Wanted: Mojo

The walk from our apartment to the train station

One of my oldest and best friends came to visit last week, and of course the Weather Gods knew of his impending arrival, so they threw in a heap of snow for good measure. It was great to have someone around with an intense enthusiasm to explore and discover, when we have become happy little home-bodies.

Our little town had become a wonderland, where we made snow angels, built snowwomen, took our $5 toboggans to the local hill (which is really just for those under five years old... and Australians...), we made mulled wine, went for a disastrous adventure into the mountains (where visibility meant we might as well have been standing in the middle of wheat field in a white-out), went on a proper audio-tour of Bern, and the crazy boys even went snow-camping.


Dave's visit was a breath of fresh air into our little place.



My writing, however, was put on a temporary hold.

Since then, I have managed to nab myself a head-cold (remember my last post where I said how my physical and mental self can finally relax? Well that has come around to bite me) and, as such, my writing mojo is Missing in Action.

Usual Sick-Bunny Acts when at home:

• Lie on the couch and watch terrible midday movies. Though... it is Christmas movie time, so they can't be that terrible... right?
• Lie on the couch and re-watch the three DVDs that we own: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Enduring Love and The Sound of Music.
• Surf the net for fun things that may be useful teaching aids, such as emotive images, intelligent song lyrics, subversive advertisements, etc.
• Read Marian Keyes

Sick-Bunny Acts when in Boll:

• Lie on the couch and complain that, of the forty television channels at our disposal, there are none in English. (Recent discovery worth noting: MTV very occasionally screens a show in English, but it tends to be shows such as 'Pranked' or 'Your Worst Date' or other such stimulating material.)
• Lie on the couch and try to find ways to watch television via the internet, on my teeny weeny computer, without blowing out our unknown downloading limit (I feel a distinct lack of correct terminology here).
• Sit on Facebook and get annoyed that everyone in Australia is asleep.
• Look at my deeply intellectual literary classics with disdain, wishing that I had a back-up no-brainer novel at my disposal.

Yesterday, however, I was feeling a tad better and so I ventured into the Big Smoke of Bern, notebook and rollerball in hand, determined to find my M.I.A. mojo in a cafe somewhere. And boy did I find it! Two hours of sitting on one $6 coffee, and I was churning it out! It was imagery central! A sensory language bonanza! A characterisation coup! Maybe 'coup' isn't the right word, but you get the idea.

And then I came home, flopped breathlessly back onto the couch and progressively worsened as the evening set in. And, of course, today I have taken three steps back and am sitting here on the lazy chair, a blanket draped over me, my jumper tucked into my track pants, my track pants tucked into my socks, my terrible hair hiding under a beanie, wondering how much money I will have to spend to get my mojo back again.

I know, I just have to patiently sit it out, wait to get well again, and then channel all that impatience and frustration into a supremely believable character of mythically cynical proportions.