Writing under these conditions
Winter writing woes.
There’s something about January that’s disquieting. Cold and wet and dreary, or, in my case, in Florida, bright and sunny but with some of the coldest nights I’ve ever experienced here. The days are crisp and fresh and remind me why so many flee snowy winters for the Sunshine State. The nights remind me why I’m grateful to live in a place that doesn’t have to worry about frozen pipes and icy driveways.
The weather conditions aren’t the disquieting facets of January. This January, the first weeks of 2026, felt surreal. Like the world glitched and got pushed onto the wrong timeline, and these are the moments that break us just enough to get us back to the real reality. The one that isn’t a combination of 1930s Germany, 1984, and The Hunger Games. The one where Mon Mothma’s Senate speech about the “monster who will come for us all soon enough” doesn’t feel so sharply poignant.
As a historian of American history, what happened in Minnesota and at the White House was nauseating to watch. As a human being, it was chilling and horrifying. It was evil, plain and simple.
Little has changed in the week that turned into February, other than the sentiment that, well, at least January is over.
I waffle between being deeply ashamed of the country I live in and so full of righteous rage that I’m determined to save her before it’s too late. Maybe it’s already too late, but I think I’ll live in the probable delusion that America can be welcoming, intelligent, heroic, and empathetic again.
In the midst of ~all of this~, my personal and professional life has been… a lot.
In January, I started teaching two classes at two different universities — one I’ve been working at for five years and the other brand new to me. The new role at the University of Tampa is exciting and a tangible career boost, but it’s a class I’ve never taught before. So, my days and working hours have been largely spent building out the course and creating lectures that will (hopefully) engage a freshman audience.
It’s a fun challenge, but it's also become the job that’s taking up most of my brainpower at the moment.
Oh, but I wish that were all.
If you remember my “pardon the dust” post, you’ll know that my husband and I are going through a major home renovation. It’s been almost two weeks since a crew gutted our kitchen and tore open the walls and flooring in my home office/library. There are things everywhere. Our refrigerator is in the living room. My tea kettle lives on the bathroom counter, and our dish drying rack rests in the bathtub. I’m typing all of this on the lap desk in my “office” — my side of our room that’s covered in stacks of books, piles of yarn, and a TV playing lo-fi music.
I’m clinging to the fact that this is temporary, and we will (hopefully soon) emerge on the other side with a sparkly new kitchen and home library. I’m already looking at paint colors and bookshelves to complement the gorgeous terrazzo floor we found beneath the Pergo laminate flooring.
Between teaching and home chaos, my daily thoughts consist of…
Prepare slides on news writing strategies and AP Style. You need to finish that newsletter you started 5 days ago before it becomes irrelevant. Make sure you drink a cup of tea before coffee and food. I really wish I could vacuum and dust. I really wish I could turn the heat on, but the holes in the wall are open to the garage. What can we make for breakfast, lunch, and dinner with just a toaster oven? I really need to write [redacted] for [redacted]. I’m so behind on this month’s book club pick. I’m going to start reading Wuthering Heights before the movie. I haven’t posted on Instagram in days. I haven’t posted on BlueSky in a month. Is my scant presence on social media going to hinder me from getting writing gigs? I really, really need to finish my space book. I want to write fiction, but I don’t have stories and characters living in my head for years like so many other authors. Oh, that’s a good idea for a story, but I have so many other obligations that take priority right now. You need to grade the writing assignments and discussions from last week. You need to make next week’s assignment and start creating the midterm exam. You need to water your plants and do laundry before you run out of socks. I can’t wait for Spring Break. I need to look for internship opportunities to share with my students. I need to sign those late-add documents so students can enroll in my course. I wish I could make it over to the other coast to see the launch of Artemis II. Am I really a serious space history writer if I’m not up to date on all the moon mission news? What do I even put in my author bio besides “I’m working on a few things that will be published eventually”? Oh, look, my phone lit up with another Outlook notification. Do my students take me seriously? Am I just yapping about nothing for 2 hours? A chai latte with brown sugar and oatmilk will fix me, I’m sure of it. If you don’t post about what you’re writing, everyone will forget you’re a writer, and you’ll miss opportunities. If you want to write a novel, you need to start now. Most authors spend years writing and trying to get their work published. Am I too old to be successful? I should try to think of a short story idea to submit to that literary journal. Should I look at schools for a doctorate? Should I prioritize trying to get a full-time job in higher education? Omg, please pay your therapy bills. You need to finish writing this newsletter so you can work on your lecture for tomorrow.
If you read all that, congratulations and thank you. I feel better, even if all those thoughts and more are still there. They’re just a bit more muted and subdued for now.
This hits so close to home. For every hour or two of work I put in, I try to take 5-10 minutes just for myself. Whether that be to make a cup of tea, read a book chapter, or do a quick yoga stretch, it really helps remind me that mental health is just as important as our other work. Hang in there. <3