Every November Melancholy
As sunlight diminishes for the next 47 days, I hope you find the words, the moments with company, and enough light to hold you through the melancholy that comes, because, every November, melancholy comes.
As sunlight diminishes for the next 47 days, I hope you find the words, the moments with company, and enough light to hold you through the melancholy that comes, because, every November, melancholy comes.
As Edith and I read yesterday, I experienced several “did I write that?” moments. Part of it is didionesque: we’re constantly moving away from where and who we are and we lose touch. But a bigger part, for me anyway, is discovering that when I write, especially when I’m in the flow and writing from the heart, I never write alone. There is grace and magic there.
Are you stuck because of history or does it call you forward?
But the jinx doesn’t happen because you let your people in on your dreams. The jinx is that inertia of self-doubt that you allow to maroon your momentum.
I’m showing up for myself. I am a writer and I am becoming a writer. Dropping Accidental has made me unafraid to speak my plans (my novels, the retreat center and workshops, and more), because they are also not accidental.
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