The writing prompt in issue 58 of “Creative Nonfiction” said, “…Sit. No phone, no laptop. Nothing but you and you. For about thirty minutes or so sit and do nothing. And when you’ve been there long enough to settle into yourself, to feel the voice that’s deepest inside you, the one that only you know, the one that only you hear, go and take up the page or turn on the screen. Listen. Start an essay from that hidden voice. Let the words flow.”
So here I sit quietly. Trying to settle. Trying to hear that voice. But it’s the annual appearance of a February housefly on the north window of my studio that demands my attention.
Where does he spend the winter? How is it that one solitary fly shows up every year?
He climbs that vertical space on sticky feet. It’s not the dedicated, confident trek I’ve noticed in summer’s flies. No, this fellow wobbles a bit, first veering to the left, then a bit to the right, wings shuddering. He gets three-quarters of the way up and turns around. Is he uncertain of his destination or are his wings weakened from month of inactivity? Then another turn and another struggle upwards. He stops. Maybe he’s lost.
Whatever the reason, he’s now at the window’s lower edge. Again he begins that determined climb.
The writing prompt above encouraged me to once again try to develop a writing habit. I’ve promised myself at least 30 minutes a day. This is nothing new; it’s a promise I’ve made many times over. Maybe I’ll find inspiration in that fly.