We had a warm holiday season here in Colorado, so we’re paying for that now. The high today is supposed to be around freezing (so weird to think it was sixty last Saturday). School was closed Tuesday and Wednesday because the temperature was below zero. That was a new one. I teach in the same district in which I grew up, and we have never—not since at least 1967, and I’m pretty sure never at all—called school off for mere cold. The district said something about busses not functioning right and little kids not being able to take the cold. It’s not like we’ve never had sub-zero temps before, but I will admit that demographics have changed, and we have more students who may genuinely not be able to afford good winter clothes. Ultimately, we’ve used our snow days and haven’t hit the very heavy spring snows that really can paralyze the city, so we’ll see whether those closings were wise.
Usually, I would have spent much of that time either baking or writing or both. Fortunately in the former department, I’m back on the WeightWatchers straight-and-narrow, so baking wasn’t an option. It’s not that I couldn’t bake something; it’s that I know myself. Trapped in a house with brownies all day, I would sliver away the whole pan. (You know—“I’ll just take a sliver…another sliver won’t count…okay, just one more…well, this one more…”) And it’s not like I’d be burning it all off.
As for the latter—writing—I sometimes feel like sitting on my hands. The time-travel still sits, 43 pages shorter, nowhere near the required 100 pages. I told myself if I could shave 70, I’d call it good and send it back to Kristin, but I just dread the task, so I don’t do it. The new proposal has been whipped into shape and a new outline written. It landed in my editor’s email box last week, and the contract gives her 30 days to look it over and say yea or nay. It’s a lovely honeymoon period where I know it’s out there and no one has rejected it. At the same time, I told myself I wasn’t going to work on it unless it sold. I wasn’t going to have another full manuscript that went nowhere.
And yet it calls…
I may yet sliver a full novel into being. “I’ll just write this one little scene that’s been niggling at me…okay, just the lead in to the next scene, to give myself momentum when I start again…well, I guess I really can’t leave it there, what if I forget this great next part…”