Winter Wonder—The Enduring Gift to Writers
By Vaughn Roycroft | December 18, 2023 |
Did you catch Kathleen McCleary’s wonderful post here on WU last Wednesday? It’s about the healing power of writing and it’s just plain awesome, so if you haven’t yet you should now. It’s titled Writing Your Way Whole, and in it she describes her feelings about her WIP, writing:
“This is the book I’m writing for me, and I see myself growing and changing as I write, as my characters grow and change. They are nothing like me and they are completely autobiographical. It’s a wonder.”
It’s a delightful quote, for various reasons. But in particular I was caught by the term, “wonder.” I used it myself in a recent interview, about the feeling I had during the heady days of first venturing into the storytelling wilderness on my writing journey. It feels like an appropriate time of the year to discuss wonder, as I consider it a gift to writers—something we should all continue to actively seek.
As we do in cases like this, let’s start with a definition:
Wonder—a feeling of surprise mingled with admiration, caused by something beautiful, unexpected, unfamiliar, or inexplicable.
Now that’s a lovely collection of words, isn’t it? Surprise, admiration, beauty, unexpectedness…even inexplicability (at least sometimes)—they’re all things we seek to achieve when we’re writing, aren’t they?
Let’s seek some winter wonder here together, shall we?
Nature—The Go-To Source
Late last month my wife and I celebrated an anniversary. It was 20 years ago that we sold our business and moved fulltime to what was then our getaway cottage. Which means that it’s currently the time of the year I experienced during the days and weeks after moving here. We live in a summer resort area. Due to climate change and the aftereffects of the pandemic, it’s not quite the same as it was then—specifically, the region is not quite as wintry and is populated with noticeably more fulltime residents. But it’s still pretty darn cold and quiet. Now as then, if you’re wearing the right gear, it’s cozy and peaceful.
I remember coming to appreciate how I could bundle up and take daily walks through the woods and along the shore and rarely see another human. I remember first hearing the pines that line the top of the dunes “singing” in the wind off of the lake. I still relish the tang of the needles underfoot, the sting of the cold blast as I crest the last ridge at the waterfront. There’s something profound in the solitude. Being alone in nature feels like it contains all of the ages of mankind, as though anyone in any era could be experiencing it right there alongside me.
I love traveling and exploring the natural world in new places. New vistas are always good for a jolt of wonder. But there’s so much to appreciate every day, right here. Within walking distance, we have not just an ever-changing Great Lakes shoreline. We also have aging forests, with a few gigantic oaks that have stood since the Civil War. We have a majestic stand of red pines planted by the Civil Conservation Corps during the Great Depression, as part of a dunes protection program (it worked!). Speaking of dunes, some of ours are towering slopes, and have been known to swallow entire boats in one winter (a few have resurfaced). We have hillside beeches with squid-like exposed root-systems, filled with nooks and crannies that would make perfect hiding spots from approaching Black Riders.
They say we shouldn’t have characters gasp aloud. People don’t really do that, they say. It must be because “they” have never seen the sunrises and sunsets we have here along the Lake Michigan coast during the winter months, painted with damn-near every tone and hue in nature’s palette. It’s like the sky invented lavender and tangerine just to show the earth how they should be grown. Sure, the days are shorter this time of year, but the shorter days present an opportunity to view more sunrises and sunsets. Offering more winter wonder.
We don’t have one just yet, but I love how a good blanket of snow swallows up the sound so completely that I find myself perfectly in tune with my own breathing as I walk. Bonus: the stark white landscape and leaf-bare trees provide more sightings of: raptors, woodpeckers, turkeys, foxes, coyotes, racoons, deer (of course–can’t avoid them no matter the season), and even the occasional mink or beaver.
Do I find surprise, admiration, beauty, often with a wallop of unexpectedness? That’s a big ole’ yes. Wonder abounds. When I slow down, open my mind to it, and actively seek it, I find wonder right outside my door. Damn near daily. Whether or not it’s wintry where you live, I’m sure you can find it, too. Maybe in the sweep of a plain, the twist and flow of a river, the vastness of the sky above, or even in the surrounding architecture. It’s inspiring and I hope the wonder I routinely experience here has had—and continues to have—an effect on my work. I hope my wonder is apparent enough in my storytelling to provide its afterglow to readers.
Christmas—The Original Winter Wonder
I don’t recall anything from my childhood that was as consistently effective at filling me with wonder as Christmastime. I mean, yeah, it’s a religious holiday, and yeah, for kids a lot of the wonder is due to the fact that there’s a trove of presents in the near future. Of course it means there’s no school, too. All exciting things for kids. But, setting religion, gifts, and vacation days aside, even the concept of what happens each year is a wonder (at least here in the US, and for many others). I mean, Christmas is a season unto itself, with its own music, entertainment, and aesthetics, all designed to make us feel. For me, particularly as a kid, it usually came with a super-fun type of weather (snow!). People string up their houses, inside and out with colorful lights. Folks drag fragrant trees into the living room, make special foods for days, and even break into song—sometimes even in public. That’s all pretty wondrous.
I remember being taken to our mid-size city’s downtown park, always in the evening. It was (and still is) lit by a thousand lights. There are paths lined with matched sets of huge candy-canes that crossed overhead, and a frozen fountain bathed in the glow of pastel spotlights. Then there’s the life-size nativity scene, complete with replicas of camels and cows and sheep. The whole place echoes with piped-in Christmas music. As a kid, it was like wandering into a dreamscape.
When it comes to Christmas, due to the hassles–the hustling and the bustling–most of us are well-past feeling much of our childhood giddiness. I know I am. But do yourself a favor—slow down and seek to be transported to a state of childlike wonder, even if it’s just by squinting at a neighbor’s decorated tree and drawing a deep breath of crisp, clean winter air during a twilight walk. Once it’s dark, pick a star of wonder and follow it home.
The Wonder of Story
I mentioned that I recalled experiencing my first dose of story wonder during a recent interview. As I said, I was trying to describe my early days of discovery in my writing. The term popped out as I stretched my memory. There’s just no better way to describe how I was feeling as these characters formed and events came to me. Scenes came in a furious stream-of-consciousness, fully formed within minutes, as fast as my typing fingers allowed. The writing was garbage, as you can imagine. But the wonder was real.
I hadn’t experienced anything quite like it since my first time reading The Lord of the Rings (you didn’t think you were going to get through a Roycroft essay without at least one Tolkien mention, did you? C’mon, with a theme like wonder?). When I first read LOTR, I remember the realization that this wasn’t just a story. It was so much more than what I had understood a story to be. This was an entire world, with its own biosphere. It felt ancient, familiar, and utterly new, all at once. The vastness of it incited profound feelings within me. Feelings that can best be described as a state of wonder.
It’s more than emotion. It’s physical. It’s both joyful and melancholy, a longing and a fulfillment.
Finding that I could create something akin to that for myself, simply by letting my imagination run wild, mining my subconscious as I typed away—well there’s just no more fitting term than wonder.
Now, almost two decades on, reaching for a state of wonder is possible but not automatic. It takes effort. I can’t “go there” if I’m thinking about finishing, or about how readers will react, or what’s for lunch. It’s a worthy striving. It requires that I let go of all the externals and live in the moment. Focus and release to achieve access. It’s immersion with hyperdrive.
I still believe the stuff that comes of dwelling in a state of wonder is my truest and best work, no matter how much revision it requires after it arrives.
Whether you’re a plotter or a pantser, you likely felt some degree of what I’m describing through your own initial story explorations. If you focus and let go, can you clearly recall the feeling? Can you find the transportive details that came with the experience? It was real and true, wasn’t it? If your answer is yes, it’s still there, waiting for you.
I’m certain that seeking wonder within ourselves is a solid step toward creating wonder for others. Can you seek a state of wonder as you work today? Do you believe it can lead you to your truest and best writing? I hope you believe, because I do.
Wishing you winter wonder (wherever you live), and the happiest of holidays seasons, WU. Thank you for being a wondrous contribution to my very memorable year. Here’s to seeking our truest and best writing in the year to come.
Vaughn Roycroft’s (he/him) teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit in the 6th grade, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days striving to finish his epic fantasy series.
There’s something about the lights, isn’t there? Whether the old-fashioned, colorful, big-bulb lights of childhood or the little fairy lights we string around our deck rails. And those prettily wrapped boxes or gift bags. What all do they hide? Mystery and wonder under a dark velvet sky that begins early enough for this early-to-bed person to enjoy!
Yes, my hope is to write from wonder so it sparks at least a bit within readers. Thank you for this, Vaughn. It was lovely to meet you at Salem.
Hey Lisa — I hear a lot of complaining about the short days, but there are advantages–particularly for those of us who go to bed early. The bonus comes with the heartening effect of the days getting longer, beginning very soon! After all, it’s why this time of year has been celebrated through the ages. :)
It was wonderful to finally meet you IRL, too, Lisa! Wishing you a lovely holiday season!
Vaughn,
This is such an inspiring piece. It makes me want to grab my coat and mittens and head outside. I will! Wonder is the word of the day and the season. Maybe the best word to write (and live) by with a new year waiting around the corner. Write on!
Hurrah, Rose! That makes me so happy to hear. Yes, here’s the spirit of seeking wonder linger within us in the year to come. Thank you. Mitten high five!
I heard Natalie Nixon speak about a week ago and one of the questions she was asked was “What is creativity?” Her answer was “the toggle between wonder and rigor.” I loved her definition and it seemed applicable here.
Oh my, Greta. I love Nixon’s definition. And I think it’s so very applicable. Thanks much for sharing it! May your holiday season be filled with wonder.
Thanks for the shout-out, Vaughn. I’m flattered and very happy that you liked my column. And this is a beautiful post—as a native Michigander, your descriptions of the wonders of winter along Lake Michigan really resonated with me (our license plates used to read “Winter Wonderland”). I think “dwelling in a state of wonder” as often as possible is the best way to live—and write. Thanks for a great read today.
Hi Kathleen — First, thank YOU for inspiring my last post of the year. I never got a chance to comment on yours (darn hustle and bustle), but the quote I feature really stuck with me.
Also, I always loved the old license plate, and was delighted when they reissued a retro version of it about a year ago. I immediately ordered one, and it makes me smile every time I see it. They’re really getting quite popular here. Wishing you a holiday season filled with wonder!
What a wonderful essay about wonder! So perfect for this week when you should make time for it but are too busy running around getting things done. I think it’s impossible to write a great story, especially a children’s book, without wonder. Lucky the one I am working on is about a beautiful place of nature like the one you describe. It is still difficult but being able to stand in awe of this place definitely helps. Thanks for sharing your thoughts.
It’s wonderful to hear about your WIP, Cat! I’m delighted to hear about another fan of authorial wonder in action. Thanks for sharing your real-world experience!
I purely love this entire essay, Vaughn. Thank you for illuminating my morning. I’ve started focusing on wonder as a practice to help keep my brain from spiraling through the 24/7 news cycle. It helps.
Same, Barbara, I’m consciously choosing to focus on this beautiful world around me (rather than awful news on screens 24/7–I’m taking that in smaller, purposeful doses, too). Btw, thanks much for sharing your wondrous world on IG. Not to mention in your fiction. You’ve done my heart so much good over the past few years. Thanks for that. Happiest of holidays to you and yours!
Hello Vaughn. I can think of no better way to make wonder come to life than by capturing it in the moment as you do here. In particular, two instances from your fine essay stick: “There’s something profound in the solitude. Being alone in nature feels like it contains all of the ages of mankind….” I wish I’d written that. It’s true. The transient moment, all the “peripherals ” of life are replaced for a time, in the solitude of nature, by timelessness. Or this: “I love how a good blanket of snow swallows up the sound so completely that I find myself perfectly in tune with my own breathing….” Again, you hold out the essence of wonder for us to both hear and see. Thank you. Happy Anniversary and Happy Christmas.
Hey Barry — Ah, you’ve gone and made my day with your lovely wish. We Michiganders have to find the beauty where it lies, don’t we? I hope you’re getting some of this snow we’re getting on the sunset coast. But not so much as to make it a burden. Let’s hunker down and enjoy it, shall we?
Wishing you a wonderful holiday season–merry Christmas and a very happy New Year. Thanks for being such a heartening and supportive presence in my memorable year, my friend. Cheers!
I love this focus on encouraging wonder in the writer. I’ve always valued finding ways to invoke wonder in the reader as well, and what better way than to feel it myself as I write?
One of my first writing teachers was David Farland, who insisted that every genre was defined by the emotions it created in its readers, and that wonder was a key ingredient in all speculative fiction (no surprise you found it in spades in LOTR!) as well as in stories set in a different time or place than the reader’s (historical fiction, adventures in foreign lands). Wonder emerges from curiosity about the world and from trying to figure out how we fit into it.
Of course Shakespeare understood the impact of wonder too: ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ I think he’d love that we continue to dream!
Hi Kristin — I think the farther along I get on my journey, the more value I put into the experience of writing in and of itself. It can feel selfish, but we can share the gifts we receive in ways beyond what the reader gets through the words. Hopefully those are infused by our wonder, too. But I honestly think the emotion we experience in writing, including wonder, makes us more complete as humans–more fit to make the world a better place.
Perfect that you mention the Bard! We’ve been seeking, and finding, wonder in story since the first “shapers” around the first communal fires. Thanks so much for enhancing the conversation so wonderfully. Wishing you the happiest of holidays seasons, and much wonder in the writing sessions in the year ahead.
The power of our words…we have talked about this before, the power of our words come from our desire to write down feelings that come from experience and living. It is simple. It is basic. And yes, wandering while it is snowing; the light of the sun when you awaken in winter, the world now transformed. Writing allows us to capture those moments so that we can experience them again and again. Have a wonder-filled holiday season.
Hey Beth — you’re so right about the power of words, and we can’t say it enough. Here’s to transformation and moving into the light. Thank you! You too–wishing you a very happy holiday season!
What a beautiful post – beautifully written, and beautiful in sentiment. Thank you, Vaughn. The introduction almost got me excited about winter. Almost…
Haha! I forgot that you’ve not as–shall we say–enthusiastic about winter weather as I am. Winter weather aside, I know for certain that you create wonder on the page, LK. Thanks so much for being such a warm and supportive presence in my memorable year, my friend. Here’s to the wonder that’s sure to lie ahead for us both.
Thank you for this beautiful piece on winter wonders. All of nature points to the creativity of our Creator God. A sunrise that looks like the Sacred Host. A sunset that evokes His Precious Blood. It’s a call to worship–not the sun or the sky but the Son. The Infinite wrapped in swaddling cloths! Truly a season of mystery and wonder and contemplation. Blessings to all this Christmas season.
Hey Vijaya — I’m delighted to be alongside you as we both find wonder and seek to inspire it. Wishing you the same, a very merry Christmas, and bright blessings in the year to come!
Vaughn, isn’t it appropriate that as I read this column from my mid-Michigan home it is finally snowing? :)
Your benediction about seeking our truest writing in the coming year is a good word. True writing and wonder in writing go hand in hand. Whatever wonder I have felt in writing has been when I am being the most truthful. And it has come far more easily when I am not under contract (i.e., not beholden to a publisher’s schedule). In the coming year, that’s how I’m writing. And the prospect of once more feeling unbound in the writing is marvelous. I expect to do very good work in the coming year because of it.
We may not get to have a white Christmas this year, but here’s hoping that January at least brings some cold, snowy, wild weather our way.
Hey Erin — Ha! There is a certain level of satisfaction in today’s weather, since I wrote this last week. I’m so happy for your unbound feeling! Go you!
I was just looking at the extended forecast, with some disappointment, even though we’ll be driving on our state’s (fast improving) highways on Sunday and Monday. Yes, let’s hope for some good ole’ fashioned winter in the months ahead. Thanks, Erin! Here’s to drinking in the wonder and having it fuel us through the coming year. Cheers!
Vaughn, I just spent five days at my sister’s place in Southern California, the land of my birth, and it was a snowy 75-80 degrees every day, which I welcomed with wonder, since it’s been a freezing low 60s here in Santa Cruz. Some version of snow is what I put in cocktails, but that’s the extent of my experience. But I live not far from stunning groves of redwoods, and even as second-growth, they always provoke wonder in me.
For the last year or so, I’ve tried to pause for just a moment every day (and mostly have done it, except for my large sourpuss days) and find one wondrous thing, sometimes the simplest thing—raptors in flight, birds flocking to our water garden tanks, a moving song—to think, “That’s a fine thing!” It helps.
Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all. Thanks Vaughn!
Hey Tom — Having stood in both old and new growth redwood forests, and no few Northwestern Douglas fir/hemlock forests, I can attest to the wonder of which you speak. There’s a state park here in the Mighty Mitten that boasts one of the last old growth “cork” white pine stands (called cork logs because of how high in the water they floated on the way to the mills). These are the trees that supplied the lumber that built Chicago and other midwestern cities. During my first visit, light snow began to fall as we hiked among them, and they sang the most stirring song in the air above us. It was magical. I get goosebumps just remembering the day.
Having lived there for a time, I do have a good grasp at the myriad wonders of your fine golden state. I absolutely adore your daily moment. Adding a bit of ritual to seeking wonder is wise, I think, if only to ensure that we practice this life-affirming part of our chosen undertaking.
I’d send you a snowball for your next cocktail, but I’d hate to have it make a mess before it arrived in your glass. So I’ll just offer you fond holiday cheers. Thanks a million for your support through my very memorable year, my friend!
Lovely essay, especially for this time of year, Vaughn–and a wonderful reminder.
Thanks, Tiffany! You’ve certainly been a wonderful part of my year. I can’t thank you enough for all of the times you held me up, and/or put your brilliant spotlight on me. You’re the best! Please don’t ever hesitate if there’s anything I can do for you.
Wishing you a lovely holiday season. Here’s to seeking and finding bountiful wonder in the year ahead.
And to you, my friend!
Did you pick that picture, Vaughn? That’s worth a couple hundred words right there.
I did! I was going to use one of my own–a sunset over the lake here. But I thought it would diminish the impact of describing the lavender and tangerine of them. So I entered part of the title into Flickr (Winter Wonder), and this one instantly spoke to me. It’s funny how often searching the titles of essays yields success for accompanying visuals. No wonder, I suppose (heh). Guess those are the most fitting titles. Happy holidays, Michael!
Vaughn:
A timely post indeed. Closely related to wonder and awe is fear. Thus the tradition of “scary ghost stories” at Christmastide. Told around a blazing fire, the wind howling and snow blowing outside. There’s a whole canon of ghostly tales that mine our good old-fashioned delight in being scared, together.
Christmas Blessings to you and yours!
Hey Christine — Ah, such an apt addition. Ghost stories are about our connection to the spiritual world, after all. So, yes, Wonder with a capital W! Dickens would be proud of you for making the point.
Thanks, and back at you — wishing you bright Christmas blessings!
You mentioned trees, which are my steady sense of wonder. Even after a derecho took so many of our trees two years ago, I wondered at those remaining. But today, it wasn’t the trees. I reluctantly ventured outside on the first truly cold day of our Iowa winter. The wind took hold of me and nearly pushed me back into the door. As I found myself hating an element of nature, I stopped and thought about all of the beauty wind creates. Especially the snowdrifts gracing the countryside drifting like dunes on a desert landscape. Yes, wonder works with nonfiction as well. Thanks for reminding me.
Hi Andrea — Such a lovely addition. The wind carves so many beautiful things here, too. Even the ice flows on the lakeshore take such gorgeous shapes and textures, partly due to the currents and waves–also products of wind.
So sorry about the trees–wishing your forests rebounding vigor and health. Thanks for such a perfect addition to the conversation, and happiest (and coziest) of holidays to you in windy Iowa.
As I read your description of Michigan winter, I found myself thinking back to a few holiday seasons up at Walloon Lake, when my folks lived there. That marvelous sense of peace and isolation was just magic. (Now, of course, they live in Florida, which is lovely in its way but Not The Same.) Still hoping we’ll get a little snow for Christmas here, even though the odds aren’t good. Meanwhile, I will relish the winter sunshine!
I’m enjoying the pause between this year and the coming one…refilling the well a bit. Hope you have a wonderful holiday!
Hey Alisha — My aunt, uncle, and six cousins lived in Walloon Lake when we were growing up (actually on Wolverine Lake), so I have fond memories of the area. I’m guessing it felt even woodsier and more isolated then (that whole area has grown so much). Yeah, Florida is great for a nice break from winter, but definitely not the same. Speaking of winter, we had one day of snow, but the sun’s out and the snow is already all but gone. You’ve got it right–let’s enjoy it while it lasts.
Thank you for all of your support this year, my friend! Enjoy the break! It’s always good to step back and get not only a bit of rest but a bit of perspective. Happiest of holidays to you guys!
Oops, got my Michigan “W” lakes mixed up. My uncle’s house was on Walled Lake (nw of Detroit). We’ve been dying to visit the Walloon Lake Inn, though. It keeps getting picked as one of the finest in the Midwest. Maybe this is the winter. Cheers!
Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever been to Walloon Lake Inn, but that would be a fun visit sometime–I’ve also heard good things. Growing up, we just always went to the family cottage/former logging property. :-) It’s all gentrified quite a bit since then…
Vaughan, I needed to read this. It’s been awhile since I’ve been in a state of wonder with my writing – I’ve been so focused on writing for an agent, or thinking about how a reader might react, and on and on…and while I need to think of those things at some point, I also need to find my wonder again in my writing. I remember well the wonder I used to experience, the longing to hurry to the page and immerse myself in my story. I’ve lost that, and I desperately want it back. Happy holidays!
Hi Melissa! Thanks for the gift of letting me know that I’ve successfully inspired you to pursue wonder once again. I definitely wrote the piece to remind myself to strive for it. We’re not alone. :) Happiest of holidays to you and yours, too!
This was truly beautiful to read. I felt your words. ‘Wonder!’ ‘Imagination running wild.’ ‘Characters and scenes developing as fast as…’ and then writing pages and pages and then a book.
Like you the writing itself was indeed in need of work at the start and mine still does. But boy, how with continuous practise has it come an awful long way.
I’m ever so grateful for this firm of escapism.
We’re in it for the long haul, though, aren’t we? Here’s to wonder and to the journey!
Thank you for reading and for your kind words (sorry for the delayed response). Happy New Year!