I can’t quantify it, but I know that a tremendous amount of the “writing” that I do isn’t while sitting at a desk; it’s while walking.
On the weekend I was taking a walk with a friend from out of town and thought he might like to see the falls where the Rideau River runs into the Ottawa River. When they’re frozen in winter I find it utterly irresistible to look at them…
As it happens, we discovered city crews at work blasting the ice on the Rideau, which they do to prevent ice jams as the river thaws and to alleviate potential flooding in the area. It’s quite dramatic to watch, the broken up chunks of ice are swept quickly over the falls into the larger river below, and the water flows. And flows.
What does all this have to do with writing?
Well, a favorite route is to walk along the Rideau, especially if I’m stuck on some bit of writing – a scene that’s not working, a reason for a character to act in a certain way. In other words, the story is as jammed in my head as the ice is on the river. Somehow – the process remains a mystery to me – these walks often clear my head sufficiently to solve whatever the problem is.
And like the falls after the ice blasts, the writing begins to flow once again.