The holidays are as busy as they ever are. My sense of time is distorted by the reduction in hours of daylight, made more nebulous by the inconsistency in my schedule. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for the time off, but I have to be more conscientious of the changes when I’m planning.

I’m still writing. Not necessarily every day, but at least every other day. I’m also working on other projects, trying to wrap things up around the house by the end of the year. I’m as prone to purging and nesting in the late autumn as we transition into winter as ever. The waning moon encourages this kind of shift.

It’s easy, when you’re focused on production, to have a sense of accomplishment. Write a thousand words a day. Write ten thousand words a week. Write fifty thousand words a month. The focus on production is a siren song for high achievers, but in taking the notion of publication seriously, one quickly finds a tremendous amount of work which cannot be so easily quantified.

I’m in the part of the cycle where you feel like a hamster on a wheel. You’re producing, and producing, and producing, but there’s not enough of any one thing to make a difference in your life. I know if I keep going I’ll get where I’m headed, but the forest is thick, the lights are dim, and I only know I have to keep going.

I’m staying cozy, prioritizing the people who matter to me, and trying to take advantage of this season of rest. I hope it will all be worth it.

Much love,

BH ❤