Ohio’s been locked in a cycle of rain for the past week. I love rain, and fog is an all-time favorite. You know, the whole creeping in on little cat’s feet and all that. Carl Sandburg created a lasting image for me with that poem.
But Ohio’s precipitation in December is supposed to be in the form of snow, not rain. As I enter my fourth winter in Ohio after boomeranging back here, I am pleased to discover that I don’t hate snow as much as I did when I was a kid. Of course, back then, when we got a heavy snow, Mom would send us kids out with a thermos of coffee and we’d share it with any stranded motorists. Every time I tell that story, people say, “That was awfully nice of your mother.” True enough, but she wasn’t the one trekking through hip-deep snow.
Nowadays, I eagerly await the first snow of the year. I love the silence of falling snow. It’s not the hard, driving sound of rain on the roof, but rather like brushing a pussy willow with your thumb. I equate it to finishing a novel. The first snow is when you type the words “The End.” The world is quiet and blanketed in a soft white glow as you take a deep breath and raise your eyes from the computer screen. Then comes the endless revisions of January and February, where you’re forced to shovel the drive countless times in order to get yourself out there.
By the end of February, you’ve about had it with snow, and pray that the work you’ve produced over the winter will catch someone’s eye. Then you can begin planting seeds on various blog sites about your work and pray that you can attract some butterflies to the flowers that are your books.
So, for now, as I try to get to “The End” on one of my novels, I am eagerly awaiting the first snow of the year in Ohio. It may happen next week. Or the week after. Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas this year. And speaking of that, it’s time for me to watch “White Christmas” again—my family’s favorite Christmas show. I can finish that novel next week. Or the week after.
For those of you who have snow in winter, please share with me your favorite, or not so favorite (remember the thermos of coffee), memories of years gone by. And remember, there's only one week left to enter my contest to win an autographed copy of my debut novel, The Reluctant Debutante.