Outside, it’s cold and raining hard. The drops are crisp and chilly on my skin. It’s at times like this that I really wish I were in a position to be at home curled under my great-grandmother’s quilt with my laptop in front of me, writing away.
Right now, I’m thinking about a man named Stretch who is long and lean. He wears a hat, a Fedora like my Grandad and he has a lovely smile. He’s a potential character for a story I haven’t even conjured up yet, but I can’t wait to get to know him better…
I don’t know what it is about the weather, how the steady dropping of the rain stirs so many thoughts and ideas in. The rain, to me, is like music… I listen and I smile and I create, in sync with the lyrics.
I have more than an hour to go before I can actually go home and attempt this, though, and with life’s other curveballs, who knows if it will actually be accomplished.
But, after all these years, I’ve learned that with me, it starts with the desire to get it done.