I went to see Michael Flatley’s Lord of the Dance the other night, and it was the most amazing live performance I’ve ever seen. My daughters took Irish dancing a couple of years, so I recognized some of the music and choreography, but I was totally unprepared to see these dozens of feet on fire.

At the end of the show, the dancers bowed to a wild, sold-out audience of clapping, screaming fans. Even I had to join in with a few hoots and hollers, forgetting for a moment I spend most of my days hauling little people around in my mom taxi. It was wonderful. Our joined hearts were flaming. And then it was time to go home.

The theater lights went out; people in the audience started shuffling, looking for purses and umbrellas. But it was so dark. A minute passed.

And then the stage lit up again, the music and lights electrified the room, and the dancers appeared, entertaining us with an encore that somehow surpassed their previous two hours of work. I didn’t know the human foot could possibly move that fast! We clapped and hollered some more, filled with the rich heritage of Ireland.

As I drove home that night, I thought about the darkness that preceded that encore. We really thought the show was over — but the best was yet to come. It reminded me of what an editor once told us wannabe writers at a conference — she used the term, “fruitful darkness.”

She said sometimes you write something, and you think it’s so good, you send it out before it’s ready. Or you get back some work from an editor full of change requests, and you want to dash off an angry email shouting IN ALL CAPS how your writing was already perfect. Instead, she encouraged us to take advantage of the “fruitful darkness,” by letting our work sit for a while, giving it at least 24 hours to rest in silence. In time, you’ll have the energy and renewed vision to give your work the passion it needs.

The same goes for our writing careers, I believe. Sometimes, as mothers, we must spend long YEARS in the darkness, writing quietly in our journals or private correspondences because the timing is not quite right for us to pursue publication. Our families need to eat meals our hands prepare, they need clean socks in their drawers, and most of all, they need our focused attention. And love.

While our writing waits in the dark, we can still be getting our creative acts together, behind stage, waiting for the lights to come on, the music to begin, and the timing to be right for our best performance.