I grew up in quiet places.
While I have lived in cities and towns and small basement apartments with coaster-sized spiders, I am most comfortable and most happy where I can hear myself think.
There is something that sparks the current of creative electricity when I am miles from other voices, other stresses.
The smell of rotting wood, the soft buzz of small insects and muted bird calls, the press and scratch of deep moss against my ankles and my hands-
My head is clearest here.
In these spaces, I can slow down the thousand miles my brain travels every minute.
I can pull out the individual strands of colour and thought, rearrange them into something new and strange.
I am inspired by the sensation of the sun as a tangible hand stretching through the trees.
I am inspired by the opposite of the sound of a slamming door and footsteps retreating down the stairs into the night.
This is a week about inspirations, both obvious and otherwise.
For the thoughts inspired by the silence, you can read my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor. It is available here.