Okay, so I'm the first to admit that I'm just a little offside. Not a lot. Nothing requiring medication, or incarceration. I just like snow. I do, really. Rain, in summer, or spring is fine. Even the first part of fall is okay. But once the temperature is closer to zero than my my bank balance, I want snow. Not lots of it. And I certainly don't want people in danger because of it, but I like snow. It's clean. At least at first. It's tranquil, at least to me it is. I love looking outside at night, watching the landscape shift and sway, drifts and icicles form. Now I must admit, I am not so great a fan of shovelling the stuff, but since I really don't have to worry about that anymore, that's someone else's problem. I love walking the dogs in it, riding my horse in it, so long as it's not coating a slick layer of ice. Then it's dangerous. Beautiful still, but I prefer to have my beloved Lee with four functioning, intact legs.
And, while I certainly don't have scads of money to spend this year, I love Christmas. Okay, I love the spirit of Christmas, Yule, Winter Solstice, of family and giving. And, yes, of receiving. Giving is great, it is, won't argue there. But I'm still kid enough to know that I like getting presents too. And pumpkin pie and stuffing.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
A Strange Brew We Writers Are.
We really are. I'm certian if the common man or woman ever got a glimpse of the way our minds work, the way we can take something so absolutely horrific, or tragic and ask ourselves 'what if' and then spin a tale from it, I'm sure they'd run screaming through the streets.
What if...someone wanted to escape an abusive marriage and the perfect opportunity in the form of a natural disaster, or terrorist attack, or the like occured and provided them with an oppurtunity to do just that...or, same scenerio, but what if abusive husband is believed to have been killed in said disaster, but he really wasn't, and the wife lives in the continual shadow of 'is he really dead'? See what I mean?
We're a fun lot, but we are kinda, well, not always wired the same way as people that don't write, or scuplt or paint. Somedays that's a good thing, other days, well other days it just leaves our friends wondering if perhaps they should maybe call the nice men in white with the fancy coat with long sleeves to come take us away, somewhere we'll, and they'll, be safe.
But really, we're not THAT bad. Well, at least most of us. And truthfully we can get story ideas from the damnedest of sources. I had a 'what if' moment happen this morning while I was listening to the radio and a Christmas song came on that I'd never heard before. I listened to the words and one thought led to another and the next thing I know, I already have the first scene plotted out in my head. Or at least a good portion of it. It'll be years before I ever get to it. If ever, since I think it'll be a short anthology length. Heck, even writing this I've taken another step toward plotting out the sucker. So, this is me signing off and opening a file in my Word program entitled WHAT IF, and that's where these fragments of stories are going to find a temporary home. Until they get a folder of their own.
Cheers!
What if...someone wanted to escape an abusive marriage and the perfect opportunity in the form of a natural disaster, or terrorist attack, or the like occured and provided them with an oppurtunity to do just that...or, same scenerio, but what if abusive husband is believed to have been killed in said disaster, but he really wasn't, and the wife lives in the continual shadow of 'is he really dead'? See what I mean?
We're a fun lot, but we are kinda, well, not always wired the same way as people that don't write, or scuplt or paint. Somedays that's a good thing, other days, well other days it just leaves our friends wondering if perhaps they should maybe call the nice men in white with the fancy coat with long sleeves to come take us away, somewhere we'll, and they'll, be safe.
But really, we're not THAT bad. Well, at least most of us. And truthfully we can get story ideas from the damnedest of sources. I had a 'what if' moment happen this morning while I was listening to the radio and a Christmas song came on that I'd never heard before. I listened to the words and one thought led to another and the next thing I know, I already have the first scene plotted out in my head. Or at least a good portion of it. It'll be years before I ever get to it. If ever, since I think it'll be a short anthology length. Heck, even writing this I've taken another step toward plotting out the sucker. So, this is me signing off and opening a file in my Word program entitled WHAT IF, and that's where these fragments of stories are going to find a temporary home. Until they get a folder of their own.
Cheers!
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