It's Sunday, so it's Edith.
After a wet spring and a torrid summer, today is glorious!
The breeze is just right, light and sweet. The sun is king of a clear blue cloudless sky, and after a cool morning, it's getting to be the perfect temperature for daydreaming in the garden.
No writing today!
Of course, when it was so hot that the birds in the trees were blistering, I stayed in the AC. It should have been a great days for writing! But there was so much to see out the windows, and water to be put in the birdbaths, and watching to see that the fishies didn't boil in their pond ... and constant testing of the temperature. How could I say I lived through the extraordinary heat wave if I didn't experience it? How can a person be expected to ignore the climate and write when that happens?
And when it was windy and wet and damp as a clam's armpit, it should have been perfect weather for writing. But there is a certain hypnotic effect when you watch the rain coming down in sheets, and then that frisson (a kind of curly French lettuce) of fear that the streets will flood, and how will you be able to drive anywhere? Hard to write in weather like that.
Don't even mention snow.
So how do I write?
It's called discipline.
Oh, let's be honest.
It's called "if you don't do this you don't deserve to be called a writer."
Fah! That's not honest either.
The truth is that once you get caught up in your own story, it could be raining puppies, the sun could turn blue, and you wouldn't notice.
And that's better than anything, indoors or out.
And that's why I write.