I’ve just returned from Utah where I visited my son Michael’s family, newly increased by the birth of his daughter. My grandson says his teacher tells him he’s gorgeous—no argument from me—and so is the place where he lives. The mountains are awesome, as in awe-inspiring, or awful, in the true sense of the word. They could be awful in the adverbial sense, as well, if you were stranded in them.
I often wonder: would my writing be more inspired, if I lived in the mountains … or at the shore … or in a little cabin in the woods? Maybe so, if I wrote poetry, but I write character-driven fiction. Beautiful scenery might serve as background in my writing, but wouldn’t likely inspire character motivation or dialogue. When I’m deep in my writer’s mind, I could be anywhere. No, I can’t blame my physical location for a lack of inspiration.
And besides—my roses are in full bloom right now and the spring bloom is the most fragrant. So, I’ve brought in a few blossoms to set beside me as I type and see what they inspire.
I have no excuse for not writing.