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This week: Observations During Snow-ma-geddon Edited by: Fyn-elf  
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Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.~~Rabindranath Tagore
The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.~~Vincent Van Gogh
Times of great calamity and confusion have been productive for the greatest minds. The purest ore is produced from the hottest furnace. The brightest thunder-bolt is elicited from the darkest storm.~~Charles Caleb Colton
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The weather advisory morphed into a watch which developed into a warning. The two inches grew to eight to ten and resulted in a foot and a half of snow. Every branch was capped in white, bowed under the weight of the relentless snow. The power flickered prompting a gathering of the candles and flashlights. The wood bin was loaded, the tub was full of water and everyone hunkered down. My hubby ran to the store for milk and bread and had to park at the far, far end of the lot as it looked like it does before a major holiday. He bought one of the last gallons of milk and a loaf of some sort of healthy whole grains bread we don't usually buy. He waited in line for twenty minutes.
Four-wheel driving the truck home, he left again almost immediately to get extra gas for the snow-blower. He arrived to logs crackling in the fireplace, candles flickering in the windows and asked why. I figure if you have all the candles burning, you won't lose power. It worked. We didn't. As the snow deepened, a silence descended: no traffic sounds from the main road, no cars driving down the street, not even a dog barking.
The next morning, snow still fell. The plows had yet to run and everything was a swath of white. No driveways or yards, no sidewalks or footprints. Just a black and white photographic effect as the sky lightened. There was no green or brown, just varying shades from black to grey to white. My husband thought the pictures I'd taken were taken IN black and white, but they weren't.
Coffee in hand, bundled up, my husband went out to 'play in the snow!' The cough, sputter, roar of his snow-blower shattered the silence as he began to clear not only our driveway and a space for the dog (the snow was deeper than she is tall) but those of all the neighbors at our end of the street as well. Coming back for a quick warm-up, a coffee refill and to dump more gas into the blower, he looked like Nanook of the North!.
More colors flashed as cardinals and blue jays flocked to the cleared off feeder. Kids snow-suited out the doors and snowmen began propagating in front yards. Wood smoke wafted from chimneys scenting the air. Half the loaf of bread and a pitcher of milk ended up next door. I borrowed coffee. Hubby came in with the latest measurement on the yard stick: we'd topped the twelve inch mark and according to the Weather Channel, we were by no means even halfway through what was coming.
Snuggled down in our newly-created computer room in the basement, I kept the hearth fires blazing and settled in to do what any normal person would do during a blizzard when they don't have to shovel or plow. I settled in to write.
Worked on my book for a while, but then my mind started drifting. The coffee was fresh, the fire toasty and I decided to write about the snow. Which led to thoughts on reactions to the storm and how folks handle the snow-drifts in life.
Me, when the world is all sunshine and daisies or blizzards and blindsides, I write. It is how I interpret the world around me, how I factor the pluses and minuses and how I clear my mind. I don't have blood in my veins. Cut me, and I bleed ink. All of which led me to the wonder of why other people write. So what did I do? I posted in my notebook here at WdC the question: Why do people write.
I got some great responses...some funny, some thoughtful.
Nikola~Asked Santa for a Pony!  wrote:It's a creative outlet for my imaginary friends and places to come out into the open and play. I liked that. This person's characters are real and have substance. They can escape into the real world and do stuff!
ichichra on the other hand enjoys it. Another good thing. Jay's debut novel is out now!  writes because it isn't an option: because I have to...
lilygrillzit responded that: I am compelled to write. It is my habit. Characters bang around in my head building, building, building suspense until (her)  (leads to a)  hopefully. I figure that if you write enough, sooner or later, something good will fall out of the pages!
Mara ♣ McBain  adds that: I write because the voices in my head won't leave me alone if I don't. and Prosperous Snow celebrating  figures it will ... keep myself from going crazy. I completely understand that. If I go too long without writing, I not only get rather cranky, I figure I am pretty hard to live with. I always know I'm approaching that point when my Hubby insists it is time for me to go write something... anything...NOW! *grin*
Once the roads were cleared and the neighborhood 'middle-of-the-street-with coffee-mugs-in-hand' gabfests resumed, I heard a LOT of complaints about wanting school to start (which it didn't do for another four days) and how the kids were driving everyone of the wall. I smiled, nodded and went in to write!
When the snow stopped, it was if the subzero temps and wind-chills made the sky impossibly blue. It was the closest I've ever seen it to a sky-blue Crayola crayon. Snow squeaked underfoot. The deep green of the pines under their mantle of snow was so alive and the brilliant red cardinals flashed around like cheeky grins. My husband snow-blew a maze for our dog and you could see just the tip of her nose pop up when she stood on her back legs looking for all the world like an albino prairie dog scenting the air.
Eventually, the arctic vortex edged east and life resumed its normal day to day rhythms. I've got mile high snow drifts of blown snow, a seriously depleted wood pile and a ream of scribbled notes from odd-ball thoughts I had during those days of being rather snowed in. Now, to make something from them...or perhaps, keep 'em handy for when one of my characters is hit with a storm. Every now and then, we all need a bit of a storm (of one kind or another, physical or mental) to shake us out of the ordinary and open our eyes to what is around us! |
Of Storms and writing...
| |  | Why I Write (E)
Do you want to know why I write? Really? You do? Well read this then.
#891477 by Thomas  |
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#683736 by Not Available. |
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#1970451 by Not Available. |
| | | Suicide (13+)
A simple poem about standing on the brink of self destruction.
#1957350 by Louisa |
| | | Invalid Item
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#1885472 by Not Available. |
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Curiosity question.
In 2012, I (well, my company) did a Writing.com anthology. It was well received, we had lots of entries and raised several million gps for Random Acts here at WdC. I tried a teen version last year which there was not much interest in. If I were to do another anthology (and again, raising gps for RAOK) would
a) folks be interested?
b) be more interested in a poetry one, a short story one or a combination like last time?
and c) Would anyone be interested in being a judge for it?
It is a lot of work at this end, a true labor of love and giving back. All the proceeds go to RAOK and that helps everyone!
I'd appreciate the input! :) |
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For Authors: January 15, 2014 Issue [#6101]
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