I took my Christmas decorations down yesterday, so the holidays are officially over. Now all there is to look forward to is bone-chilling cold for the next two months. OK, if you live in Australia or something, this is your summer. I'll try not to hate you. Even people who like to ski and live in Vail, Colorado or the Swiss Alps are probably pretty happy right now. But for those of us who foolishly live in Northern Illinois, the months of January and February are brutally cold, dark, and bleak. I always feel like I'm taking a big breath at the beginning of January and holding it until March when my world starts to thaw.
Mental health experts say that depression hits hardest during the holidays, but I think that's only because people know January and February are on their way. At this time of year, all the good stuff is a whole year away: holiday gatherings with family and friends, time off of work and school, receiving presents, and rich food. Now we're slapped in the face with the bad stuff: Christmas snow turned gray, bills coming due for all those gifts, 10 pounds of holiday flab hanging around our butts, and work piled up on our desks while we were away. Is it any wonder this is my least favorite time of year?
So what should I do about it this year to avoid getting sucked into a pit of self pity and stale Christmas brownies? Write! It's been months since I've done any serious work on my newest manuscript, and it occurred to me that there's no better time to curl up on the sofa with my notebook than right now. I mean, it's not like I want to set foot outside. Did I mention it's 5 degrees Fahrenheit? I figure if I can just write a couple of pages a day from now until I can actually see grass again, I'll be close to finishing the new thriller I started way back when the robins were still in town. Then something good will come out of this foray into the Arctic Circle.
Right now I'm pulling on my wool socks and firing up the teakettle to keep me going as I dive back into this manuscript. Maybe I'll come up for air around Groundhog's Day. Or, more likely, Easter.
Peace and a mild winter,
Kimberly Garland
Mental health experts say that depression hits hardest during the holidays, but I think that's only because people know January and February are on their way. At this time of year, all the good stuff is a whole year away: holiday gatherings with family and friends, time off of work and school, receiving presents, and rich food. Now we're slapped in the face with the bad stuff: Christmas snow turned gray, bills coming due for all those gifts, 10 pounds of holiday flab hanging around our butts, and work piled up on our desks while we were away. Is it any wonder this is my least favorite time of year?
So what should I do about it this year to avoid getting sucked into a pit of self pity and stale Christmas brownies? Write! It's been months since I've done any serious work on my newest manuscript, and it occurred to me that there's no better time to curl up on the sofa with my notebook than right now. I mean, it's not like I want to set foot outside. Did I mention it's 5 degrees Fahrenheit? I figure if I can just write a couple of pages a day from now until I can actually see grass again, I'll be close to finishing the new thriller I started way back when the robins were still in town. Then something good will come out of this foray into the Arctic Circle.
Right now I'm pulling on my wool socks and firing up the teakettle to keep me going as I dive back into this manuscript. Maybe I'll come up for air around Groundhog's Day. Or, more likely, Easter.
Peace and a mild winter,
Kimberly Garland
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