I’ve never felt quite at the top of my writing game as I did when I was in France. I was an au pair for a lovely little french family, the Michea’s, and they had a charming little balcony that overlooked their little villa. I could lean over the railing and touch the romantic laundry billowing from the romantic laundry lines. Nightly I would pull up this little table, while Laetitia would make me a cup of Lipton herbal apple cinnamon tea (a treat I still cannot find in the states), and I would light this little lantern and write by tea light. And it was magical. All the writer powers that be were with me those nights.
Yet writing is a fickle talent.
Sometimes the words through your veins like blood cells, and sometimes they clot the second they reach the page.
But tonight, I’ve got the fingers. So I put on my french singer mix, lit myself a tea light, and I am going to let the words come out.
Tell me, dear readers, what are your talents? Are they fickle too?
Sometimes things just flow and I have a million ideas for pictures I want to take. Other times, like in the last few weeks, I have little ability to create anything or think of anything that I'm dying to shoot. It comes and goes. I just embrace it when it is present. Although I feel a lot of it has to do with time spent with my camera – even if my surroundings are less than inspiring I can think of something worth shooting if I have my camera on hand.
That makes perfect sense. Lately I've been trying to carry a notebook around with me incase I see anything I need to write about…. but it's kind of become a house of to do lists and phone numbers and such.