Umbrellas were popping open everywhere as we walked about the gardens of Giverny during a particularly rainy afternoon that was bathed in the scent of so many flowers blooming in the wet, rich soil.
I always feel most inspired on stormy days. There is just something about burgeoning, darkening clouds, and a cool, humid atmosphere which compels me to write. But alas, I reside in a semi-arid region.
This poet thrives on inclement weather, and surging coastal waves. Months and months of clear, sunny days do not amuse my muse, so I am compelled to draw upon memories, such as that day in Giverny.
Years of living within walking distance of the beach, snowy days in wintry mountains, and all manner of intemperate atmospheres come to mind when the skies above are a perpetual, empty blue.
The photo, above, is one of many that I took of the property that Claude Monet called home, as a hedge against these arid days of Summer, and I can still recall the sounds and aromas of that garden.
Immersive writing, which I often cite, is all the easier when one has stored up indelible recordings, capturing every possible nuance, within one's mind for later use; a skill which I honed long ago.
At some point during my adolescence, it occurred to me that I might not always have ready access to my beloved seashore. That's when I began to use my mind as a camera, capturing long moments within environments that would later prove to be pivotal to my writing.
Eventually, I learned how to best feed my muse, discovering in the process that she has a remarkable appetite for elemental drama ... and that the grass is always greener where rain drops fall.
I always feel most inspired on stormy days. There is just something about burgeoning, darkening clouds, and a cool, humid atmosphere which compels me to write. But alas, I reside in a semi-arid region.
This poet thrives on inclement weather, and surging coastal waves. Months and months of clear, sunny days do not amuse my muse, so I am compelled to draw upon memories, such as that day in Giverny.
Years of living within walking distance of the beach, snowy days in wintry mountains, and all manner of intemperate atmospheres come to mind when the skies above are a perpetual, empty blue.
The photo, above, is one of many that I took of the property that Claude Monet called home, as a hedge against these arid days of Summer, and I can still recall the sounds and aromas of that garden.
Immersive writing, which I often cite, is all the easier when one has stored up indelible recordings, capturing every possible nuance, within one's mind for later use; a skill which I honed long ago.
At some point during my adolescence, it occurred to me that I might not always have ready access to my beloved seashore. That's when I began to use my mind as a camera, capturing long moments within environments that would later prove to be pivotal to my writing.
Eventually, I learned how to best feed my muse, discovering in the process that she has a remarkable appetite for elemental drama ... and that the grass is always greener where rain drops fall.
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