I love keeping up with weather forecasts when a winter storm is coming.
Yesterday, the National Weather Service said our area was to get 2-4 inches, then 4-6. This morning I wake up to find out we’re going to get 1-2 inches. Hardly enough to justify putting the snow boots on, and certainly not enough to justify an emergency trip to the store to buy bread and milk.
I’d like some picturesque snow, enough to cover drab lawns and make for a cozy evening. But I don’t want too much snow, or else I won’t be able to get dug out in time to go to Starved Rock for Christmas.
I should know better than to expect the weather to conform to my wishes. I’ve been stuck in my house during blizzards only to watch the snow melt the next morning, driven into a half-mile wide blizzard on the interstate, snowed in for two-three days when a storm dropped 36 inches of snow overnight.
But still, I hope the snow doesn’t ruin my plans for travel.
Tag: snow
Snow. In October.
Snow. In October.
We had flurries last night here in northwest Missouri, just enough to notice, not enough to coat the ground. I wouldn’t complain about that, but we are getting a freezing rain/snow of up to three inches precipitation tomorrow, just in time for Halloween.
Between the unseasonably warm weather and the snow, we have had about two weeks of autumn. I demand an explanation.
There’s an old adage that cautions against complaining about the weather, but snow. In October. I think this is an extenuating circumstance.
The snow will melt, leaving our lawns drab, sodden leaves and dun grasses. Because this is Missouri, home of the four seasons in one day, we may even see temperatures in the sixties — or, who knows, the seventies — before December. But the damage has been done. November will be a child of winter, not autumn, and we will be tired of snow before the year is out.
Halloween is Thursday, right smack in the middle of the snow. Maybe I should go as a snowman.
Spring in my Heart
Almost March, and the snow still lies in dirtied drifts on the ground, piled person-high at the edges of parking lots. The wind chills are more often than not in the single digits. Usually, by now, the snow pack has gone and the days fool one into thinking Spring has come early. My peas are supposed to be planted on St. Patrick’s Day, and I don’t know if the snow will be gone by then, much less the soil warm enough.
In short, I am sick of winter.
I want something new. Like many Americans, I think I want a new pretty thing. I replaced my iPhone 6 Plus after three or four years with a refurbished iPhone 8 Plus, and I’m already accustomed to its shiny new look. That’s the problem with new things — we step on the hedonic treadmill, buy shiny new things, and feel happy until that happiness, hedonic happiness, quickly fades.
I want a new thing for my soul. I want to plant peas on St. Patrick’s Day and watch them grow. I want to see my books progress toward being printed. I want to find a new challenge that absorbs me.
If I can’t have Spring outside, I would like Spring in my heart.
Sunday morning at Mozingo and my lack of inspiration
Sunday morning at Mozingo Lake. I’m sitting on the couch swathed in blankets in front of the fire, recovering from my decision to turn the heater down for the night. The main room temperature was 57 degrees this morning; the bedroom, without its own heat, probably hit the low fifties. So I’m now pampered on the couch while Richard makes hot chocolate.
I’ve decided to do one more editing pass of Whose Hearts are Mountains, suspecting that I concentrated too much on the “was is where have had has” and not enough on other aspects that need smoothing out. And I have one more novel that needs editing after that.
I’m postponing writing another novel, and I know it.
Like I said, I have an idea for a new novel that I’ve been sitting on for a while. The name of the novel is (tentatively) God’s Seeds; I’ve talked about it in these pages. It might help me to do what I usually do when I write — pay attention to the relationships between characters. The themes come first, the plot I create in the outline, but in my books, the relationships between characters create the dialog and the unfolding of the story. The main relationship in this novel is between Baird Wilkens, a half-human Nephilim and Leah Inhofer, a young adult with a startling gift. The story is in the Archetype universe, taking place a year or so after the Apocalypse. (Note to readers — the Apocalypse doesn’t turn out like you think. Look up the origin of the word)
It’s just hard to write right now because of my failure to get something accepted. I’ve already fulfilled my goal of writing a novel several times over, so another novel isn’t a tantalizing new goal. I haven’t gotten published or even found an agent yet, and so that goal seems daunting enough that I’m becoming avoidant.
What do I need right now? A clear path — an idea of what to do next. Give up? (I don’t feel like I’d have closure if I did this.) Self-publish? (I’m still scared of landing into obscurity, and it wouldn’t feel like closure.) Keep plugging away? (Insanity is doing the same thing over and over with the same results). Pray? (I’ve been doing this. No answer, my friends. No answer.)
At this moment, I guess it doesn’t matter, because I’m parked in front of a warm fire in a pine-paneled cabin, Outside lies a snowy landscape and iced-over lake. All is fine.
Writing Reteat this Weekend
Wish me luck — I’m going on a writing (ok, editing) retreat at Mozingo Lake this weekend. It probably won’t snow much here this weekend. That’s where I need the luck.
Mozingo Lake is the park some seven miles from us, owned by the city, with RV and cabin camping and a big fishing lake. We’ve secured one of the cabins for the weekend because I needed to get away to some place with a fireplace, a view out the window, and a minimum of distractions (and wi-fi, so we’re not completely roughing it.) The cabins possess a rustic living room area opening to a less rustic-looking kitchen with modern appliances, with a bedroom and sleeping loft. Oh yes, and indoor plumbing.
We’re supposed to get no more than 1-2 inches of snow Saturday night, and I expect that to hold. We’re going to bail if the forecast changes by Saturday afternoon. The key here is “if the forecast changes”, because sometimes we get more snow than was forecast. With a bit more snow, the roads at Mozingo will be an impassible winter wonderland until they plow. Here’s hoping we get the whole weekend there, and here’s hoping we don’t get snowed in — then again, if we bring extra food, getting snowed in could be fun …
The Winter Doldrums
I’m fighting the winter doldrums.
The polar vortex with its -40 F (-40 C) wind chill has passed, and the warmer temperatures have melted some of the snow, but we’re now shrouded in grey skies and thick fog. There is nothing romantic in February fog and muddied snow.
My life looks like the terrain outside — isolated and isolating, with no shiny stars left over from Christmas to focus on. No bad news, but no good news either. Nothing other than the occasional rejection on the query front. No new life in my basement grow room, although the good news is that I will be starting some seeds in a couple weeks — tomatoes and peppers and eggplant; white flowers for the moon garden (aka the non-edible portion of my garden).
It’s hard to feel optimistic right now. It’s hard to believe that beneath the snow and ice of my life, plants slumber waiting for their time to reach for the sky.
About Snowstorms
We’re supposed to get snow, maybe a lot of snow, this weekend.
Now that forecasting weather has advanced as a science, our preliminary forecasts have mentioned anywhere from 0 to 23 inches. I’m not kidding — although that was on Monday, and weather models get more accurate closer to the event. The latest models appear to predict 1-4 inches, but it’s only Wednesday and it’s early days yet for a Friday storm.
How people deal with the snow in the US depends on where they’re from. In southern states, one inch of snow will shut everything down because it’s such a rare occurrence that cities and state highway departments have no snow plows. In the Midwest, if we see someone stuck in a driveway, we go help push them out. Before a major snowstorm (and what constitutes “major” depends on whether one is a Northerner or a Southerner), people stock up on toilet paper and milk.
Talking about snow is a bonding experience. People discuss how much expected snowfall, preparations, and (at the college level) hopes that school will be canceled the next day.
It looks like school won’t be canceled this time, but the forecast could always change. It’s early days yet for a Friday storm.
I’m back
Sorry I went missing for so long — I was doing some heavy reading through Apocalypse and editing it — it probably needs another edit. I was very focused.
Also, we had a blizzard here Sunday, and that plus the snow day that followed got me off my writing.
I have to go back to work today (I think) but it was nice to have Thanksgiving break as a writing retreat!
Old song today
There is music that goes with this:
Turn the corner
to a street beyond a map,
walk much further
till our feet forget the path.
We have walked here,
but only in our dreams;
then we wake up
never knowing what it means
Turn the handle,
slide back the creaking door
as I wonder
if you’ve been here before.
Weathered iron
is rusting in its sleep
as we sit here
in the silence that we keep
In the morning
if the snow has turned to gold
does it matter
in a story never told (2x)
Turn the corner
to a street beyond a map,
walk much further
till our feet forget the path.
We have walked here,
but only in our dreams;
then we wake up
never knowing what it means
In the morning
if the snow has turned to gold
does it matter
in a story never told (4x and fade)
Update — day 1 Camp NaNo
The first day of Camp NaNo has been a success. I’ve written 2k words (twice my daily allotment), and that section is helping to cement into place a plot twist. I’m despairing about what to do when the book is done, because the first half of the book is all about isolation, and the current direction is solidarity and uniting against danger. I don’t know if it’s going to come out smooth, but that’s what an edit is for.
It’s snowing out. In spring. On Easter. Two and a half inches so far and it keeps coming down. Rebirth is being buried under a cold, white blanket. Oh well
Words Like Me 