NaNoWriMo or Creative Hibernation?

Samhain, Hallowe'en--whatever you call it, it is a signal that winter is upon us, and that darkness is rising towards its December peak.  Today is All Souls--and also the start of NaNoWriMo.  Now I've never done NaNoWriMo, but I did consider it this year, having a novel to write myself.  But I just can't bring myself to do it.  The days of winter, for me, are a time of going inward,  a time of hibernation in which to do my creative dreaming. So in keeping with the season in which I become the writer-bear, I give you a poem to celebrate those of us who prefer to take things a little more slowly.

Into the Shaman’s Cave
Dark: descending dark, and my hand in dense fur.
Black dark, night dark as the Bear devours.
Flesh first, stripped bone bare on the cave floor.
Eyes last, vision quenched,
a delicacy licked out by a Bear's hungry tongue.
Blood to earth, thirsty earth,
then silence.
Now and now and now and now
the red cave beckons.
I know Mother's secrets now,
For I am the Bear.

Hibernation and Other Writing Stories

Bears, I often think, are the luckiest of winter creatures. Oh! how much I should like to live my creative life as if I were the writer bear of my dreams.

Come October, having led a full and satisfying summer life of writing good prose and gorging my imagination on human sights and sounds and overheard snippets of conversation, I should settle down to rest, fat and full, wrapped in warm blankets of fur. In my dark and cosy den, the world would pass me by as I slept, dreaming of the plots of novels, intricate and intriguing page turners. As the cold and frost began to bite, my now-pregnant imagination would keep me warm, walking in otherwhere fields with mythical monsters, talking with Muses, skimming through the fascinating lives of new and never-before-seen characters. My unconscious mind would be a Dagda's cauldron of invention, bubbling and boiling with an ever-renewing and nourishing brew of Idea. Then, about March, I should begin to wake, having given birth to a litter of new writing projects. They would be demanding, of course, each distinct and different in their wants and needs. But each would also be full of possibility, growing each day a little more towards maturity. Soon they would emerge onto paper, small black potent words gambolling and basking in the hot light of another writing summer, sparking an abundance of signed contracts, co-editions, editorial enthusiasm and courting. And so, eventually, the writing bear's wheel would come full circle, and the cycle begin again.

Failing this delightful scenario, an afternoon nap is a sovereign remedy for almost all winter ills. And that's my Wisdom for the Day: If you can't be a bear, take a nap. Trust me. It does wonders for the writing mind.