Monday, November 7
Weather or not...
Oh the weather outside is frightful,
But the fire is so delightful,
And since we've no place to go,
Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!
No, it’s not snowing yet. Matter of fact, the weather’s been unseasonably beautiful here in North Central Nowhere. It’s been great for my exercise program—I walk; don’t be asking me to bend and fold muscles that haven’t moved since 1989—and the colors have been even more gorgeous than usual. The sun shines most days, a happy event for me, so I should be very, very productive.
But I’m not.
Since I’ve given this business of weather-effect-on-writing some thought, I think I’m a foul-weather writer. I’ve reached this conclusion by process of elimination.
When we go on vacation to the beach, which we try to manage at least every year or two, I take my laptop, my memory sticks, and everything else I can think of to get some work done while we’re there. Since I’m a morning person and always get up before anyone else, I plan to spend my early hours of aloneness on the deck with a cup of something hot, writing. And I do some of that. I get up early. I sit alone on the deck. With a cup. And the laptop. I open it, and then—DOLPHINS! ARE THOSE DOLPHINS? LOOK, EVERYBODY, DOLPHINS!
We spend the occasional weekend at state parks, too. They’re quiet and beautiful. I take my laptop to a quiet place to create. I mean, honestly, how could one not create in this relaxing place? Oops, let me get my coffee and I’ll—WATCH HIM! IS ANYBODY WATCHING THIS KID, FOR GOODNESS SAKE? HE’S GONNA GO EYEBROWS OVER TOENAILS DOWN THOSE STAIRS ANY MINUTE!
Even though I’m retired, I count on weekends as writing time. It’s just a habit I haven’t broken. When we go away—and the weather’s always good when we travel—I get to write in motel dining areas in those early hours. I love doing this. I try and hit the room about 5:30, when the coffee’s done but no one else will be there unless there’s another writer around. She and I grin at each other, raise our cups in silent salute, and get busy. Until a man with compromised hearing comes into the room and finds the remote control for the television that’s on the wall in all motel lobbies. He changes channels, but before that, he turns it ups so that THE PEOPLE IN THE GAS STATION ACROSS THE STREET CAN HEAR EVERY WORD.
And there you have it. Bring on that frightful weather, when I’ll sit in my rocker with my lap desk, laptop, and hot chocolate and write and write and write. If it’s snowing, I’ll look out and smile and plan to watch old Christmas movies later on, when my writing muse has settled in for a nap. If it’s raining, I’ll ignore it, other than enjoying the sound of it on the roof. If it’s storming, I ignore that, too—except for a flinch now and then.
It seems that when the world outside my window is less than perfect, I’m better at creating a world in book form that is more to my liking. What about you? When are you most productive?