Chilled: A Writer in the Cold

fabian-mardi-538249-unsplashThe weather is improving this week, but the other morning the space heater inside the shed did not turn on as planned. The early hours were rather cold and so I activated the shed’s heater through a smart plug before heading out to write. At 6 a.m. my phone showed all was on, but then the main house’s internet went out and without noticing, the heater went cold. This a recurring problem, this internet issue. Crappy service. We pay too much. But that’s another battle for another day.

The issue at hand is this: I went into the shed anyway and wrote in the chill of the morning. And it was glorious.

I was not writing wearing fingerless gloves and stopping every few minutes to rub my hands together over a candle for moments of warmth. It was not frigid, but it was certainly tingly inside the shed and it had me considering, in some small way, all those famous writers who worked in not-so-modern comforts and produced art at glorious levels. One can imagine Dickens in his early years shivering at a desk near a frosty window.

IMG_3052

So, there I was, in a scarf and a cap, and my hands smacking at the keys. Although I had been able to eventually turn on the heater, it would take some time to bring the shed to a reasonably toasty level. But yet. it was good. The bitter air enlivened me as does a walk in late November to get the mail at the end of the driveway. It opened me up. Could there be some link between cold weather and creativity? And if not that, might there be a metaphor here for the inevitable mental struggles of a writing life?

Cold is not only about the weather, but also about whether or not we can soldier through the most uncomfortable climates of a life of writing—the climates of rejection and doubt. Many published writers will tell you that talent is undoubtedly important, but perseverance and belief in self are equals. So many good writers have not been as successful as they may have wanted to be—and we can debate for hours on what one means by “successful”—not because they weren’t writing at a high level, but because they couldn’t weather the storms and simply keep going.

In his essay, “Writing in the Cold,” the former editor-in-chief at HarperCollins, Ted Solotaroff wrote. “It is not too much to say that how a writer copes with rejection determines whether he or she has a genuinely literary vocation or just a literary flair. Rejection along with uncertainty are just as much a part of a writer’s life as snow and cold are of an Eskimo’s; they are conditions one has not only to learn to live with but also to make use of.”

Solotaroff makes the point that writers must learn to work in every kind of artistic environment—under the light of a bright and blazing sun, in the dark of midnight rain, in the heat of a tropical August, an icy January in Chicago, or the dank rawness of a early spring morning in the shed.

It eventually warmed up inside and I was able to take off the scarf and cap. And in the end, after about two hours, I had written 938 words of a work-in-progress and had done this both in the cold and the warmth of a writing life.

 

Credit: Photo by Fabian Mardi on Unsplash

5 thoughts on “Chilled: A Writer in the Cold

  1. “Mother Nature” has been somewhat kinder toward me as an artist than a writer. With my painting and drawing there have been favorably received shows, gratifying comments about the work and modest commercial success.

    But with what writing I’ve done over the decades — assorted poetry, a book of non-fiction, a novel, a children’s story, a stage play, a radio play and a screenplay — winter is the one season I’ve known. The only writing I’ve done that’s received any exposure and been rewarded with a dime’s worth of remuneration is radio journalism. Neither you nor I can complain about the careers it has afforded us; both of us understand the strictures that writing imposes on creativity.

    Nevertheless, I push on, reworking the film script into a novel while in the beginning stages of writing a new book.

    Madness? Masochism? Hubris?

    Likely a bit of all three. But underlying all of it is the undeniable impetus to create, and the belief that what I’ve written has value and has been crafted as carefully as my ability would allow. It would be wonderful to have validation from an agent and publisher to be sure. Ultimately, though, I have the satisfaction of accomplishment, of knowing these scattered pieces exist, even if only as yellowing manuscripts in an office file.

    One more point, perhaps the most salient of all, is the act of creating itself. That carries its own deep rewards.

    So, I will keep at it. There’s always the flicker of hope that maybe this time, winter will turn to spring.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s