Gettin’ Blizzard


*Blizzard Special Edition*

Drifts of snow bury cars

Yes, those are cars

Yesterday I posted something that I already had written because, well, I was glued to TV new (which hasn’t happened in…well, a while) and couldn’t be bothered to work on anything new.

It’s silly, I know, but watching the weatherman and news anchors continually repeat the same phrases about how the horrible weather was, well, more entertaining than it should have been. Looking at images of Lake Shore Drive; watching the poor on-site reporter standing in thigh-high snow drifts, watching the yellow legal pad ferociously gripped by another on-site reporter slowly double over as it got soaked by the snow and pushed by the wind was captivating.

For the most part, I stayed inside and drank hot cocoa. At one point, we were told that there was a free space in the garage and my outdoor-living car could use it. So, we bundled up and headed outside. The snow drifts meant that my car was untouched, but the entrance to the parking lot had snow on it that was more than ankle-deep. Stupidly, we gave it a go and got the car stuck. We had no shovel and kicked the snow out of the way of the tires. All was well…until we got in front of the garage. The snow was midway up my calf. Luckily, some good Samaritans saw us from the warmth of their condo, got bundled up, and came over with a shovel. THANK YOU!

And then today. I’m like a little kid. We took a walk to survey the aftermath. Plows have been through the side streets so there are mounds of snow everywhere. Once we filled our quote of Cam Standing In Front of Snow Pile pictures for decades to come (for posterity of course), I let loose my inner five-year-old and climbed the tallest piles I could find. I took the Nestle Plunge and made a snow angel.  It was awesome.

Writing is JUST like this. It’s easy to gawk at that blank page…so much promise, so much fear. But once you jump into writing, you’ll hit a point where you feel you’re in over your head (or ankles), but with a little work and some help from your writerly friends, you can pull it off. And after all that hair pulling, you can climb that word pile, survey all you’ve accomplished and bask in it’s awesomeness.

Me kneeling atop a pile of snow, arms spread wide in victory

Author Basking


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