It’s snowing here right now. Thirty-plus hours and thirty-plus inches. I’d say more about it now, but it’s going to be around for a long time so I’ll have plenty of time later. I’ll just move on to other topics.
For instance, how about donuts? Gamerboy and DJ sweetened the snowed-in experience with a batch of homemade sour cream donuts. However good that sounds to you, trust me, it was better. The donuts were simply superb.
(Substitute “doughnuts” if that is your preference.)
Clear, crisp winter nights are magical for me. I walk through the darkness, looking up at the stars, smelling wood smoke faintly on the air, and am deeply happy. There’s a memory in my past associated with a night like this — something wonderful like falling in love or a first kiss.
Except… I don’t actually have that memory. I don’t know why these nights strike such a chord in me. I strongly suspect that this good “memory” is actually something I made up years ago involving whatever set of characters I was writing about at the time.
Writers: we manufacture our own magical moments.
Remember that awful alien baby bunny?
It improved dramatically in about three weeks’ time:
Speaking of bunnies, here’s a picture of ours just because. He’s a very happy bunny here, all melted down because I was petting him. Also featured is a scrap of the latest book he was chewing on.
My good friend was coming up with ideas for how to celebrate my birthday this year: “You could invite a bunch of friends to go around taking pictures of people who look like your characters.”
Writers: we list stalking as a business expense.
Okay, okay, I was going to leave off the snow pictures until a later post… but here you go. Two kids enjoying more snow than anybody could reasonably ask for.