Every now and then, the coach and facilitator in me takes over the author in me, and I start finding lessons hidden in everyday moments.
Last night, as I went out for a walk after dinner, I noticed the snow slowly melting away. What remained were small, frozen smudges—patches that no longer softened under each step but had turned brittle, even slippery, waiting to trip the unwary.
That simple observation reminded me of a recent conversation I had with a fellow author. After ten years of writing, she decided to give up because she couldn’t turn his passion into a full-time career. Feeling overwhelmed by the demands of her day job, she chose to walk away from writing altogether.
As I looked at the frozen patches of snow, I couldn’t help but think—he’s become like ice. Rigid, hardened, and no longer able to flow with change. But perhaps, I thought, he should be more like snow instead.
Why do I say that? Let’s explore that idea in this article.
Nature has a way of teaching us lessons if we pause long enough to notice. For an author, few metaphors are as beautiful—and as revealing—as snow and ice. Though they’re made of the same element, their behavior under different conditions tells us everything about creativity, adaptability, and the writing journey itself.
Snow: The Adaptable Creator
Snow is a master of transformation. It falls softly, covering everything it touches with a quiet grace. It takes the shape of whatever it lands on—mountains, rooftops, forests—without losing its essence. Snow adapts, and in that adaptability lies its strength.
As an author, be like snow. Allow yourself to blend into new genres, experiment with different tones, and write beyond your comfort zone. Don’t be afraid to reshape your voice when a story demands it. Great storytelling often comes from writers who embrace change, who listen to what the narrative needs rather than forcing it to fit a mold.
Snow reminds us that flexibility doesn’t mean losing identity—it means growing with every word, every draft, every theme you explore.
Ice: The Rigid Artist
Ice, on the other hand, is snow that has hardened. It’s beautiful, but it’s rigid—unyielding and brittle. It glistens, but it also cracks under pressure. In the world of writing, ice represents rigidity—the unwillingness to evolve, to take risks, or to accept feedback.
When an author becomes too attached to a particular style or idea, the creative flow begins to freeze. The result might still sparkle on the surface, but it loses its warmth and depth. Readers can sense when writing feels forced, just as we can feel the chill of ice.
The Lesson: Flow, Don’t Freeze
Writing, like snow, is meant to move—to drift, melt, and refreeze into something new. You can write a mystery today and a memoir tomorrow; you can explore poetry even if you began with prose. Every story adds a new layer to your landscape.
So, when faced with creative uncertainty, ask yourself: Am I being snow—fluid and open—or ice—rigid and afraid to change?
The beauty of being an author lies in transformation. The moment you stop evolving, your art begins to harden. Be snow—soft yet strong, adaptable yet true to yourself. Let your words fall freely and reshape the world around you, one story at a time.
For more practical insights and handy tips about writing, publishing, and book marketing, check out my book The Modern Author’s Playbook.
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