Ah yes. I can feel the cool autumn breeze teasing me with what was, and what's to come. I must say that since being suddenly assaulted one late November night with story ideas, and realizing that I should be putting them down on paper, these last couple summer months have been the complete opposite of productive.
After all who in their right mind would want to sit down in some musty old basement, tapping away on their laptop, smelling the beautiful fragrance of recently soiled kitty litter, while everybody else is outside splashing around on the "slip 'n slide", drinking beer and eating corn on the cob? (Long sentence, sorry) Obviously me, and other hopeless cases who love this thing called story telling.
But living in Edmonton, Canada, I can now feel the deep-freeze crawling to us in all of its inevitable, chilly glory. -25C, I've longed for you. I've waited for the blizzard's siren call. Please, oh wintry wonderland that shall cover my driveway with 4 feet of snow in early November, please give me no reason to stray outside and neglect my chosen craft. Entomb me within your frosty surroundings and never let me leave my desk (except to shovel said 4 feet of snow before my wife kills me).
So all of you aspiring and published writers in God-awful places like Phoenix, or L.A., or Florida, or anywhere else where the temperature is hot and the writing's luke warm, stop your procrastinating ways and move up to where it can still be sunny and clear, yet reach -40C with the wind chill.
Oh, there will be plenty of writing to be had these next six months! On second thought, I've always wanted a girl . . . .