Is it easier to write in the winter?
I think so. I am such a boy of Summer. (At least Summer turns me into a boy again, minus the flexible knees and freckles). So I find it hard to sit in my hut while the beach beckons. I need to swim, to expose flesh to sun, to sip from ice-filled glasses. Not sit at my desk and conjure colder climes.
Winter’s the season for that. You can see my hut here under snow (see previous post for the interior). That’s my commute too. (Apologies, all office workers). A mug of coffee placed on the desk while I build a fire. I’ll show a photo of my stove another time but it had a huge updraft and is really easy to light. A few pieces of paper, some kindling… whoosh! Coffee’s still hot when I throw on a bigger log and fire up the computer. Then it’s off to other worlds: last winter it was Shakespeare’s London. The one before, Constantinople.
Its sunny now. The lake calls. I wouldn’t say I crave Winter, not at all. But I know that my writing will come a lot easier without the siren call of Summer.