Today marks the winter solstice, the year’s shortest day and longest night in the Northern Hemisphere. In true 2020 fashion, it is no ordinary solstice. Tonight is a historic astronomical event. The Great Conjunction between Jupiter and Saturn occurs in the constellation of Aquarius. These planets last met in the Water Bearer’s realm in the 1400s. Astronomer Patrick Hartigan, professor of physics and astronomy at Houston’s Rice University, says, “You’d have to go all the way back to just before dawn on March 4, 1226, to see a closer alignment between these objects visible in the night sky.”

From earth, the two giant gas spheres will appear a mere 0.1º apart. Their alignment is so tight they’ll appear as a single star, earning this conjunction the nickname “The Christmas Star.” This singular lifetime occurrence will be discernible with your naked eyes. It is best observed slightly above the southwestern horizon, 45 minutes after sunset.

Throughout history, humans search the vast heavens for meaning, hope, and confirmation the world continues turning. We seek assurances that light dispels darkness, and winter naturally yields to summer. We find immense relief believing suffering and pain are the prerequisites for a joyous reward.

Where do you find signs of comfort?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The weather forecaster says it will snow tomorrow morning. I listen to people groan and complain about the inconvenience it causes and the need to fire up the snowblower. I commiserate with the traffic issue, but my soul loves when it snows. Shoveling the driveway is an enchanting occasion. My favorite time to complete my cherished chore is late at night, while big fluffy flakes float from the heavens and slowly settle to the ground.

The neighborhood is quiet. On the main road, heavy-duty dump trucks, equipped with giant blades, scrape the pavement. The plows won’t venture down my tiny residential street until they clear and salt the major arteries. For now, it is me and the astonishing comfort of silence. The snow shovel grates on cement, cracking the brittle cold air as I erase any evidence of the white powder. The temperature gauge hovers around freezing, but I am warm, and I couldn’t be happier. These are the minutes I live for.

What are your happy little moments?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

There are few tasks as rewarding as choosing the perfect gift. Gifting to special people is our way of expressing admiration, respect, love, or sometimes disdain for the recipient. We invest careful consideration, weighing each selection before we make our decision. The process doesn’t stop there. The holiday wrap must have significance and coordinate with trims, bows, and name tags. We cut the wrapping paper, trimming it with precision, tucking edges, and folding precise corners to create a visual masterpiece. If we succeed in our goal, discovering the treasure inside is an event to be remembered.

There is a great joy in watching a beloved family member unwrap a festive package decked with sparkling decorations. The box’s mysterious contents pique their curiosity. Some take forever dissecting tape and unraveling ribbons. Others can’t stand the suspense, and they rip, tug, and tear until the item lays in their hands. Surprises, delight, joyous squeals, and heartfelt gratitude are the payoff for the giver of fabulous presents. When we consider the emotion we long to convey, we discover selecting an ideal present is rarely contingent on the monetary value. The best gifts often require investing time rather than spending money.

What is on your wish list this year?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

The last-minute madness of the holiday rush begins at 5:01 pm Friday. With lists and reminders by my side, I set to work. In the wee hours of the morning, tired but happy, I collapse into bed, knowing my reward is near.

The enormous pile of nondescript delivery boxes will have transformed. Purchased presents, festive holiday paper, sparkling ribbons, glittering bows, and decorative tapes are magical ingredients. Wrapped gifts will soon pack Santa’s bags, ready for distribution to friends and family. I plan to add the trays of countless dozens of themed cookies to the neatly labeled piles first thing in the morning. Only a few select treasures will lie tucked beneath a twinkling Christmas tree, waiting for our scheduled Zoom call. I review my notes, check the list once more, and smile. Tomorrow morning is drop off day.

Saturday’s remaining agenda calls for pajamas, naps on the couch, and the traditional family movie marathon. There are no surprises in this lineup. The list contains classics, both new and old, with some added, just for fun. The stories haven’t changed — we know every word. A watch party is a new twist, but I expect the films still have the power to evoke nostalgia kissed delight. Friends will text to compare movie trivia, bet on the likelihood of a White Christmas, and make plans for the New Year. When the pizza arrives, holiday stress is guaranteed to dissolve into holiday cheer.

What is your favorite holiday movie?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Inspiration and creativity are indelibly linked. Inspiration materializes from the ether, exploding like St. Elmo’s Fire. The event is awe-inspiring, forging a connection to a powerful energy and the motivation to create. You emerge with certainty, clarity, and a vision. A concept to launch your project, intuition on how to proceed or a novel way to complete your task is the product of your transcendental experience.

Recreating the encounter is an exercise in futility, and chasing it makes it more elusive. When I hit a wall, the best solution is to step away from my screen and do something else. I have a laundry list of preferred activities. I shovel snow, do yoga, walk outside, indulge in a hot bath, or brew a strong pot of coffee to sip with fresh baked red velvet cake. Ideas have struck while weeding, crocheting, arranging a bouquet, listening to the wind dancing in the trees, and feeling the sun warm my skin.

Some writers report success with reading, finding quiet moments, immersing themselves in nature, or engaging in other creative pursuits. I have discovered taking risks helps me tap into my source. I often start a new project without knowing what I am doing. By creating high failure potential, I cause the cosmos to take notice. The payoff comes when a story appears, the entire piece written in my mind before my fingers ever touch the keyboard. The common thread is a willingness to let go, play, and consider possibilities hidden within the realm of the seemingly impossible.

Where do you find inspiration?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

It lies on the horizon. Shrouded in mist, more of a mirage than anything real, I sense rather than see it. Yet, when I squint, the fog falls away, and my imagination conjures missing details, adding color, definition, and clarity. It seems incredibly distant. It mocks me, hovering tantalizingly beyond my reach. The universe is fickle and refuses to divulge the roadmap. There are no instructions, no listicles of the exact steps to take, no hint of a path, or any sign anyone has ever passed this way before.

Inaction is not my friend. I cradle my ephemeral vision in kid gloves, protecting its fragile existence as I shoulder the impossible, and set to work. Obstacles arise, and I discover my insecurities created the hurdles I must navigate. Facing unfounded worries, paralyzing fear, and self-destructive thought patterns, I stumble forward with relentless determination.

There are mountains to move, valleys to cross, and rivers to ford. My friends call me crazy, but I prepare myself for the challenge. The long hours lead to unexpected discoveries. The arduous work imparts a sense of satisfaction, and it fuels my resolve. When I look up from my task, I imagine my goal is closer.

Do you see your dream on the horizon?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

I turned the calendar and realized we are at T minus 10 days and counting. My field-approved holiday procedures joined the smoldering embers of The Great 2020 Dumpster Fire. Any hope of returning to our regularly scheduled holiday programming died a whimpering death next to the Thanksgiving turkey. We nixed singing and dancing our way through crowded shopping malls in favor of scrolling through endless websites. We fear the dreaded Out Of Stock listing. If the perfect gift is still available, we pray for a bona fide Christmas miracle — free shipping and a delivery date guaranteed to arrive in time to slip the package under the tree.

The extended forecast is devoid of snow and promises only cold and cloudy conditions. I have queued the usual Holiday movies. At the rate we are binge-watching them, morning, noon, and night, I expect the re-runs to begin soon. Instead of decorating the entire house for countless holiday parties, we have staged an exquisite Zoom backdrop. We pretested the lighting and camera-tested the family coordinated ugly sweaters to ensure the reds read as true red and not orange or pink.

All that remains is to obsess over whether Santa has started his quarantine protocol and gotten the proper PPE, as we wait to hear if the CDC approves his normal contactless delivery process.

What are your fancy 2020 holiday anxieties?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

I have a Sunday ritual. Sometimes I carve an hour from a lazy afternoon or as I watch a movie in the evening. The crucial point is, I never sleep until I finish, even if it means sitting in bed to plot my schedule. Turning the page on my calendar, I begin front-loading my week. Front-loading is placing my most important, time-sensitive, deadline-driven, most hated, or least fun chores on Monday and Tuesday.

I treat these two days as my crunch times. While my coworkers’ transition from their weekend, I close my door, hit the ground running, and eat those nasty frogs. I focus on completing my project, but I don’t push beyond my peak productivity levels. When I feel myself fading, I allow myself to switch to another task, or I take a break. Depending on the size and complexity of the assignment, it may leak into the latter part of the week. But my goal is to accomplish the bulk of the job as soon as it is workable.

Tasks assigned to Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday have less significance, and I often have nothing listed on Friday. This approach allows me to meet my deadlines with a polished presentation and absorb unexpected setbacks and emergencies. The big payoff happens when I complete my work sooner than I thought possible. In these found hours, I can launch new initiatives, develop pet projects, or reward myself, and coast into the weekend without guilt.

How do you organize your workweek?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

Days, weeks, and sometimes months pass, and I feel like I am going nowhere. My feet are heavy, and I struggle to extract my boot from the mire. The mud releases it with a sucking pop. Poised, my foot dangles in midair, and I squelch the urge to run, knowing that desire will not yield the results I want. I fling it forward, transferring my weight as I drag my opposite leg to join its companion. I sink, settling into the muddy mess that marks my path. A misty rain falls, an annoyance that is not strong enough to turn the quagmire into a rushing river and whisk me away. The constant drizzle only serves to hinder my progress.

I don’t possess enough courage to stop the guts to admit defeat or the backbone to beg for someone to rescue me. There is no shortcut here, only a dogged determination to keep working, keep trying, keep moving. This is where I do the work, write the stories, allow brilliant ideas to germinate, and I make plans. Everything looks dormant and dead. It is an illusion. I happily spend time here because this is where I create possibilities and earn promises of glorious rewards. A golden fist will knock on my door, and I intend to answer.

How do you get through your mucky middles?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

They predict a storm this weekend. The forecast calls for precipitation, freezing rain, sleet, and snow with projected accumulations of 2 to 4 inches, and I am expecting them to add hail, tornados, thundersnow, flooding, high winds, and streets covered with ice to the line-up. I am waiting for locusts, snowmageddon, and the four horsemen. It is 2020, after all.

I drive home, racing past packed grocery store parking lots without stopping. At my house, a full freezer, a stocked pantry, and the aroma of a simmering crockpot greet me. I have plans, and the impending assault helps set the mood as a dense fog obscures the view from my window, and a misty drizzle falls.

I have scheduled a long writing session, and the inclement conditions suit me. My characters are on the run, fleeing their evil tormentors. Biting wind gusts blow fallen leaves into their path. Tree limbs crack like whips, and lightning scratches angry marks across the midnight sky. Bram Stoker trembles in his grave as the pursuers gain on our intrepid heroes.

Temperatures plummet, the torrent solidifies, snowflakes fall, sticking to every surface. Jon Snow adjusts his Night Watchman cloak. Winter is coming. Can my protagonists escape? Will hunters captured them, or do they succumb, becoming victims of the elements? There is no way to foretell the tempest’s fury.

Does the weather influence your work?

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer