As the days shorten, as the night creeps in, a strange energy consumes me. Light, fluffy, like winds with personality, lifting me up. I’m colder, snuggled in sweatshirts and thick socks. I’m shivering. I’m drinking steaming tea.
And I’m writing.
I’ve notice a correlation between seasons and productivity the last year. Apparently, my most productive times are during colder seasons. They’ve always been my preferred seasons — even with all the snow — but I never thought there was a deeper reason than “I like when the leaves change color.”
Last summer, I was an anxious wreck of a person. Drifting to nihilism for comfort. Not good. I didn’t get anything done at all, always tense and ignoring a racing heart while trying to finish work tasks.
This past summer, I still wasn’t productive, but I was observing the lack of productive rather than letting it just happen. I didn’t feel comfortable. I wasn’t connected to my stories at all. I started several projects, letting them fall to the gutters of my mind within days.
What was wrong with me? Just this past March, I had finished and published a book. I was in a crazed dash to a finish line, heart pumping happily rather than out of fright.
Then, thinking back to my most productive times in my past… I realized the most productive times were the same. Fall. Winter. Holed up inside. Blankets and pillows making up a nest or fort around me.
With the revelation, I intend to work with my natural rhythms. My brain’s already ahead of me of course. Just yesterday I planned out both of my sister series in one sitting. It doesn’t seem logical, but I’m not going to question it. If my mind has a pattern, I can’t try to fight it.
I’m going to test how far I can take this, how productive I can be during these coming winter months. Because if I’m only connected to the muse half the year, I need to get cracking!
Have you ever noticed weird productivity patterns of your brain?