There is a bite in the fat snow flake that is quite recharging. It seems to slap with soft electricity. I’ve found myself at times being disappointed in the lack of snow so far this winter. Winter haters might argue against my claim that it has been a fairly mild winter in Chicago so far. The rest of the country seems to be getting dumped upon. Over Christmas, I witnessed Minnesota slammed with something like 3 days of snow. Yesterday, a mini blizzard unleashed. I brewed a pot of coffee and set up shop at the kitchen table, facing towards the two big windows that face an open schoolyard. I enjoy watching the thick precipitation fall as a panoramic sheet. It gets me going creatively. Usually. Although the first chunk of yesterday it didn’t do much for me. I felt lackluster.
Then I actually went out into it and I felt more awake. I’ve spent much of this winter locking myself in, spinning the vinyl and typing away. But perhaps I've allowed myself to become too much of a hermit lately, and I'm not sure sticking around one side of the window pane is the best place to recharge one's spiritual batteries.
I’m going to try taking a walk each morning before I sit down to write. Point of view is huge for the telling of stories. Especially the novel I am currently working on. I threw out most of yesterday’s writing because it was flat. Today’s fresh air so far has seemed to translate onto the page with a little more kinetic energy than the day prior, where I only allowed the snowfall most of the day through to stimulate me only by way of one sensory organ. Point of view seems to exist like rice on a skillet. If it isn’t stirred and set in motion the grains at the bottom burn and stick.
P.S. I am finding that messing around with pen and ink helps warm up the imaginative muscle. I didn't do that yesterday, I'll do some more today...here's a piece from this weekend as I retooled a flyer idea.