Every morning I walk our black lab, Cody. He’s five years old, weighs ninety-five pounds and loves all living things, especially the red fox that comes out of the woods every now and then to sniff about our chain link fence that circumscribes the full acre that makes up Cody’s world.
So every morning I walk Cody up and down what we call the “mountain road.” It’s not a mountain, but it is a two-lane road that winds up a rocky hill. We walk up the hill, then down, very basic thirty minute walk. Cody never tires of this walk and neither do I.
This morning, here in North Central Alabama, the weather has cooled. It’s roughly 67 degrees. This cool down is important for me. My writing life rises and falls in indirect proportion to seasonal weather. When summer temps begin to bear down in the nineties and the “feels like” temp is in the hundreds with humid mornings registering above 74 degrees Fahrenheit, I become comatose. I have no energy. I sit with my mouth hanging open. I gain weight. I stare at my manuscript as if it were a carcass of some poor animal, road kill that has landed on my desk. I wouldn’t be surprised to see a buzzard hunkered on top of the bookcase.
Air conditioning, which we have plenty of, does no good. The air in the house is conditioned sure enough, and yet, I still feel the oppressive heat. I feel it in my spirit. It hovers over one like an old humiliation. I want to sleep.
So with this wondrous 67 degree morning, I am awakened out of my writing stupor. I walk Cody. As I move up the road, I suddenly begin thinking of a story that I’ve written…it’s probably in its third draft, so it’s nearly done, but it needs more work. I start mulling over an early scene in the story. I mumble out dialogue. I don’t realize Cody has stopped to whiz on a few stalks of Johnson grass growing with a good bit of gusto by the road. I jerk backwards–Cody looks at me as if to say–give me a break! Sorry, I say.
I get back into the story. I’m coming up with names. I realize I need to Google for some better names. God, I love technology. I return to the story. The walk is nearly over and I’m amazed at that fact. There is a cool wind blowing. It’s chilly! I The sky is perfectly blue. I can’t wait to get to the back porch and start to work. Ah, but first I’ll blog about this.
So does warm weather affect your writing? Do you write better in cooler weather? No?
And this is the blog! Oh, the pictures I put up with my blogs are pictures I take from my porch. The two birds perched on the line are harbingers of Fall weather. One, the reddish one, appears to be a summer tanager on his way further south. The other one…I’m not sure.