I love the icy feathers on my window when the temperature falls to single digits. I can’t see out, but I feel enveloped in indoor, winter warmth. I like snowstorms and reasons for hunkering down wrapped in a quilt with pen and notebook in hand and a cup of tea on the stand next to me. Winter inspires me to write with creativity. I like layers of clothes that keep me cozy and donning layers of a story until I feel myself become part of the story.
In warmer weather, peeling layers off let’s me look into characters, settings, and plots. I can stare at the denouement in the stark bright and declare it sound or nonsensical. Stripping down characters to bare shells allows me to cast a critical eye.
While the snow flies, I let the imagination twirl and swirl in a merry romp of writing. Creating warm scenes juxtaposed with frigid attitudes keeps the fingers moving, the brain jumping, and life as it should be.
