Today it’s snowing. Again. A lot. Already this month we’ve had two terrible weeks of snow, including two days where my husband has even worked from home because the highways are so bad. Today is the second of those days.
I find myself staring out the window and finding it hard to actually, you know, write and work like I’m supposed to. And it’s not just the weather. I’ve been a good girl and I’ve actually finished almost all of my presents pre-December 1st (yes, I actually made almost all of them as well). I needed it done extra-early this year because of a wedding at the end of the month as well as an early date for my own annual Christmas party. No, I am not Martha; there are still pumpkins now frozen and stuck to my front steps, and the boxes of decorations are out, but haven’t spontaneously jumped onto the tree or mantle (though they better get a move on – the party is this Saturday!).
Instead, after taking all of last week “off” to do holiday-related stuff (read: shopping and getting out of the house after a week stuck in the house), I am studiously trying to write. I’ve started a new WIP (or re-started, depending on how you look at it). And mostly, I even like it, and have spurts of high inspiration for it. But mostly, I just want to curl up and do nothing, or possibly run away to my craft room and play. My excuses are plain: I have worked on rewrites almost the entire year. I have worked on making Christmas presents most of the latter part of the year (including the massive dollshouse for the kidlet, which is done too, btw – pictures hopefully next week). And right now, all I want to do is play. I do not want to be “good” and sit at my computer as I should and push out more words. I do not want to get the last few things done that I’ve promised for the wedding (and kind of need, like a dress for the kidlet). I want to be irresponsible. I want to do what I want.
Which then makes me think: but when I’m writing, aren’t I always doing just what I want to? What would be the purpose of writing a book that I don’t want to write? Rewrites are different, seeing as there comes a point when I think we all start to hate rewrites, and they’re simply a necessary evil. But just writing that first draft? There should be joy and fun there. And I am enjoying myself, especially playing with more modern language than I usually use, and two zany-type characters. And writing in a different POV is fun too, a bit easier than it sometimes is, though I miss the other perspective (no, I simply can’t be happy, can I?) 😉
And yet I still find myself longing for something else. For escape. Or maybe just to curl up and indulge myself.
What about you? Does December leave you feeling similarly? If not, how do you stay motivated to do non-holiday related things?
Thanks so much for stopping by and reading. Have a good one, happy writing, and a happy week to you out there!