We've had a ghastly October. It's rained more than half the days, it's been below average temps, and the worst is yet to come. That's what I wanted to write about today. The weather. And how it affects my writing. I've grown up in Minnesota. There are some things about winter I like: the first snow, snow angels, sledding, heated car seats, hot soup, saunas, fires. I also like the way the land looks in winter, more sculpted. I won't bother with my list of what I'm not so crazy about.
But one thing I really love about winter is all the writing I get done. Even in college, winter quarter was always my most productive. I pile my books up around me, get a hot beverage of some sort, and get to work. There's little reason to go outside, less distraction, and a certain blankness in the world that allows my mind to go on a binge. So while my garden goes dormant, my desk seems to be growing projects.
It's Halloween tomorrow. Why don't we all write ghost stories?
Winter is a season as any other in North Dakota. Will I be able to get to work? Will there be too much snow? Will there be too little snow? Will my roof leak? Will the cattle make it? (not mine, I have none) And, of course, the flu. Each season is beautiful and full of ghosts of the past. But, ghosts are in every thing I write. So, as Mary says, go on a mind-binge.
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