“Why am I eating an hour early?”

The spring forward weekend reminds me that our middle Tennessee winter—the brief period of darker days and searching for a glove you lost last year—is close to an end. As humans, we often try to fight the cold months of nature and curse its bone chilling winds while wishing for sandals and sun. (I am firmly planted in this population.) But if we follow the seasons and flow with them, we can adapt just as the animals do.

I use myself as an example since friends and family aren’t fond of my using them. (Oh, wait, I’ll just share one photo of Dad, flowing with the seasons by digging out all of his superhero underwear each year at the first sign of spring.)

Dad’s “Welcome Spring” wardrobe

When the cold weather comes, I ramble indoors like a bear to a cave, snuggling in deep to create a new story (insert your own project of choice here). I curl up into the plot and hear the characters’ innermost thoughts inside that hollow cavern. Their truths hover all around me like a warm fire, keeping out the cold of the unknown…what will happen next? Whispers echo from faraway places, luring me into the story. Some characters stick to the page. Others haunt my mind and spill out conversations at any time of day, or night. I’ve asked them to please hold their inspirational thoughts when it is freezing cold and I’ve just climbed into a warm bed, or while I am doing 70 mph on the interstate. So far, my requests have been ignored.

But when those first flowers of spring pop out of the soil, it is time to come out of our creative caves to see what we have made. My characters will stretch their arms and legs (and in some cases, their wings) and greet the sun with a new understanding of what they discovered during those cold months of hibernation with only their emotions and ideas to occupy their minds. Spring will be the time to feel the grass beneath their feet and awaken their senses. A time to connect again with the rest of the world. A time to play with the story I wrote in a cozy winter womb.

Written on March 7th, 2013 , Uncategorized Tags: , ,
Debbie Emory

Writing humorous fiction infused with death, dysfunction, and dads.