1.Because going anywhere else is a pain.
I timed it, last year.
I timed how long it took for me to leave my house during winter. The minimum was fifteen minutes and only required the donning of a coat and hat and gloves and boots on what was otherwise a normal-but-frigid day. The maximum was fifty minutes, which also happened to be the day that ice crusted over the five inches of snow on my car. It took two scrapers and a lot of cursing and sweating for me to dig myself out – all to go to the store and buy toilet paper, which is a necessary but not appealing reason to leave your cozy nest.
Compared to that, the prospect of curling up in a warm house and writing – yes, even the same sentence nine-hundred different ways – sounds divine.
2. Because you can live the myth and feel like a Real Live Author.
Yes, yes, you’re a writer because you write. I know. But I am a writer and I hardly ever feel like one, even when I am smack dab in the middle of finishing a manuscript. Something about the process is so unglamorous that it sucks all the indulgent joy out of the experience.
Winter can fix that. Here is what you do: go make a steaming mug of something hot. It has to be in a big mug. Extra points for a pottery mug like these. Find a sweater. It’s okay and even preferable if the sweater of dubious provenance. Wear it. Start a fire in the fireplace or, failing that, light a seasonal candle. Sit down, cradle the big steaming mug in your hands, inhale the scents in the room, and look out the window at the snow. Take a deep breath. Relax. Think to yourself, “I’m a writer.”
Whatever you do, though, don’t start writing. It’ll shatter the illusion.
Read the other three below the cut!