January 2012

When the hell did that happen?

So, if you know me, you will know that I fall off the face of the earth on occasion. November was when I fell. We had a major program going on at the library and it used up all my attention. Literally. Then, I used the rest of November and December to recover from it. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

I’m going to try to get back into the swing of things again, now that the new year has come. But there’s no snow yet. Oh, how frustrating. Really, how can I write my stories that feature snow, without seeing any outside of my window? We are supposed to get up to 6 inches today, with the first of it starting about 4 hours ago. Nothing. A little frost on the sidewalk, but that’s about it. I am so sad. No, I’m crushed. No, I’m destroyed.

Snow, as I have written before, has medicinal properties for me. The snow, I don’t know why really, but the crispness of the air, the glitter of the ice crystals shining in the sun, the crunch of million of flakes under my snowshoes, and now my skis, I can’t explain it. I love it.

I feel it. I feel it within my soul, a rejuvenation of sorts. Without it, I feel lost. Perhaps that is why it is such an important element in my stories. I feel at home, and that’s what’s we are supposed to write about, right? What we know, and I know snow.

And here it comes. Small flakes have finally decided to fall. The start of my accumulation. My heart is getting happy.

I started reworking The Engine Driver the other day. I have been thinking about it for the last few weeks now and think I have something fun to offer it. I’m still stuck on the ending, a path I’ve sent the characters down and I’m not sure how to rectify it. But it will come, now that the snow is falling.

I started a fire, a nice crackling one, that will warm the house. Whenever I gather the wood from the back pile (yes, Craig, the BACK pile) I think of the first words my Engine Driver speaks in the book: When he gets knocked over and the wood falls into the snow; “Wet wood won’t burn, Eliza.” She laughs at him, of course, because he’s an old curmudgeon, and she loves him just as much as I do…insert memory of grandpa… He’s lovable and grumpy at the same time. And even though wood with a bit of snow on it will burn, I had to give him something to complain about.

I love these characters as I love the snow, and I am hopeful that as long as the snow falls, they will have inspiration written into them.

So, bring it, 2012.

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