Snow Day

In Richmond, Virginia, snow is pretty much akin to the Rapture. Everything stops.

I've lived here three years this go 'round, and about eleven the last time. And in all that time, I remember two true snowstorms and two major ice storms.

This was the view from my backyard today. And I am basically too excited to work. Nothing makes me feel more joyful than snow.

Which brings me to my next point. Events like "write your darn novel in a month" can make it seem . . . or certain writers who are the more disciplined sort will let you know . . . that the key to writing is writing every day, two hours a day, or producing a set amount of pages, or . . . .

I tend to produce in big bursts of incredible output. Punctuated by downtime when I do other things like trying to prevent Demon Baby from feeding the dog rasberry sherbert off his spoon. I wrote two and a half chapters of a totally new proposal this weekend that pretty munch dominated my thoughts. The pages flowed. I generally tell the universe that I am not afraid to work hard. And generally the universe seems to oblige.

But sometimes you need the snow equivalent of the Rapture. So Demon Baby and I are going to be cold and wet and laughing today. And I hope, wherever you are . . . you remember the value of play. And a good snowstorm.

When you balance the hard work with the joy, I am convinced the result is much more passionate and real. I have no scientific proof of this. But no matter.

What was the last time you felt PURE joy?

When was the last time you were in the writing zone?

Was there any relation between the two?

And have a happy Monday folks!