Writing as an evolution

Although I haven't been posting lately I have been writing.  I am a longhand writer and prefer to use hard-copy over computer.  Call me old fashioned but I love the tactile qualities of writing longhand - the sound of the pen or pencil moving over the paper, the feeling of satisfaction that comes with the completing a page and turning it to a new fresh sheet of paper.

I have several stories on the go right now.  One is turning out to be a sort of post-apocalypse and the other a kind of creepy/funny I'm not sure what at this point (40 pages in and still don't know for sure!!grr) - they just keep writing themselves and I feel like I am just the conduit for them.  Strange that these two are like that.  I normally write with a direction.  I decided I would just let them evolve the way they want to go and see what happens or becomes of them.  This is a completely new way of writing for me.

When I was little, I used to tell stories about anything I could think up.  I would sit and tell my dolls or whoever was around.  Later, when I was a teenager and had to babysit or entertain the younger cousins(not super young), I would make up stories that would scare the crap out of the poor kids. Kept them in line - as an adult I realize that they were probably too frightened to do anything. (A little part of me feels a bit guilty about it.) They have reminded me occasionally that I still had to finish this story or that one because they wanted to know how it ended.  Who would have thought that they would even remember I made up stories for them? 

I think what really got me actually writing was my high school teacher Mrs. Myra Hiebert.  Her and I had our  moments, as I was a reluctant student. (I realize now, as an adult, that I was bored and the work was no challenge for me.) She was a very bright and witty teacher.  I am sure I gave her more than a moments pause but she persevered with me throughout high school.  I eventually graduated and went on to fully immerse myself in  English courses at university and I knew I had found my niche.  I thought I had died and gone to heaven when I discovered the variety of courses offered at  the university.  Coming from a small northern town, I didn't know that all this existed.   I was blessed with such professors as David Arnason, Dennis Cooley and many more who were not only teachers but talented writers as well. My biggest regret was graduating, it all coming to an "end" and having to move back home to "help out".

So, I write to amuse myself and sometimes share. 

I miss winter!

Perennials are going to be lost for sure!

Today, I decided I missed winter.  Yes, I live in the middle of the prairies and traditionally we have lots of snow and good cold temperatures.  This year we have so little snow and it was so warm that it could hardly be called winter.  It would be an insult to the word.

Almost no snow! Sigh.

I love winter.  I love it when it is so cold that it feels like you get pinched inside your nose when you inhale too deeply.  I love it when the snow crunches under your feet as you walk outside.  I love how the snow sparkles like fairy crystals in the bright sunshine that pretty much always accompanies a cold snap.   I love that when it is -18 or -20 C the temperature is just about perfect because it means no slush or icy roads and my van stays nice and clean.  I hate slush - it completely grosses me out.  I love how the air is so perfectly clear and seems to hold the sunlight even more than other days.
 
What do you like about winter?