I can’t believe it’s December already. I suspect a lot of us are feeling the same way. It feels like it was just (Canadian) Thanksgiving, back in October. As I write this, Silah has curled up in the dog bed under my desk, her feet touching mine. This bed belonged to our oldest dog, Cedar, and since she passed in 2022 it’s been empty. Until tonight. I don’t know what prompted Silah to finally climb into it. It’s pretty cushy—nice plush cushion and soft raised sides. Silah’s a bit big for it, though; at 75 pounds, she outweighed Cedar by about 10 -15 lbs.
Lately I’ve been thinking about writing, what it means to be a writer, and how to overcome the fear of writing something that you don’t feel qualified to write. I have a Scrivener file and a partial proposal for my next book, but I’ve stalled out. I was making good progress until I thought “Who will read this?” and “Does this even work as I’ve envisioned it?”
My current book went out to the blurbers last Friday, and I’m terrified that they won’t like it or won’t be able to find something good to say about it. It has stopped me in my tracks, frozen my mind, a deer in the headlights. I’m even lost for words, using tired old metaphors like deer and headlights. At the same time I’m trying to lay the groundwork for a good book launch, including reviews in Kirkus and Library Journal, and companion pieces accepted and published by the time my book comes out.
All of this feels like it’s been too much. I need a period of incubation, during which I reinvent myself. I’m a pupa waiting for good weather to emerge and stretch my wings.
So I’m taking a blog hiatus for December. Focus on family and enjoying the season. And writing on my own schedule, not worrying about what I’m going to put out for my Wednesday post.
Wishing you all a peaceful December, at whatever pace works for you. Not long now until the days start getting longer again.
