I’ve read a couple of articles about odd weather and inspiration for writers. I don’t know if any of you have been paying attention, but here in Colorado, it’s going to be 17 below zero tonight. I find the cold does inspire me to stay inside under the blankets and read a good book. I haven’t found much creativity. Maybe it’s fighting for room with holiday spirit, I’m not filled with that either.

The visual landscape from my office is ice, snow and cold, even my little creek is frozen over. I swear my mermaid was shivering just a moment ago. Unfortunately, I’ve also had errands up the whazoo to complete. Domestic goddess duties abound and the animals in this house are going a little bonkers with the cold….the dogs too.

With the cold, my brain just locked up. It’s too cold to be imaginative, it says. Do some laundry. Watch a show. Take a nap. It’s cold….have I mentioned that? Okay, it’s not 52 below zero like it was in Minnesota yesterday….there’s a reason I don’t live in Minnesota, no matter how lovely it is in the summer time. I’m not an ice fisherman. I’m a surfer. A sunbather. A hiker. A writer that likes to go barefoot. Right now, giant wool socks!

I mentioned to my aunt that I was more interested in hiding under the covers than facing this arctic weather….this was her response:

I’ve shaken off my slump by forcing myself up and out of my slump. Profound, I know, but here I am. I did make albondigas. I purchased a pair of kick ass snow boots for frivolity sake and I am not under the covers. I’m going to make another cup of coffee, pull up my socks, double check the heat and get to work. I’m going to avoid looking of the window because it sends shivers down my spine.