I start my day walking with my friends. We talk about the dreams we had the night before and the plans we’ve made for the day to come. I find this ritual both invigorating and comforting. The camaraderie is as dependable as the weather is fickle.

Creativity is a mercurial cohort, and I find that free-association conversation right before the break of day ushers in the energy I need to face the challenges ahead.

My friend Saskia drops her child off at the bus and stops in to announce it’s teatime a whole hour since we parted from our daybreak reverie. Invariably, we have no problem picking up where we left off and I can never refuse her fresh cranberry bread and a steaming kettle. I respond well to good natured ribbing; I am sometimes afraid to commit to my projects. Often, the tangible results don’t match my theoretical intention, and I fear that moment of reckoning that renders me helpless to jump in and begin. Saskia usually gives me some “goal” to work for by noon. It’s an artificial deadline, but it promises the prize of a stroll through town to see our friends Punkin and Kevin.

Saskia’s close observation of my moods (and my penchant for elaborate excuses) has allowed her to subtly coax out a willingness to risk disappointment on my part. This often results in me breaking through barriers.

The afternoon slips away in creative exploration. I am particularly fond of the light quality as it streams through my living room window. I can lose myself in my myriad of books. Literature has always played a critical role in conjuring up inspiration for a new collection.

The fall of night in the country brings a silence I depend on to filter out the images stored up from the frenetic day.