I walk on, thinking this and that, trying to undo the knotty problem presented by my characters. The sky I presume was blue; it wasn’t raining, that much I know. The air was fresh; it had been raining, and the ground was still damp underfoot. Perhaps the birds made some noises. I didn’t hear them. I was considering how my story might resolve itself, talking with the Norns who guide me.
When faced with a blank page, Conventional Wisdom might have us stare at it until we think of something to write, a story to tell. A plot, perhaps, or a first sentence. A solution to the knots of a story
My Norns, Thought and Dream, they sneer down their noses at Conventional Wisdom and tell me to cease my laziness. A brisk walk is all I need, they say, so stop with this silly notion that Ideas simply come to one. How stupid! To think that Ideas are parcels, wrapped and tied with ribbon for you to open at your screen!
The laziness! they tskede, and sent me on my walk outside, hurrying me along without so much as a dictaphone to record any flashes of inspiration.
They didn’t even allow for a coat, I realise, with a sudden shiver as the wind grew stronger.
Fresh air, good for the brain, says Thought, adding severely that I must ignore the chill. For the sake of my story.
Dream is off ahead somewhere, in her own world and not paying attention to this one; to me or to Thought. She has lost interest in my current, temporary, inability to amuse her with a story.
Thought is stricter, more demanding that I think about the problem. That I find an answer.
I walk on.