Solitude on Ice

On Friday night the temperature dropped to 9 degrees Farenheit. Yet Saturday morning, there were two chairs sitting in the middle of Henning Pond. Someone had shoveled a path from the edge to the center so they could carry their chair, a saw, and a tackle box across the ice. These fishermen could easily buy trout in the local supermarket so it’s not fish they’re craving. They’re chasing that elusive ingredient sought by writers everywhere: solitude.

Once the holiday season ends and the strings of lights come down, social activity seems to evaporate fast. But December’s parties and visits can keep our minds tangled in the endless connections that bind us to other people. It’s hard to clear some mental space and begin writing again. Who wants to stop eating and dancing, just to sit alone on the banks of an empty page? Still, a stroll back to the cave of solitude promotes good writing.

Solitude doesn't just mean toiling in silence. Writers just need some time in an environment that highlights news reports from the unconscious. Too often the noise of the world drowns out the voice of originality. Each writer’s mind is a finicky chef working from a unique creative recipe. Stephen King writes to the music of AC/DC and Metallica. Michael Chabon writes in coffee shops. For me, a quiet spot and a good smell are essential. Espresso fumes, candles, or soup work well. A nice view is a plus.

January is the perfect time to write. Snow lowers the world’s static. Even in warm climates, the start of a new year is energizing. I truly understand why those fishermen sit out there on the pond. Winter walks get my creative juices flowing. But no matter how much the fish are biting, I would never, ever want to write on ice.