Like the Deserts Miss the Rain

There’s a song from the 90s whose lyric goes:

And I miss you

Like the Deserts miss the rain...

Writers know what that means to the nth power.

I have before talked about how the stretches between writing feels like an eternity, even if it’s only a few weeks. When one is a writer, one worries constantly that the muse will stop whispering in one’s ear.

I miss the words coming to me like…well, like the deserts miss the rain.

And I live in the desert, so I know whereof I speak.

This weekend the rain came, figuratively and in reality.

The rain splashed mud all over my newly-washed car. Sigh. But the Deserts like to have a little water from time to time.

And I found words hanging around my computer. I was looking over an old short story beginning where Minerva represented a B Movie actor famous for playing Sherlock Holmes. The story begins with Minerva telling Carson exactly who he was with the night before and how she gave him a wet kiss in the doorway, then explaining how she knew all this without having been there.

It was a good beginning for a story, but I stalled after that.

This weekend I pulled the story up and suddenly the whole thing started coming at me, including a solution to the mystery I had not thought of previously.

So it rained words at my little Barstow house. There are still a few stray words dripping around the floor.

But I’m happy.

Until the next drought.