A gloomy rainy day. What is it about writers - or at least some writers, at least me - that makes us love gloomy days? Is it the desire to fling color into the grey, to pierce the gloom with something beautiful, or is it the laziness and blurriness, the pitter-patter on the roof, the drops running down glass? Does it remind me of another place, another time?
I wonder if there’s a correlation between rainy days and creativity.