The world is a sensual place and our job as writers is to grab those senses and give our readers enough of a taste to spark their own imaginations. How do we do that? First, by being good observers. All artists must observe the world around them in order to translate it into their art. But there is also a deep inner world, a resource full of memories, not to mention the internet; to help us imagine our world without leaving the house.
There’s also the place you write in. And here on this fine May day, there’s no better place for me then on my screened-in porch, or on the attached deck. The breeze is blowing through carrying the perfume of the lilacs at the base of the step. I can see their purple blossoms bobbing in the breeze against a backdrop of multi-shades of green. May is our reward for suffering through the pains of winter: the silence of white, the quiet absence of life now broken by this overabundance, this bursting forth. The crows are cawing, the sweet tweet of the chicadees, the incessant questioning of the mourning doves: whoo, whoo, whoo; and the twittery chatter of the rest of the bunch. When the Grosbeak shows up, then we’ll really have song! The hummingbird hovers by my window wondering when the feeders are coming. [Read more…]