I’m in a spot of trouble at the moment.
You see, I am almost entirely certain that my ability to write creatively, and to write well, derives its power from the inverse of the amount of sunlight I am receiving. That is, the less summer sun and summer heat the better. Aware that I haven’t written a new blog post in at least a week, I have been using around half of my newfound prayer time wishing for rain. Whenever I see thunderclouds in the distance, hovering just over the mountain summits as though making ready to douse my home in water, I cross my fingers.
Please, this time? I ask. For real this time?
It never happens, because that is the beauty of living in the Inland Empire. Between the months of May and September it is laughable to wish for rain, needed and welcome though it may be. So what’s a gal like me to do when it is apparent that I need a change of scenery – or more aptly, climate – in order to get my creative juices flowing down from the stuffy mist they’ve evaporated into?
Free write was the first answer I came up with, and yet, when I sat down to put pen to paper, all I could think about was how hot it was, and to debate with myself on whether to turn on the AC. I suppose I could have written on the heat, but when immersed in hell, I feel certain one would rather not dwell on the matter too much.
So, until I resolve to either turn on the AC or leave well enough alone, that’s out.
I have considered a more roundabout method of freeing my mind up to write: why not instead go to the park to paint? I have an easel that sets up and breaks down rather easily, and certainly enough canvases and watercolor paper to spare. Maybe the pressure to write is to blame. Ah, that’s it (I am thinking to myself :3), I shall paint.
Again, the heat comes back into the fray, or rather my desire not to be in it. What if it is too hot and the watercolor dries faster than I can manipulate it? What if it is simply too bright, and the colors of the day too washed out to find a home for themselves on my canvas?
What if… I went later when it was a little cooler?
My lovely audience, I do believe I have run into that specter we call “procrastination”, a nasty bug only just distantly related to that disease “writer’s block”. Its symptoms include a sudden, intense desire to do chores over the current activity, a desire to nap rather than face the glaring emptiness of a blank sheet of paper, and in some severe cases, unplanned and unbudgeted trips to the nearest water park.
You know what, I think I will give free writing another try now that I know where the core of my writer’s block has burrowed itself. Unfortunately I wasn’t joking about my ability to write being seemingly dependent on the ambient temperature in my environment, but I will persevere!
And who knows, perhaps an unplanned, unbudgeted trip to a water park afterward will be just what I needed. ♦