I don’t know the technical term for it, but I know I have it. I’m midwestern gal so I know my seasons. While some people can’t stand the isolation of it, I thrive in the induced alone time. During winter I hunker down and wait out the wind and snow, snug and warm in my home.
Winter this year has been a bit of a joke. It’s March in Chicago and we’re supposed to hit 77 degrees. My brain has no way to process that. I more hours at night — when I’m most productive — and hardly any social obligations to distract me from making words.
Now I, the person who avoids the outdoors because that’s where the Civil War happened, keep having thoughts like “It’s much too nice to stay inside!” and it’s freaking me out. Not to mention it’s bad for my word count.
All of this to say that my current WIP is a struggle. I know what I want to say (kind of) but the words are coming like pulling teeth. I’m not giving up or anything (I believe in you Micah and Lorelei!) but I’m tempted.
These are the days that try writers’ souls or something like that.
Sasha, who needs more hours in a day or less sunlight