Where I live, it rains for weeks on end. It snows, and it howls. It’s Winter and that’s the best time to write. The muse is here and snuggled in for the season.
Like others of the mammalian persuasion, I find Winter to be the perfect time to indulge the imperative to move around as little as possible. Distractions are at a minimum, the snowy view is beautiful, and my mind wanders even more than usual. It’s the time for pen and page. It’s the consummate moment to smother myself in warm snacks, that favorite comfy chair, and let the muse run crazy through the house.
When the weather turns warm there are just too many distractions. Recovering from Winter is at the top of the list but, in the end, that list is infinite. With the Summer, the urge to move around comes back with a vengeance. It’s a difficult time to write. It’s time to play, do a little work, get outdoors and live a little.
Is there a Winter muse and a Summer muse? I think so. She of the cold days is more forgiving, more omnipresent. Her sun-loving sister is more fickle, less tenacious, less reliable. I’ll take the lady in white.
It all comes down to distractions, I suppose. It also comes down to mobility, to the constant war of body versus mind. The muse is always here, usually in some unexpected disguise. I understand that. However, I’m a lazy writer. I want her to knock on my Wintry door because I’m just too indolent to chase her around the warm times. I always leave the door unlocked in Winter.
So, thank you Winter muse. I’m happy you’ve returned. You’ve been a true friend throughout all these long Winters.