Early each morning—and even earlier as our earth tilts away from the sun and carries us into winter—Nina Sophia stretches out of her fluffy sheepskin pelt and cloudsoft binkies to hop onto the human bed where she burrows between duvet and blanket.
That’s my cue. You see, I’ve reached that blissful state where children and a day job no longer compel me. Thus I begin the slow ascent toward my enduring habit of writing. Intriguing visuals and thoughts float through my consciousness until I’m too full of inspiration to stay abed.
That’s when I scoot the groaning Italian greyhound over to my warm indentations and bolster her with a pillow, furnishing her with that sense of pack she craves. Then it’s off to wash the sleep from my eyes and slip into my work attire. Today that means soft flannel bottoms with loopy bunnies that exclaim “I love you” in girly pink and cream. Yes, blushing as I admit this, but hey, they were a gift from Intrepid Guy. Over a cami I layer warm wovens. After all, this is the far northwest beyond which “there be dragons”—and Canadians, eh? Plus it’s snowing.
From a perpetual carafe replenished as necessary after my morning ritual, I heat a cup of dark roast mixed with a splash of soy. Off to my chosen place I go. Since I’ve been at this for decades, that space has been honed to my preferences. Thus I slip into fingerless gloves and spelunk into other worlds.
While many of my writer friends cultivate writing schedules that encompass Starbucks and other public spaces, solitude works best for me. I do enjoy the friction implicit in more lively settings, but not when it comes to getting the words down. For that I cultivate a more tranquil practice. And yes, whatever your artistic process, own it and bring consistency into your practice.
Now I’m back to my edit of SOUNDINGS, Water Elemental. Happy writing!