The Weary Weekend Post at the Underground: Winter Writing Sucks

There’s work to be done my friends, and this was a weekend for moving it from the “someday” pile to the “been there, done that” stack.

In truth, it was a good time for it; the storm settling over the mountain wasn’t cold and snowy as per forecasts. Instead, it was warm and wet, and while I’m happy to avoid another dance with Satan’s Snowblower, the ying to the no-snow yang was the Upper Sac flows headed up at the same time Wayne Eng said the fishing was going down.

OK. The Man Cave needed a few final touches (plastic deer head mounted on wall [check]; wader drying hooks up [check]…), and getting a few words on paper is never a bad thing, though my feelings about getting good stuff written in winter mirror those found in this stunningly well-written post from the Neil Creek Chronicles:

Writing is best accomplished in a minimal-stress, relaxed environment. Ideal settings include after a day of summer fishing, or a lazy afternoon spent daydreaming and typing.

Winter, however free of distractions it may seem, is NOT the stress-free, ideal setting for undamming the flow of creative juices. Especially if someone else is paying you for your knowledge, experience, and perceived writing ability.

Winter is a small, dark place of indeterminate length, a cramped, cold environment that limits the flow of the juices, so to speak.

There are more myths told about writing than there are lies told about fish, chief among them being you sit down with a bottle of cheap scotch and hammer it out.

Sometimes you have to hammer it out, but I’m here to tell you that leaden skies, long nights, and lots of artificial light aren’t exactly conducive to writing the great American novel.

Or even a confusing article about the Klamath Settlement, complete with a bewildering array of contradictory facts, claims and opinions.

I finally realized I was as likely to get that ugly article written as I was to let a Victoria’s Secret sale e-mail get deleted without a peek, so I gave up and worked on some lighter pieces, which you’ll find tucked into your inbox (or RSS Readers) next week.

Never let it be said I’m a quitter. Sure, I took the easy way out, but damnit, I didn’t quit.

Rutter Needs a Haircut

Of course, Ian & Charity Rutter know how to beat cabin fever; they hit the Holston River and chase trout from a drift boat.

Frankly, I think Ian’s taunting me personally with his post about a wide-open bite on dry flies, but I deftly turn the tables on him by pointing out what photographic evidence makes perfectly clear: Ian needs a haircut.

Take that, fish boy (can I rough ‘em up, or what).

In Other News

Looks like I wasn’t the only one trying to avoid adult responsibilities over the weekend; Singlebarbed ditched the IRS to tie flies, and the Day Tripper writes one of those insanely organized “things to do before next season” posts that confronts you with irrefutable evidence of your own sloth.

Damn him.

Surprises To Come

Despite the general weariness surrounding winter, I can safely say we’ve got a surprises coming up this week. Stay tuned.

See you in the looney bin, Tom Chandler.

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