We’ve had a mild winter this year. Maybe a handful of days where the low was below zero, and windchills in double digits below zero. We haven’t even gotten a stretch of more than one or two days of single or teens above zero. (that’s all Fahrenheit degrees for those who use Celsius 🙂 )
This week we have had an interesting stretch. Last week the weather wonks said we were going to get a little snow on Monday. Maybe half an inch where we are. No biggie.
Erm. Yeah. So we weren’t expecting the 6 inches we actually got.
Then, of course it got cold, like single digit above zero cold for about 2 days, so icy roads. On the bright side, it was sunny 😀
Now we’re getting a nice thaw–during the day. Everything will refreeze at night, but there is something to be said about above freezing temps. They’re even claiming we’ll hit the mid-40s.
So, on the agenda is a walk or three to enjoy the warmth and the sun, and feed my muse a bit. The WIP is going okay. I’m past a rough patch, so now I can run a bit. Still planning to have a draft finished by the end of the month. Wait, February only has 28–no, 29 days this year. Yeesh.
So, the walks will be valuable muse-bonding time.
“At least you’re listening to me, love.”
I can’t stop the eyeroll. My Muse closes the back door of my writing office before stomping snow off his boots. He’s wearing a flannel jacket with that sherpa lining, with a dark green watchman’s cap and black leather gloves, which he stuffs into his hat before shoving them into a sleeve of his jacket.
“And you had to make sure to let me know.” Another eyeroll. “I know walks help me with inspiration and brainstorming. That’s old news. Besides, I don’t include you in back-to-back posts as a rule, so what gives?”
He toes off his boots, pulls a brewski from the fridge, and drops into the recliner beside mine. “Gotta get an early start.”
“What do you mean, an early start?”
He gestures to my laptop. “Your WIP. Which you didn’t work on yesterday.”
“I was focusing on my homework. Which reminds me, I have to finish my assignment.”
Silence swells between us, thick and heavy.
He leans toward me. “Are you going to mention it, or do I have to?”
Pressure on my chest tightens against my lungs. That stupid knot in my throat returns. “I was fine until you said something.”
“You can’t make her be reasonable, love. She has to figure it out for herself. You know that. Don’t let that strangle your creative energies.”
If it were only that easy. My nineteen-year-old daughter still can’t be bothered to listen to any advice from Mom and Dad, and has an uncanny way of pushing my hubs’ buttons. And he’s a patient man; he’s put up with me for almost thirty years.
And of course my daughter doesn’t want to talk about it.
“And here I was all fired up to write.” I get up to snag my own brew from the fridge. “You crashed my vibe.”
“No, I’m helping you work through it.”
Not so much. “Okay, since you are a Muse, why don’t you throw some sense and reason toward my teenager.”
He shakes his head. “Not my area of expertise. However, I’ll be right beside you on your walks, so maybe bring along your phone this time to record all your brainstorming revelations.”
I can do that. Everything will be sloppy with the melting over the next few days, but hey, it’ll be nice out. Looking forward to a balmy weekend.
Just keep on writing!