I’m finding that the time I spend not writing is as important as the time spent with fingers on the keyboard. I’ve always known my daily jog adds to my creative process. It’s like meditation – feet hitting the pavement in rhythm for five miles. My mind wanders in a stream of consciousness fog and scenes from my novel unfold before me like a movie. Most of my writing is now done between the hours of 9pm and 11pm – after the kids have gone to bed and I can finally focus. It’s become my routine: Kiss the kids goodnight, clean up dinner dishes, pour a cold beer, write. But it’s what happens throughout the day that determines how well that writing session goes.
Today I woke up to rain. As tropical storm whatever-they-named-it moves up the east coast, a steady patter of rain sounds on our roof. Outside, I can hear it on the tree canopy and I imagine the rainforest – either tropical, or coastal like the south west region of Alaska. It’s in the mid sixties out, and the rain is pleasant on my skin. After putting 6yo on the bus, I tossed the umbrella aside and picked strawberries from our garden. I’m not normally a rainy day person (thunderstorms are a whole other thing), but today I love the wet. I’m going running in it, throwing my iPhone in its waterproof case and fully intending on arriving home soaked and full of ideas.
Fresh strawberries in the kitchen, the drum of rain on our roof and gutters, the shocking green of late spring right outside my window. I foresee a successful evening of writing ahead of me.