Hey, guess what? It’s snowing!!!
again.
Besides school kids and snowplow drivers, is there anyone out there excited to see another weather map coated in white swirls?
Not me. Two days ago, I could finally see my lawn peeking through the frozen stuff left by the last storm Mother Nature dumped on us. For me, it was a hint of life ready to be renewed in spring. My heart breathed a sigh of relief. Could the crocus be far behind? Now my poor grass is buried again. And the crocus will have to wait a little longer before flashing their purple glory for me.
Sometimes, writing is like this winter’s been. Just when I think I’m clear and the story’s completely visible to me, a storm cloud of ideas buries me once again. And then it’s time to pull out the shovel and try to clear a path to The End.
I recently decided to dig up an old unpublished manuscript with the goal of finding it a home. I’ve always been fond of the story and was tired of seeing it sitting, unloved, on my desktop. So I opened the document with the same trepidation I had when I peeked out the window this morning. <Sigh!> There’s probably about 6-10 inches of snow covering the life in those pages. Forget the crocus. Somewhere buried beneath the avalanche of excess narrative, head-hopping, telling rather than showing, and all those other early writer mistakes, there’s a perfect rose.
It’s up to me to strap on my boots, grab the shovel, and clear the path. But like winter, editing doesn’t last forever. So come spring, I’ll not only have my flowers, I’ll have a sellable manuscript.
What about you?


