Occasionally, one must break free from the escapism that is fantasy writing and dwell in the real world. It’s easiest when the real world is fantastic on its own.
The morning dawned a dim gray and cold — cold for September when temperatures over 90 were just a few days away. I have two blankets on my bed now, and my sons complain of being chilly even in sweatpants and hoodies.
I read once the human brain works best around 48 degrees Fahrenheit. I don’t remember where and I don’t know if it is accurate for the majority of people who would probably be shivering at that temp. It works for me though. The cool breezes of Autumn spark my muse. They give me energy after a long Summer saps it away and sweats it out.
The image to the right has nothing to do with my world or where I live, but I would love to walk there. The grass is a little too perfect for my tastes, providing nothing to look at with interest. There are already touches of gold in the trees, if I squint a bit, and I can imagine those shafts of sunlight working hard to banish the dews of morning.
Today is the type of day to get out into the woods and listen and to feel the changing air against my skin.
But, I have writing to do, and Mom things to do, and I’ll have to stay inside and do them. Reality. Sometimes it just sticks.