Today is like a Monday here in Canada. That’s because yesterday was Victoria Day, or as we call it, the May long weekend.
It almost always rains on the May long weekend. That’s because a lot of people camp. I can’t even remember how many camping trips I got rained on over May long weekends past. This year the weather forecast was for rain (surprise!) so some people prepared by packing extra rain gear (because in BC you always pack rain gear), or they changed their plans and booked a hotel or they canceled their trip altogether. All weekend it threatened rain but by noon every day the sun appeared. It didn’t rain once. Murphy’s law.
Generally I stay home for the May long weekend choosing a quiet, less busy city over traffic and ferry line-ups. This year, a lot of people who would have gone out of town (and should have) stayed behind making the seawall where I love to walk my dog almost as busy as Highway 1 during Friday rush hour.
Instead I opted for hikes in the woods and then the quiet of my own home, where (drumroll…) I drafted three new poems and revisited my new Madison Lake book! Does this mean the spell is broken? Does this mean my writing slump has been slumped? (that’s like a double trump for those card sharks out there). Could my block be freed?
Honestly, this hiccup in my generally prolific writing routine has lasted all of three months – a length of time I can handle (just barely), but enough time to regroup.
I feel like I’m back in the land of the living. My land, my life, where carefully chosen words begin to fill pages; poems like minimalist paintings, stories filled with complex characters, compelling plots, language rich and textured as midwest farmland in the spring.
Only the framework of book seven is in place but the cast thus far has been chosen and are ready to play out their story. My poetry seems to be angling toward the strife and triumphs of women as we age – our bodies, our spirits, our (must have) sense of humour, our sexual desire and needs, men, women, families.
Ah, to be home again.