It’s February, and that means I’m feeling a certain way.
Part of my annual process is going through my journals at the end of the year, and from doing this for several years I have noticed some patterns, and one of those is the second the Groundhog makes an appearance, I am seeking some color in my life. That color is Pink.
I wear black. My dark capsule collection has been my lifeline for some time now because I never have to think about what I am going to wear. I never fret over the color blouse that was advertised as coral but is actually bubblegum. I never walk out of the house with a sweater that clashes with my shirt. Black is black. Once upon a time wearing black made me feel depressed, but I have reclaimed the color and now it makes me feel classic and chic, helping me usher in my savage crone era. Or most likely, my Moira Rose era.
But pink actually is my favorite color.
When I was a child, pink was the go to color for little girls, but somehow I always ended up hanging out with these little monsters who would proclaim “My color is pink, you have to have the blue one or the purple one.” Another victim of second wave feminism – only one pink spot at the table. And because my mother would have been delighted if I had rejected all things pink – she honestly wanted me to cut my hair short and live life in khaki shorts and polo shirts – I didn’t fully embrace pink as my favorite color until I was an adult raising two boys. The boys would pick out things for the family and hand me the pink one. They’d tell me, “You’re the girl, so you get the pink one!” And while I have slyly introduced the problematic nature of gendering colors, toys, clothes and more, in the end, Mom gets the pink one. And I’m not mad about it.
So I buy myself pink things and they make me happy. Pink post its. Pink toothbrushes. Pink gum. Pink flowers in my courtyard. Little pink ponies that sit on my bookshelf. Pink rosary in my pocket.
I particularly love adding pink things to my writing workspace.
Over the weekend while grading some short stories, I started to identify all the pretty in pink things inside my writing studio. A pink fan, a stack of pink post its, the pink fluid inside a bottle of perfume … and each of these things filled me with a bubbly joy.
I am not a bubbly person. I’m a warm person, but I’m also direct, abrasive, and cannot be bothered with anyone’s foolishness. I don’t volunteer. I don’t rally. And I am dripping with mom-energy.
But every once and a while, I tap into that tiny human deep inside who wants to wear fairy wings and glitter and dance to the soundtrack from Grease.
That time begins now and will continue until the end of May.
You’ll find me at Sephora purchasing lip stain. You’ll see me at Michael’s buying glitter. You’ll spot me at the lawn and garden store loading up on more house plants.
This informs my writing as well. Now is the perfect time for me to write those scenes in my novel which inform the darker moments. Relationship that ends in disaster, right now is the time to write their magnetic romance. This is the time for me to play around with stories told by children or the innocent. Now is the time to write the atmospheric nature scenes when things are in bloom. And now is the time for me to experiment with new writing styles or ideas.
Often writers are encouraged to write even when they are not “in the mood”, because if you only write when you are “inspired” it’s too easy to avoid writing. However, when writers are feeling a certain way, it’s a good idea to lean into and utilize those feelings. To lean into those feelings of surrounding myself with that pink, bubbly, lightness, I photographed a few of the pink items in my studio.
Enjoy!
XOXO,
B.
And of course while I am gathering up all the pink, light, and bubbly things, I am also very excited to say I have a new novel coming out in less than 30 days. We’re in the countdown to Pretty Girls, y’all!
Be sure to pre-order your copy today!!
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