Sunday, March 2, 2014

The Old Groundhog was Right

Winter is dying with a vengeance, like Samson tearing down the Philistine temple, or Boromir hacking bad guys one after another with multiple arrows in his chest, or Kahn bleeding on the deck of the USS Reliant chanting the words of Captain Ahab: "For hate's sake, I cast my last breath at thee."

You get the idea.

What's dumb is the fact that today's PC crap has gone so far that we have to name winter storms now. I  grew up without experiencing a lot of winter weather. It was so rare that we prayed for just half an inch around Christmas time to make it more jolly. When I was in high school it wasn't uncommon at all to have temperatures in the mid 50s in December.

Hurricanes are named because they are always fearsome, destructive storms that epitomize the wrath of God Almighty. The travel thousands of miles across the ocean like a Viking hordes to pillage, plunder, and then ride off laughing.

The idea that snow could ever be part of a storm was laughable.

But now it's as if weather is people and its feelings are hurt. Why else would such a proud tradition be readily disgraced? Personally, I always thought saying "the storm" was much more ominous than giving it a name. That's like saying "the gang" down the street has been stabbing and shooting people. Replace that with, Bob, Leroy, Phillus, Jack, or Sir Winfield Scott, and it sounds like somebody's kids running wild in the backyard.

"Oh, that silly Leroy tore the roof of the Jennings' house and threw their cows into a field two counties over. What's the world coming to?"

Before you know it we'll have to name every tornado, gale force wind, driving rain, and patch of fog. Won't stop there. Then they'll name all of the good weather: the bright sunny days, the cloudless nights, the romantic sunsets. Local stations will invent little mascots and there will be books published to educate kids on why it's not a good idea to play tag with Tommy Twister.

If you can't tell by now, I'm iced in again.

Last week was very bad for my writing. I was mentally and physically exhausted for reasons I can't explain. Bad sleep? Stress over school/future job prospects? The invasion of Ukraine?

Whatever it was, it was bad. I didn't write anything for the entire week and read little. I did manage to expand my epic fantasy notes, which was satisfying. I knew that I couldn't force it, and needed a break, but the matter was clawing at the back of my mind the whole time. I tried to distract myself with other things, and yet I heard the manuscript calling "Finish me! Give me life!"

Even now, as I write this fully intending to get something done, I might not be able to for a few hours. Why? I don't know. I don't think it's anything to do with the story, as I've been able to get past those obstacles.

At least I've got a partial manuscript, and that's more than where I was two months ago.

Power to the pen!

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