Snow, snow, snow…
To some the fluffy white stuff means shoveling and inconvenience. To me, snow means time to write.
So I’ve been getting amped up like a school kid since last night when the snow predictions began rolling in. When I got up this morning, the predictions called for 8-12 inches falling on Saturday. By the time I got to work, the predictions ranged from 8-24+ inches of snow for the greater Philadelphia area. Yes, that was a potential for TWO FEET of snow.
I could already envision myself setting up at the dining room table, looking out as the snow fell, heavy at times, maybe even blizzard conditions. As the snow fell, my mind would be churning out more stories about Mum. I would look up from my laptop every so often, take a sip of my steaming tea, take a bite of a fresh chocolate chip cookie, and smile as the wind whipped the snow around in the back yard, feeling the urge to get up and measure the accumulation every couple of hours.
It was easy to envision because two years ago during three separate snow events, I wrote and revised, and revised again, until I finished what would be the final draft of my young adult novel. After a final read and copyediting, I’m now querying agents.
The only problem…the weather forecasters are all over the place. As of this evening, the totals for my neighborhood have dropped from 2+ feet to less than 6 inches. If it snows, even for a few hours, I will sit and write, but if it is a complete bust, I’ll likely be out of the house doing “other” non-writing things.
There is still time for things to shift. I’m hoping the shift will be in the write direction. I’d like to write about the storm we had one Christmas, I was maybe 4 or 5, and a huge pain in the ass. It was the Christmas when I got the kitchen set, the baby doll carriage, and other larger things. When we got home after being away for a couple of days, the snowdrifts in our driveway were taller than 5 or 6 feet. Mum wanted to leave everything in the car until morning, but I whined and whined until she brought it all inside. Or I might write about the last snowstorm Mum and I were together, I was 27. It was a late storm and we got dumped with 3 feet of snow.
Whether I write about a Mum and snow, I will most certainly write another vignette about Mum as I continue down this journey to discover my mother – the real Barbara Hilton Converse.