Yesterday, I left my house. Since I’ve been writing seriously, that’s something that happens less and less. My husband and I were invited to spend a few hours up in the mountains and we accepted. It’s so peaceful up there, and I always imagine what my life would be if I could stay permanently. Would the surroundings remain as inspirational as I imagine or would I soon take it all for granted?
It’s not that I don’t get an abundance of story ideas down here in the smoggy valley, and the stories form in my head, not in the crystal clear air. Staring at a computer screen is the same whether outside is a pine forest or city streets. So, I expect, it’s an empty excuse when I tell myself I could be a better writer, if I lived somewhere inspiring.
Life is inspiration, wherever it happens, wherever it takes you. Gorgeous scenery can make your heart sing. It can make your spirit soar. It can make your Muse pour forth streams of beautiful words. But if you write about people, if you write about relationships, a scene like the one below—a landscape of the heart—can trump all others.