Time out

Since we've been in this house, we've had two absolutely exceptional sunsets. One was the day of my daughter's pool party in our first summer here, and we had another several months ago. On Tuesday night we had a third, but I was at work. I went into my editing classroom (across the corridor from the brilliant display of fiery yellow, orange and scarlet that completely filled the darkening sky) and asked if they'd all seen the sunset. They pointed out the window to a much-darker sky that had a deep purplish luminesence. Quite beautiful in its own right. I told them not that side, but opposite and, to their astonishment, dragged them out of class to go and look. It was sensational, and I wished I were at home with my camera, so I could capture it for my swamp blog. But, of course, I wasn't. So I have only the memory of it.

My students were astounded because they know I try to wring every minute out of the class. But if we're going to be writers, we have to experience everything we can in life; we have to wallow in life's beauty, let it seep through our skin, into our veins to run with our blood. That sunset will find its way into a scene in one of my novels. As will the lively scent of jasmine, the thick and smooth sweetness of mango nectar. Whether writers or not, we have to take time out of the craziness that surrounds us to live -- really live, and that means savouring every moment of beauty, feeling every moment of pain. But it's especially important to writers -- we can get so caught up in our words that we forget to feed the fire.