"What we call the
beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end
is where we start from." T.S. Eliot
By the time January 31st rolls around, we
know all too well we are truly into the New Year and all the resolutions of
January 1st are but a fond memory for most of us. It's about this time I ask myself, 'what's
different from last year?' As Eliot
says, the end makes a beginning but the beginning also marks an end.
There's been a lot of discussion recently about writers losing their
impetus to write, losing their joy of creating.
Is it a case of the mid-winter blues or was that joy just left behind
with the holidays? At a time when we
should be relishing the feeling of it being a brand new year with tons of
possibilities, some people carry the problems of the last year into the new and
get bogged down. It's difficult to let
go; it's almost impossible to ignore the lurking fear of failure and strike
down the voice demanding if you're going anywhere wfith all this work, that last
year wasn't the outrageous success you'd envisaged. We gaze goggle-eyed at the heap of drudgery
before us—for writers, it's generally promotion and social media that suck out
the life blood of the actual writing—and wonder if we can recreate the day to
have twenty-six hours instead of twenty-four.
So let me ask you this, stockbroker or author, inventor or artist: did you ever wonder why your best ideas come
to you just as you're about to drift off to sleep? Or while sitting back in the tub with that
glass of wine? It's because, quite
obviously, you're relaxed! The two sides
of your brain are no longer fighting each other; you're able to let creativity
flow. Creating is rather like giving
birth and, don't laugh, but we've all heard the stories of what doctors
initially tell couples unable to conceive when there's no evidence that
anything is wrong: take a cruise! Turn off the phones, get away from the
computer and the demands of house and home, and relax. And then there are those tales of couples who
go ahead and adopt only to then find they've conceived. Why?
Because the angst and worry has been finally taken from them. When my first book came out, I wrote a blog
post comparing the book's creation and publication to giving birth. Conceiving ideas is not so far from
conceiving a child, even if it isn't quite so much fun.
So. Don't worry about those
forgotten resolutions. Don't bite your
nails over the problems leftover from the previous year/month/week/day. Grab a glass of wine, sit back, and make a
continual new beginning and take things in your stride. Easier said than done? Perhaps.
But perhaps the very act of creating is relaxing. After all, it's an
escape. Once you start and are focused on what you're doing, everything else
disappears into a sort of inconsequential fog.
Try! That's my advice, and I'm
taking it…but I'd like to know how you get your creative juices flowing again
and get out of the winter doldrums. Have
you stuck with your resolutions? And can
you relax?!
Thanks, Roses, for having
me. And Happy New Year everyone.
Blurb for Dances
of the Heart: Successful,
workaholic author Carrie Bennett lives through her writing, but can’t succeed
at writing a man into her life. Furthermore, her equally successful but cynical
daughter, Paige, proves inconsolable after the death of her fiancé.
Hard-drinking rancher Ray Ryder
can find humor in just about anything—except the loss of his oldest son. His
younger son, Jake, recently returned from Iraq, now keeps a secret that could
shatter his deceased brother’s good name.
On one sultry night in Texas, relationships blossom when the four meet,
starting a series of events that move from the dancehalls of Hill Country to
the beach parties of East Hampton, and from the penthouses of New York to the
backstreets of a Mexican border town. But the hurts of the past are hard to
leave behind, especially when old adversaries threaten the fragile ties that
bind family to family…and lover to lover.
Excerpt: “You know how to Texas Two-Step?” he asked.
“No,” she
said, laughter just below the surface.
“Well,
sweetheart, you have come to the right place. Or at least got yourself the
right man. By the time I finish with you, you’ll be the best dang stepper on
the floor.”
Carrie looked
around. “There isn’t anyone else on the floor at the moment, Ray.”
“Well, heck, I
know that. That’s perfect for learning.”
As soon as his
hand closed around hers, the leather of his palm a strange glove over her own
fingers, a sudden frisson of connection ran through her she hadn’t known in a
very long while. He moved her to face him squarely on, a small smile tipping
the edges of his mouth, the dark, impenetrable eyes shining with his captured
prize.
“Just follow
me,” he said as his right hand went to her back. A cover of a Vince Gill ballad
started, the mournful tune setting a moderate tempo. “Perfect.” He held her
right hand high and applied slight pressure to move her backwards. “Fast fast
slow slow, fast fast slow slow.”
Carrie felt a light bulb go on. She got it. It was
good. It was fun. And she relaxed in his embrace. He was an excellent teacher,
a fabulous leader on the dance floor. Would wonders never cease?
“You’re doing
well. You’re doing fine,” he assured her. “We’re gonna try a little promenade
now, and then a twirl, so get ready.”
Carrie couldn’t stop herself from smiling,
anticipation bubbling for just a second. And then out of the corner of her eye
she caught Ty watching them, beer half-raised in salute and a smirk plastered
on his face. A moment’s hesitation and she missed the step.
“What happened
there?” asked Ray, oblivious to the effect the on-looker had on her.
Other couples were finally joining them on the dance
floor, but despite the company, Carrie’s discomfort increased. “That boy, that
Ty,” she told him. “He was watching us. It made me feel…uneasy.”
Ray scanned the sidelines, but Ty had gone, nowhere
to be seen. “Oh, don’t pay him any mind. He’s harmless enough.”
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