Rye whiskey in a special glass. Download pictures from iPhone. “Want to read me what you wrote today?”
What I hate most about winter is that it marks another year gone. For all the gifts and pie, I long for spring. I’m counting the seasons now. I love this life. I never want it to end.
Don’t ever leave us, Barbara. You make summer green and winter white. What would we do without you?
I am verklempt, dear Benjamin. I, too, find myself counting seasons now, and I never want to leave this beautiful world, either. But leave we must, and that brings power to the work, too.
Namaste. Today we are here and full of wonder.
Thank you.
Barbara, even your post makes me want to curl up in front of the fire with a hot cocoa and a good book.
I suppose, if there is a good side to recovering from surgery, it’s that I’m forced to take things slow. And thanks to you, I now see the timing couldn’t be better. :)
Hugs,
Dee
Award willing author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT (Gift of Travel)
I found special gifts when I had surgery once. I learned to watercolor and started drawing, which lead to all sorts of beautiful things. Your timing is good, and I hope your healing period goes quickly and with much time to think and dream.
What a beautiful post, Barbara. I love winter – the cold, the dark, the quiet. I especially love the opportunity winter provides for turning-inward. Silence is a rare thing in our culture and winter offers it up for the taking. One of my rituals is looking at the night sky, finding Orion and the Pleiades wheeling overhead. Another one is reading in front of the fire. I also love what you said about sleep. I’ve become jealously protective of mine!! For me, ‘no’ has become the new yes”. A ‘no’ to things that don’t nourish on all levels is a ‘yes’ to a less frenetic inner world. Thank you for the beautiful reminder. Happy Holidays to you and yours.
Oh, yes, the winter sky is precious, so glittery and clear. Happy Thanksgiving!
I have to disagree. For me, winter is when everything out there shuts up and stops demanding I spend my tiny bit of daily energy on time-wasters.
Finally, with so many things on hiatus, I can hope to have my time to myself, and to get my writing done without so many interruptions. It is a time to focus, to use all the habits I’m trying to develop of writing every moment when I can think, to finish what I’m writing which goes so slowly the rest of the year.
Reading is for normal time – if there’s any energy left – to calm the frazzled nerves that result from another day where the demands far exceed the capabilities of a chronically-ill person.
I don’t waste the winter peaceful good time on reading.
Must be lovely to be able to.
I have many miles to go before I’m finished, and I can’t spend time foolishly, for I’ve taken on far more than I can chew, and time is running short.
We each greet the seasons in our own ways, in our own times. What you’re doing is much the same–using the reduction of outside distractions to focus on things that matter in your own work. That’s powerful
Beautiful, thoughtful and yes, as writers we all need to read and allow our brain cells to soak up amazing words. Happy Thanksgiving and enjoy your reading time.
I really enjoyed this warm and gentle post, Barbara. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about better honoring the rhythms of life, even just from day to day. I suppose there’s a reason why I feel that late afternoon lull–perfect time for a cup of tea and a short reading break. There’s a paradox in all of this. Sometimes if we let go a little more and don’t strive, strive, strive all the time, we can accomplish more in the end. This is definitely true for the creative process in my experience. I often have to let the ideas brew.
Hi, Barbara:
Read more. Sleep more. If I weren’t already married, I’d propose.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!
Happy Thanksgiving to you, too! Best of all things.
This, so far, has been a strange winter for me. It’s arrived early, and there hasn’t been much writing for me thus far, burnt out I think from finishing rewrites of a tough novel through the summer and fall (while also moving to a new community and caring for my mother, post-stroke, less than a year after my brother died… :( ) and now I find myself hustling for income, while waiting for news on the book from my agent. I have been thinking about how much I need healing time, and how nurturing rest is so tied up with reading for me, but how I, like so many others, drift towards Facebook, and Netflix, and the closed-in tunnels of the Internet which alienate more than inspire. So, thanks for this. In a way it spurs me on, gives me permission. If it stops snowing this afternoon, I might just head out to the library :)
What a long hard season for you! I can see why you’re tired. And it’s hard to always have to be hustling for that next gig–it’s worrisome. You REALLY need a rest, don’t you? <3
I have really been paying attention to my Facebook and Netflix habits, even to logging how much time I spend. A little it great–renewing, refreshing. I have family on FB and lots of friends I don't get to see often, and it's enjoyable. But there's a tipping point, where all I'm doing is hitting refresh, not renewing myself at all.
Thanks, Barbara. <3 Have you heard of the Freedom app? It locks you off the Internet or just specific sites for whatever amount of time you specify (the only way to reset is to restart your computer and who wants to do that with several documents and tabs open?). I've found it very helpful, and recommend it to a lot of writer friends.
I employ Freedom every writing day, for at least 3 hours at a stretch. Otherwise, I’d really never get off the Internet. :)
Barbara, sleep, soup, reading, dreaming. And maybe a tot of whiskey too. What a great recipe for breakfast. Er, I mean winter. Thanks for a post you can snuggle into.