Ernestly Speaking

Winter can seem a fallow time for writers, at least those who live in the lands of shoveling, ice cleats, and short days. There is Advent, hot chocolate, Christmas preparations, and St. Lucia day (for the Scandinavian among us) to combat depression, but winter still seems a time of “blech” to me. Each year, more Christmas decorations stay in the large cardboard box in the basement, fewer holly-themed linens see the light of day, and the Christmas card list grows shorter. In fairness, the latter is partially because some people on the list have died–they are celebrating the Incarnation elsewhere!

Writers need light, both physical light to see the paper, the keyboard, and the cup of tea that humbly sits by waiting to be savored, and that wild light in the imagination that pings! and dings! ideas into our heads.

I have discovered an alarming fact over the years of my writing life: the light in the imagination is directly connected to discipline.

The stunning lights and music at the Christmas light show my family visited at Meijer Garden probably began being planned the previous February. Contracts were signed. Voltage was assessed. Each statue to be lit was measured. A small team of people likely argued about what colors, patterns, and timing would fit with each statue. Extra locals were hired to take tickets, pour mulled wine, wave neon whirligigs, and shovel snow. The result was magic but it wasn’t without effort.

So 2026 begins and I again take the pledge: “I will sit my butt in the chair for x hours a day and write x number of words.”

There is no other way, friends. There is no other way.

A little Nutcracker for the season

Meier Gardens, Grand Rapids, presented by PNC Bank