Sometimes my foresightedness blows me away. Okay, okay, on rare occasions my ability to weather forecasts works out to my advantage. For the better part of a month now, every day has pretty much echoed the one before it which I suspect has driven the weather people crazy. Nothing to talk about. And because I live in ski country, there's a lot of staring at the sky and doing snow dances. It must have worked because the much anticipated storm has hit, and although its only snowing in fits and starts, another storm is on the horizon and my son is out cross country skiing.
Not me. Because I bought out the grocery store on Fri, I have no inclination or need to go anywhere. Yesterday was, in part, devoted to making chili and working on Christmas gifts. More winter type cooking on tap for today along with the Christmas card pile.
Something else is simmering inside me, and that's what's finally getting me to the point of this post--writing. I love summer, adore spring, am invigorated by fall with those tied into outdoor activities. However in winter I all but hybernate. I read and read some more and I write. A LOT. There's something about the lack of distractions (except for Christmas and the economy and a new president about to take on the reins of this faultering country, etc) that takes me deep inside myself where the muse lives.
Not that long ago I was pushing myself trying to come up with story ideas now that I'm nearly finished with a contracted project. Had I hit the wall, I wondered. Was I burned out, a has been? I didn't really believe that because I've been doing this for a long time and trust my imagination. (It's my contact with reality I don't trust). But I felt as if I was pushing myself, forcing enthusiasm for the blip of a plot that I didn't really feel. Then as one quiet day followed another and I actually glimpsed the end of the current project, I felt myself opening up and getting excited.
Its hard to say where my enthusiasm will take me, but all kinds of things intrigue me and whisper "write about me, no me, me!"
Examples:
1. A dear friend who is battling cancer for the third time sent me an email showing a beautiful purple iris and a poem about how all of us have our own struggles and friendships see us through them.
2. On a road I seldom travel, I spotted a decaying building with a large "no trespassing" sign plastered on front. My frist question was, why would anyone want to followed by "what if someone did." What would that person find in there? Experience. Encounter. Learn about themselves.
3. My husband, a huge history fan, was telling me about a program he'd just seen on the history channel about the underground railroad used during the slavery era to spirit runaway slaves to freedom. What if an underground railroad still exists or exists in a world of my making? Who would benefit, what are the dangers, and what will those involved in it or trying to shut it down learn about themsevles?
More nuggets are poking me in the brain and that's exciting. And that, for me, is what the muse is all about.
Vonna
p.s. My Midnight Soldier has slipped from front and center on the Loose ID site but is still there, hint, hint in case reincarnation's your thing.
p.s.s. Devil Man is waiting for a cover and then will be scheduled for release Now there's a moody, broody protagonist for you.
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