It’s been steely gray all morning, and now the gray has morphed into a drizzly rain. I managed to take the dog for a long walk along the bay before the rain came, but the whole time I felt outside of myself. I’ve been alone a lot the past few days — Billy is out of town — which tends to make me get a little lost in a dreamy, imaginative state. Good for writing, often not good for the mood.
I’ve called all of my friends who live in faraway places and to whom I haven’t spoken in what seems like forever. They are, of course, not home. Instead I’m having some coffee. Ok, and a double chocolate brownie, so what? :)
Instead of talking I’ve been working on my short story…it is as yet untitled, but blogging purposes I’ll call it “Hunger,” because that’s what it’s about — hunger in the food sense, but also hunger in the emotional sense; the characters are in need of connection and love, they hunger for those things, and yet are incapable of securing them for various reasons. Anyway, the point is, I’ve been thinking about how my mood affects my writing, because I’ve been noticing my melancholy mood coming out in my poor characters! It makes me think about writing as a kind of acting; writers infuse their characters with their own moods and experiences and actors do the same. The stage is different, but the premise is very, very similar.