Searching for Inspiration

In the midst of a fiction novel I have run into my first bout with writer's block. I am about three quarters of the way through and as of lately I have a hard time imagining myself being creative anywhere other than in the middle of a pasture at dusk about 4 miles north of Sharon. Growing up I was always so disappointed that my parents didn't live in town. Now, I hate that I don't live in a pasture. Literally. All I want is a small house in the middle of nowhere. I don't want to see city lights, I'm rather partial to the lights of R.C. Phillips Cattle Company whose only purpose is to light the pens of cattle whining outside their house.

Another source of inspiration I've come to love is the sale barn. My mother recently told me how strange it was that when I'm having a bad day I prefer to go to the Woodward Livestock Auction and climb to the top of the old wooden stairs to catch a single seat in the corner and watch the cattle run through the pen. I can't explain the calming effect of the noise. The hooves of the cattle on the scales, the auctioneer taking bids from ranchers up and down the rows of seats, some dressed head to toe in fancy cowboy suits, while others clearly just came in from feeding their own cattle in their overalls and trucker hats.