Do you think inspiration is a waiting game? Sometimes I think I'm an old farm implement, like the plow that is on one of our burms, surrounded by perennials. Sometimes I think my thoughts are oxidized. I need to do other work in order to free up my imagination, which works overtime, most of the time. I have been writing in the mornings this week. So far, so good. I would give my eye teeth (if I still had them-- I had braces as a teen) and half a ring finger for the opportunity to go to a writers colony or retreat. I have daydreamed about this, but have never had the opportunity. Not really. Perhaps the closest I've come to time away from all responsibilites was my MFA. That degree happened in an eyeblink. I miss my mentors and classmates. It was bliss.
When I read posts in blogville about retreats and residencies, especially when they include pictures with commentary, I think the winning writers are in a slice of heaven. Very tempting. I would like to go to the Adirondacks for a week and write, or the Thousand Islands. Maybe, I'll figure that out this summer. In the meantime, I can channel Dorothy-- There's no place like home.
Oh! I just remembered, I have a bunch of lilies of the valley in my car truck that I have to plant. Need to get out there-- pronto!
A raccoon made a night raid on our barded rock chicks' cage. Reached in, strangled and ate two of the chicks. I'm so upset about this. It was very disturbing imagery. In truth, living in the country is violent.