“Hibernation is great for writing,” said my professor in an email about a week ago when winter began its invasion. The final frontier.
As the temperature dropped dead and masses of snow grew, I stayed in my jammies and wrapped myself in layers, boiled plenty of coffee and watched attentively through almost every window in the house. In between re-watching “Sherlock” and reading about it online, and combing through old notes, I felt myself wandering around my home. Not necessarily bored or tired, but at a level where physically I couldn’t be bothered to do anything. I was thinking up scenarios beyond my currently dull reality — repeatedly consisting of serving customers at Macy’s and picking up shoe boxes, a job that has dug up grave, sometimes extremely sinister thoughts on consumerism and people with entitlement issues. Back at home, I feel as though I can rest and be left alone to my imagination. A good snow storm, or in this case, several of them, create a perfect excuse for staying indoors where it’s warm and comfortable.
Flakes bounced on the glass. They then picked up the habit to stay glued on the windows as the wind pushed on harder and the snow fell more quickly. This white substance blanketed itself across the lawn, over the roof, laid down to rest on every car. Some large golden Christmas globes that still hung on the branches outside were each humorously decorated with a pyramid of snow, elegantly balanced. Birds sitting in the trees fluffed their feathers so they looked like beaked furry balls that twitched once in a while. They made me laugh when two birds sat closely side by side yet a third bird tried to squeeze in between them. Both of them turned vicious, one raising its wings in threat and the other one opened its beak and bit and pecked that intruder. The third bird retreated to a neighboring branch, then the two friends resumed to their cowering positions.
Today I poked through my desk and several old files, folders and handwritten notes. Astounding really, how much I’ve hoarded over the years. Movie tickets, theater programs, lists on books to read, movies to watch, places to visit, many drafts on one book I hope will make my name, small ideas written on torn pieces of paper, inspiring quotes on post-it notes, old postcards (some which I’ve received, some I’ve bought at antique shops), articles on writers and related topics for my stories, other drafts, short poems, bundles of research on various subjects, pictures I’ve hung in my bedroom or my previous dorms, tweets I wrote down during the Summer Olympics of 2012, and a letter I received from my RA sophomore year. Everyone on his floor got one since he was about to graduate; while it talked about nostalgia and Hunter S. Thompson, he gave an advice about college.
Enjoy your life and time here. Don’t be timid. Be bold in your actions and in your statements of how you are and who you want to be.
I remember saying in an older post that new years resolutions are pointless. My brother has made a case to disagree with me (as he so often does) and argued with me about it like it was a serious debate. I do think we put too much pressure on these types of goals yet he makes a fair point that another year does something for people in general. Another set of twelve months to celebrate birthdays and holidays, another year to make things differently or the same way you’ve always done your business. It’s the fresh start, another beginning, more time, that does something for people, it inspires them. For me, it took a week until it sunk in, not to mention a cleansing session: Going through my notes. Other than my English and creative writing classes, I cannot say I have written much substantial over the past three years. I never truly stopped, but I don’t have much to show for it.
One successful writer (whom I won’t name since I won’t risk misquoting him and getting my head smashed over it), who was a guest speaker in my class, once advised us to be organized; that’s important for a writer, both in their fiscal aspects, their contracts and their notes. Keep everything you write down. I’m so glad I understood that a lot earlier, because I’ve discovered little puzzle pieces that I can use now, little things I scribbled a long time ago and that I’ve completely forgotten about. Another piece of advice he gave us was “make time for your writing, because there will always be distractions around to pull you away.” True to every syllable. I hate to admit being a bit wrong, but the new year has brought me a new wave of motivation and inspiration. The snow helped, too. I know what I want to write, which stories I want to tell, I know when and how, and I feel like 2014 looks like a promising year. I no longer carry that same attitude that stares everything down like “oh-well-the-wheel-keeps-turning,” but I now have another state of mind bursting with ideas.