For the past several weeks, my writing life has slipped quietly into one of those unexpected “wintering” phases — the kind we don’t always plan for, but usually learn from.

This wasn’t a conscious retreat. It was more like the feeling of walking through a familiar forest trail and realizing the path has narrowed for a while. Life grew very full — in the way life often does — and my creative energy shifted into a slower, more contemplative rhythm.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about creative seasons: how our stories sometimes press forward urgently, and at other times retreat below the surface, asking for patience rather than progress. As writers we’re taught to fight that ebb and flow, to push through with word counts and rigid discipline. But I’m discovering there’s a quiet kind of wisdom in letting a story breathe, especially when the rest of life is calling loudly for attention.

Even in the still moments, the work hasn’t stopped altogether. It’s simply happening in a different register.

A sentence that drifts through while I’m making coffee.

A character revealing a new facet when I’m on an evening walk.

A theme deepening itself when I’m nowhere near the keyboard.

This season has also carried the early tremors of a major life transition for me — including the possibility of a geographic relocation in the not-too-distant future. Change has a way of rearranging the inner landscape long before it rearranges the outer one, and I can feel my creative world shifting in response. Stories evolve when we do.

If you’re in your own quiet creative season, I hope you can give yourself permission to trust it. Not every step of the journey needs to be brisk; some chapters are meant to be slow. Some seasons strengthen the roots rather than the branches.

My stories are still with me — the novels, the plays, the screenplays — but right now they’re percolating, deepening, reshaping themselves while they wait for their next burst of momentum. And I’ll be here, listening, ready for when the next season arrives.

Thank you for staying with me through all the seasons, fast and slow.