Dreaming in Russian

Never underestimate the power of overcast skies and short days.

It is the day after my swearing in as a City Council member. The sky is low and gray, the day nearly spent. My writing obligations done, I have a couple of unstructured hours to write.

On a sunny day, would I settle for sitting here to dream? Probably not. It’s easy to feel you’ve got to go out and conquer, or at least tackle, something on a sunny day, even if it’s only the dandelions.

And from the land of snow, few daylight hours, cold weather and inverted winter skies that allow no fresh air to circulate, we have some of the greatest literature ever written.

The Russians gave us Brothers Karamazov, Anna Karenina, The Master and Margarita. These are living works, with characters as real as the desk holding me upright. More real — while the desk is vinyl on compressed chips, Anna and Vronsky attend horse races, balls and share afternoon trysts; Karamazov gives us a trial without match; and the Master is a Chagall painting come alive.

During my years in the Czech Republic I saw first hand the benefits of short, gray days. I turned inward, and stayed there. I wrote and wrote. I churned out dreamy pieces with wandering narrators who were lost in their own ephemeral universes.

Seven years ago I started The Curing Season, my novel. It’s always this time of year I pick it back up, laying out all those thousands of words, hundreds of pages, and dozens of characters patiently waiting for me to give them a few more pages of life.

I write and write all December and January, carving out daily events for them, bringing them closer to the big events that drive the novel, just as big events drive the minutia of our days.

Then life charges in and the novel gets pushed aside a few months before I return to it, maybe on a blazing sunny day when I can’t take a breath outside, or maybe on a rainy, swampy afternoon that goes on forever.

Still nothing suits writing like overcast days with only hours only vaguely resembling daylight. For these are Russian days, when like those great writers, we can retreat into the rich tapestry of dreams and wonder.

One Response to “Dreaming in Russian”

  1. Julia Pheifer says:

    I concur. Nobody’s writing out here because it’s too nice outside. Gotta go climb a mountain.