Autumn & the pursuit of writing

Autumn. The season sentimentalists and traditionalists love. And I get it. But I’d rather be stuck in summer—like we are right now in NYC. Give me warm temps and relaxed dressing any day of the week.

I understand the thrill of sweaters and cocoa; roasting instead of grilling; all the implicit coziness, you break out the candles and blankets, and turn inwards. But I don’t buy it!

Autumn is a long, slow descent into winter—also known as hell.

It’s also when my manuscript is due, which is both stressful and exciting. I’m chipping away at it. It’s coming together. It’s excruciating, challenging and gratifying. At the end of the day writing is such a masochistic pursuit. There’s this drive and need and something you think you need to do and get out in the world, and then as you’re doing it, you curse yourself and wonder why… Why do I put myself through it? Why do I need to share all this? Why don’t I just read and relax? Why do I devote all my free time to writing when I don’t even know who, if anyone, will read it?

But it reminds me of one of Lenny’s recent subject lines: Our voices are our superpowers!