Monday, September 28, 2015


Summer is officially over, displaced by fall — a sign that winter is just around the corner. And winter, should it dare to cross my lips, you’d think, by the adverse reaction of those around me, that I’ve uttered a four-letter expletive. No one wants to think about winter as we’re still trying to hang on to the dying days of summer. So let’s talk about fall. It’s one of my favourite seasons. I love watching the leaves turn from green to yellow and gold and orange and red, and then float to the ground. I love running in the cool morning air. Fall marks a change, and always makes me think about how my own creative journey is broken down into seasons.

Winter generally marks the beginning of my creative cycle — when new projects take flight and my job is to sketch out a rough draft. I work through the cold, dark months to lay the foundation. In the spring, taking advantage of the longer days of light, to build the framework, fill in the details. That process usually spills into summer, and by fall it’s time for that particular project to rest. Fall is, then, the season when I work to complete the structure, polish a piece of writing, bring it full circle.

And this is where I find myself. At the beginning of a rewrite that seems daunting as I look to polish it, make it sing. That’s because I’m on a special assignment for my day job that has me crisscrossing the country. So in airport waiting lounges, hotel rooms, and sometimes in the backseat of a taxi, I’m trying to write. It’s not easy, with long days and sometimes short on sleep, but I’m trying to edge this rewrite project forward. I’m trying not to get discouraged.

At the moment, all I can do is to try to show up each day to do a little. Doing something, no matter how small, moves my project forward. So I’ll do what I can, where I am, and be happy with what I accomplish — giving myself over to the season of possibility that lies before me.

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