The Gonzo Wolf

I wrote three chapters of a new book last week. It was all I could think about. Then, in a miniscule microsecond fraction of irrelevant time, the spark fizzled. It’s a good thing I write these ideas down.

This week, I assembled my bare-bones recording studio, and I played. I played and wrote. At one point, I spent an hour searching for the correct tone I liked for a specific song. I cried a little when I discovered it.

My creativity seems to ebb and flow with the weather. I’m more artistic on cooler, wetter days.

Why is that?