The fallow season
As I began drafting this end of the year post, I pulled up a photo of a cholla that I took at the botanic garden a few days ago. It caught my eye because I related to its overall winter appearance. Prickly, wilted, clinging on to its fruit.
‘Wintering” has become common phrase in recent years. The term can be attributed to Katherine May’s book, which I hear is excellent. I didn’t read it. Mostly because I figured after living in Alaska for twenty years, I was an expert on wintering. Once the daylight started to dwindle, my survival kit would be unpacked. Happy light, knitting, piles of books, cooking projects, skiing, fat biking. Daily walks with the dog. Anything that would keep the seasonal doldrums at bay. Alaskans are a resilient lot. They have to be. When you live in a difficult climate, close to the unpredictable wilderness; you learn to adapt.
Maybe my Alaska lessons did make me more resilient to the turmoil inherent to the writing life. On the surface, there aren’t a lot of obvious crossovers between knowing how to repair a generator or packing a woodstove to last through a -40-degree night; and writing a book. Although, both situations do require an abnormal abundance of tenacity, which, fortunately, I was born with.
My determination is an advantage and a disadvantage. There’s no doubt that when I set my mind to it, I can accomplish a lot, but that doesn’t mean that I should. My ride or die, imposter syndrome, is always quick to point out this character flaw. And this year, with Voyage of the Pleiades and Garden of Shadows both out in the world, my steadfastness took some hits.
Garden of Shadows had a quiet launch, releasing right before the U.S. election and the chaos of the holidays. It is a subtler book than Voyage, so I suppose that is fitting, but still a bit disheartening. Instead of getting mired in doubt, I’m trying to focus my perseverance. Before I got into the full-time novel writing gig; I read some excellent advice from Roxane Gay. To paraphrase, she said; to keep writing, you can’t get hung up on what you’ve already created, only on what will come next. Learn the lessons, hear the criticism, and move on. Once a book has been published, the role of the author is finished (except for the publicity and marketing). It exists now for the readers.
To that end, I’ve embraced my wintering phase in the cycles of writing. Which isn’t ideal timing when I have a new book to promote. None the less, my research trip to South Africa and a stack of botany books are fueling a quiet period of creation. I’m writing the third book in bursts. Allowing myself to vanish down rabbit holes of 19th century naturalists in Cape Town and Khoi-san medicinal uses of plants. At some point, I’ll buckle down to a daily word count. But for now, I’m leaning into the season, allowing my efforts to be gentle.
As usual, plants can teach a masterclass on wintering. Fallow does not mean dead. Draw the energy inward. Preserve your production for when it really counts. Potential is measured. Deliberate. And when the season shifts, bloom like crazy.
“Bloom like crazy” 💓