I’ve been trying for weeks to unearth something to write about but it seems I’ve been digging in a barren field – my mind is blank, my imagination stagnant. 2021 is off to a rocky start in the creativity department. Contrary to my complaints my muse hasn’t actually abandoned me, she’s the girl beating me up right now – she is a meanie, the editor on my shoulder, the critic. She doesn’t care if I write or not because she is still being creative, she’s the one making up the excuses why I’m not writing and she has a playbook that goes on for days.
I got a glimpse of an idea yesterday morning while walking the dog but it vanished before registering. Chester and I continued to pad along the promenade both of us cursing the change in the weather and my lack of inspiration. It was raining, the temperature hovered just above freezing making the raindrops indecisive – drip, flake, slush. A gust of wind made their conundrum my problem, freezing droplets smacked me in the face and the decision to cut our walk short was easy.
Sitting inside my warm living room I watched the rain continue to change its mind. I was suddenly reminded of drives we used to make up Mt. Baker in the winters of yesterday. I could envision the minivan crammed with kids and ski gear and an old black lab named Yeller. Decades fell away for a moment – my window became a windshield. I caught a whiff of wet mittens – probably inspired by the stench of a damp Chesapeake – and was catapulted back in time.
I lingered in the past for a minute or two. Chester curled up on his pillow bed and I turned on my electric fire. I suddenly felt like I was facing a choice – I could ride the memory or sweep it away. Could this be the moment I would break the spell of 2021 and push through a writer’s block? Or would I be as indecisive as raindrops on a chilly day? The choice was (and always is) mine.