June 3rd, 2025 — High Desert Plains of Northwestern Nevada.
The bees are humming.
The skies are blue.
The coffee’s hot.
The page is blank.
And so is my brain.
It’s the fifth day of June, and Winterpast is looking like she was handcrafted by a benevolent God in a particularly generous mood. The high desert plains of northwestern Nevada are glowing under a brilliantly blue sky begging to be written about. Poets would weep. Photographers would swoon. Yet, here I sit, fingers poised over the keyboard, mentally Googling “how to get struck by inspiration without also getting struck by lightning.”
Today there is nothing to write about. Which means, of course, it’s time to write about that.
Leaning into the emptiness like a literary chaise lounge, I’ll describe the void while making it dramatic. Make readers question their own productivity and whether maybe, just maybe, “not writing” is actually a high art form.
When you’re stuck, it helps to get poetic about your surroundings. Take Winterpast, for instance. The windchimes are creating a Zen-like experience imitating the ten Solfeggio frequencies. The bees are out there humming like tiny, winged jazz musicians. Somewhere, a lizard does a push-up while our mother Robin comes in with another beak full of worms for her babies. I wonder if the bees ever suffer through days in which nothing new is going on.
Thinking about it, “nothing to write about” is its own strange kind of abundance. Because even in the absence of narrative, there is still the presence of a day well-lived. A day where the wind hums, the sky sparkles, and the only pressing plot point is whether I should make another cup of coffee.
Some days are meant for breaking news. Others are meant for quiet skies, a blooming garden, and lazy bees.
Today is the latter.
And you know what? That’s enough.
Dear reader, if you find yourself with absolutely nothing to write about — congratulations. You are now in the exclusive club of creative people whose brains have momentarily checked out to admire the view. Take a breath. Watch the bees. Name a cloud. Write about writing nothing.
Because sometimes, that is the story.
And it’s a pretty good one, too.
