Today is a snowy day here in Arizona. It started coming down in the middle of the night and didn’t stop until the late morning, leaving a layer of white on everything in the world outside my window.
On usual days–work days, sunny Arizona days–these are the days I dream of for writing. I imagine a day when no work needs to be done, I’m curled up in front of the window with a blanket and a cup of coffee, looking out at a beautiful scene, when the words just come to me in this flawless state of Writing Zen.
This is what I imagine published authors do. As I read their stories, I imagine them this way–their lives stopped while they pen the world we readers immerse ourselves in. These are the kind of days I imagine reading on too.
In reality, we read on work days. We read on sunny days. We read between appointments or while we stir the pot on the stove. We read late into the night when we should be sleeping.
This is how stories are written too. We write them when piles of laundry need to be done and when we’re fighting with our loved ones. We write when the bills need to be paid and the house is filled with noise.
I have this fantasy that the few times each year when the true beauty of nature lines up with the demands of my life, I’ll write a piece of art that speaks from my heart to yours. But in reality, I write on all the days in between and it’s the stories that make each of those days this beautiful.