JULY 05, 2025
Last year, something happened to my writing process. Inspiration went cold. Sentences didn’t flow. And the right words became elusive beasts in an ever-thinning herd. Some people would term this “writer’s block”, two words that brought to mind an unyielding presence, an insurmountable obstacle with solid edges and sharp corners. I didn’t like it, yet there was no denying what was happening. I wasn’t writing.
I’d always imagined a person with writer’s block sitting locked at their desk, head in hands, crumpled pieces of half-used notepaper scattered around their feet. I didn’t feel like this. I still did things. Just not words-on-a-page things. Sometimes, re-framing a situation helps, and I found a new term to describe my cessation of words. It was as if I was in a different frame of mind, or season. Then it clicked for me. I wasn’t blocked. I was wintering.
The idea of wintering gave me a gentler view of this time, defining it as a temporary moment rather than something preventing me from continuing onwards. I was still moving forward, just in different ways, and perhaps a little slower, and a little more mindful. Wintering became merely a season (although sometimes it felt like forever) where the work simply did not happen. I also realized that everyone experiences seasons differently. Some people have short winters and after a brief cold snap, their words come flooding back. Others have more of a rainy season where production is dampened, but never really stops. And some, well, some lucky ones seem to bask in perpetual peak-season sun. While I was wintering, I watched others post publications on social media, their words startling and striking, full of intensity like sudden summer storms. My words, on the other hand, struggled to be a single line, bare footprints plodding along on a flat expanse of snow.
Sometimes, as writers, I think we can become obsessed with output and forget to nurture our writer-selves. After a blazing summer…things can burn out. Maybe chasing the submit/reject/submit/reject cycle gets tiring and there’s a desire to leave it for a while. Or maybe much effort and energy was poured into a project (how in the world do people ever finish novels?!) and there’s nothing left and perhaps not much to show for it. I believe wintering is a sign to slow down, become quiet, listen and wait. In real life, summer is the time for mountain biking, snacking on watermelons, and grilling delicious things on the barbeque. There are different activities for winter. Snowboarding, ice skating, and cozying up with a comforting combo of blanket, tea, and books become fresh options. I had to find my own activities.
Things to do during a wintering season:
- Re-find goals. When the words were flowing, it was easy to get distracted by exciting experiments, new submission calls, or interesting projects. It was a wonderful, but reactive time. When winter rolled around, I didn’t have many pieces, and I had to listen and feel out which things really felt right and which made me go “Nope, this isn’t the direction I want to go with my craft”.
- Do writing adjacent things. Some examples: maintenance on the website, archiving/categorizing/consolidating work in notebooks, computers, and notes apps, updating the writing resume (which can also show how much has actually been accomplished), or looking for writing residencies and maybe even applying for them.
- Do what feels natural. When the weather gets cold, follow the heat. Follow what stirs that passion, even just a little bit. It doesn’t need to be writing related. A food tour. A boxing lesson. Maybe even something a little more unusual like electric unicycling. I allowed my interest to shift in a direction I’d been wanting to explore: short poetry films (a little less writing, a little more playing with images and music). Suddenly, that other creative outlet turned into a new love.
- Make the writing space 1% more comfortable. That doesn’t necessarily mean decluttering or adding more decor (although both can be helpful). Maybe it’s admitting that not much writing actually happens in library cubicles or coffee shops, but instead the more preferable options are writing alone at the kitchen table or in bed with the dog.
- Collect seeds. Seeds are important. Those little things that aren’t full things? A fragment, an idea – keep and nurture them, even when they don’t seem like they will go anywhere because some day they may take root in unexpected places.
- Rest. Burnout is a real thing. Not writing every day and not submitting to all of the submission calls is okay. No one’s journey is the same.
So, how am I doing now? During part of my “writer” winter, it was actually summer outside and I became a little obsessed with my lavender plants. For the first time, I pruned them, finally managed to time a harvest just right, dried them in the garage, and spent hours hand-picking deep purple-scented buds off the stems and saving any seeds I found. During this process, I discovered that lavender seeds need to be frozen before they are able to sprout. And perhaps, in some ways for me, it is the same with words. There is a strong possibility wintering will happen again, but I know now that when it does, eventually, it will end. To some extent, I feel like I am still wintering, but as spring is (finally) waking up in this northern hemisphere that I call home, winter is also loosening its icy grip on my writing. Sprouts are occurring. Things that I’d sown months ago are suddenly popping up where I least expect it. New blades of green are appearing in spots I never thought to turn into a garden. A submission that’s been months in the queue is finally a “no”, but then there is a brand new lit mag that says “yes”. The bunch of words that’s been quietly insisting on being a poem, not a story, suddenly clicks because I’ve had time and space to listen to it. There are cracks in the ice. More days of blue sky. This doesn’t mean winter is over, but it might just be ending soon. And I am excited again.
Happy wintering.
Editor’s Note: I am so glad Jenny Wong shared this important writer life essay with me. This is her second essay published on this blog. Check out Jenny Wong’s May 2022 essay “Finding Inspiration in the Everyday” HERE.
JENNY WONG is a writer, traveler, and occasional business analyst. Her favorite places to wander are Tokyo alleys, Singapore hawker centers, and Parisian cemeteries. Her work was selected for Best Microfiction 2025 and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, the Best of the Net Anthology, Best Small Fiction Awards, Best Microfiction, and The Forward Prize – Best Single Poem (Written). Her debut chapbook is “Shiftings & Other Coordinates of Disorder” (Pinhole Poetry, 2024). She resides in Canada near the Rocky Mountains where she makes short poetry films and plans her next adventures.
X: @jenwithwords
Bluesky: @jenwithwords.bsky.social
Her new chapbook ‘Light Chemical Sea’ will be out in Fall 2026. DM to be added to a one time email that will notify you when the book is released.
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