Perfect Weather

For a writer, at least this one, this is perfect weather. Driving rain and winds gusting to 25 mph; cold temps, not cold enough to turn the rain to snow but cold enough to make things downright inhospitable. All this makes for perfect writing weather. This time of year tends to give writers more opportunities to stay the course. The real challenge comes with the summer months. A beautiful, warm, sunny day can throw an open-ended wrench into the works of authorial production. A southerly breeze with the scents of mown grass and sun oil and tropical drinks on its breath draws writers away from their work like sirens pulling sailors onto the rocks.

This weather on the other hand boils the creative stew. This sort of natural phenomenon stirs the soul and excites the heart. I peer through my office window and see trees bending and swaying. I see our river whipped into a frenzy maybe emulating the challenges that nature has thrown up against man in some of the great literature. Perhaps I'm watching Melville's inspiration for his man vs. nature theme pitting a one-legged megalomaniac against a high-strung whale. Or Jack London's cool ideas on the same theme. Maybe I'm seeing Faulkner's imposed-upon bear coming to life, Steinbeck's dustbowls, or Pearl Buck's Earth uprising against rampant overpopulation.

Then again, maybe I'm simply seeing a day of hostile weather doing its best to keep me inside; weather designed to keep me pounding on the keyboard. No summer breeze here. No mown grass, no beachy aromas, or margaritas. I can only hope we'll have some more of this perfect writing weather this summer. I expect I'll get some pushback on that last incantation. Just thinking out loud…