 For Authors: February 24, 2010 Issue [#3578] |
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This week: Edited by: fyn  
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“Sunshine cannot bleach the snow, Nor time unmake what poets know”~~Ralph Waldo Emerson
“The future lies before you, like paths of pure white snow. Be careful how you tread it, for every step will show.”~~anon
“I frequently tramped eight or ten miles through the deepest snow to keep an appointment with a beech-tree, or a yellow birch, or an old acquaintance among the pines.”~~Henry David Thoreau
“Hold fast to dreams, For if dreams die, Life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly, Hold fast to dreams, For if dreams go, Life is a barren field, Frozen with snow”~~Langston Hughes
"In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago."~~Christina Rossetti
"Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow."~~Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening |
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Originally, I had intended to write a newsletter about the need, at times, to slow down when you are writing-to stop in the midst of that pell mell rush when inspiration strikes and fill in all the details that get pushed to the side in your mad dash to spew forth everything that comes together in that blinding flash. All good. But then something happened. I woke this morning, eager to write the newsletter and then, coffee in hand, I sat at my desk and looked out the window.
Everything came to a screeching halt.
Yesterday's world of dirty snow piles, tracks through and across the yard, and muddied patches of yellowed wintergrass are blanketed under some eight inches of unblemished snow. It is supposed to keep snowing for the rest of the day. Sitting here, the frenetic energy seeps away and I can but look out the window.
This is the most snow we've (here in Michigan) have received all winter. No, it doesn't measure up to what those on the east coast have received. And my friends in Colorado merely sniffed at those who thought that was a lot. Sure, it will need shoveling. Yes, I expect the roads are terrible, but I have nowhere to go that cannot wait In the here and now it is breathtaking.
Come, grab a cup of coffee or a hot cuppa tea from the kitchen and join me.
Curled up in my chair by the window--what do I see?
It must be a rather heavy and wet snow for the pines across the yard are draped in cloaks of snow. Their branches are weighed down such that they resemble closed umbrellas.
Brilliant red flashes announce the arrival of the cardinals at the feeder. In the muted world where the snow has turned the world into a black, blue-green and white photograph, their scarlet bodies are fire against the ice.
The seventy-five foot tall spruce outside my window is a flurry of movement as blue jays, chickadees, cardinals, junkos and wrens flutter amongst the branches awaiting their turns at the feeder. A downy woodpecker is stationed on each block of suet.
A chickadee burrows down through the snow on the window feeder, his black head popping up through the snow to eat some seed before diving down again. His wings flutter and snow is methodically cleared to provide landing zones.
The snow now is falling heavier. The house across the way vanishes in a swirl of white, cardinals with their feathers fluffed hunch on the inner branches of the spruce.
They are like old men on a park bench outside the general store. Nowhere that needs going, they swap tales and stories, each heard before, yet fresh in the new telling.
Cracking the window open, the cold air wafts in. Clean, crisp air reminds me of drinking water in a mountain stream as a child. There is a stillness in the air that not even an occasional burst of bird song can vanquish. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep. . ." as Robert Frost would say!
Shhhhhh. Look down at the end of the road. There are three deer standing like bronze statues at the edge of the forest. Something, some scent wafts their way and they bolt back into the woods, gracefully leaping the neighbor's split rail fence.
Cinnamon scents waft from the kitchen. I was compelled to toss a batch into the oven. Just the morning for hot cinnamon buns sticky with confectioner's sugar icing. Enjoy one, please. There is something to be said for slowing down and really noticing all the details of a snowy February morn.
The snow has buried all the tire tracks from this morning's slide to work. You cannot even tell that the driveway had been snow-blown before you arrived. Snowbound for a moment, a lifetime of snowy memories surface, pushing through the years like the squirrel who's head just popped up from behind a log. He heads for the backyard, and I follow, cutting through the house to a different set of windows. Here, the branches of the white pines are so heavily snow laden that they droop to the ground in graceful arches. The silver maple looks much as it does in the spring when it is covered in white flowers, only these are snowbuds, and each branch is layered white on black.
A massive CRACCCKKKK reverberates through the stillness. Returning to the front window: one of the pines has succumbed to winter weight and now lies across the side yard. Battery back-up kicks in smoothly, and my words don't vanish like tracks in the snow. Cell phone call to the electric company reaches a recording of power outages and a request to leave a message.
Ah, but the pot of coffee is fresh and there's plenty of wood to start a fire. We've candles aplenty and shelves of words to peruse. Grab a blanket and curl up by the fire. Enjoy the moments, remember all the nuances and details. There is time for rush and scurry. For now, revel in the gift of calm and quiet. And perhaps someone can toss some more wood on the fire for me, please? I'm too cozy and relaxed to move. |
Of snow angels . . .and snowy dreams
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Of winter white and snowy scenes.
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Please forgive the short list; battery power down to two bars and fading fast |
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The absolute joys of pre-extraction pain morphed to bone shards and dislocating jaws...but as is the way of things, these too did pass!
drjim wrote:fyn! What a NL! With all the zany descriptions of pain, you missed your 2nd calling ... you should become a Pain Specialist! Ah, you brought me back to the good 'ol days of Neuroanatomy class, how can I possibly thank you?!? The NL was great, with one more item to add that I could think of ... ready for this? "Substance P"! Ready for this, guys? Substance P, in short, is the kind of bio-molecule that, when activated within the realm of the Sympathetic NS, has the ability to MAGNIFY ... AMPLIFY one's pain as much as 32 TIMES more than what is nominal for a person. Ouch! So, the next time your 'sympathetics' are firing, your breath rate quintupling, your heart rate tripling, your pupillary size doubling ... keep handily in mind that Substance P hasn't kicked in yet! *Laugh* Hope you are feeling better, fyn-ny!
Ack! Hurts to even contemplate now; glad I didn't know this then!
atwhatcost adds:When in severe pain, write about it. Don't wait until it's over. Why? Our brains remember being in pain, but don't remember the pain itself. Good thing - how many women would want babies, if the pain were fully remembered? lol I've lived in chronic pain for a decade. Two weeks ago, my prescription to mask the pain was denied by the insurance company. I went to my doctor's office to straighten it out, without taking a pain pill. I was there two hours longer than my last pill lasted. It started hitting what it was like before I had painkillers and I was shocked how bad it was. It's two weeks later, the prescription mess was dealt with, and yet, I can only tell you the bus ride home was "bad." So, if you ever want to capture PAIN for a story, write it while you're in it. By the time you read this, the ache is gone, but replaced with the pain of surgery. When you recover completely, ask yourself, "Exactly what did it feel like?" The answer has already changed, hasn't it?
How true! So I'm glad I did write about it--because now it is a truncated memory. As writers, it is amazing the myriad places whence we can draw upon for details and descriptions!
J. A. Buxton  offers:I enjoyed your article about pain. Back in 2008, I wrote about a woman's painful experience. My very first reviewer suggested the main character should be a man instead. My fingers flew to quickly make this sex change, and I think the story was improved after this. Thank goodness for reviewers and their valuable ideas for improvement.
Absolutely! And here is the link to the story she referenced:
Josh  adds:I'm going to have give a character toothache now! That was a good letter, and only helps us realize that even toothaches have a place.
Sure do!
THANKFUL SONALI 17 WDC YEARS!  says:How about a blister on the foot and you're on a hike? That's pain! When pain drives you insane, look for something to gain ... this NL, so descriptive, gave us some perspective!
Thanking you *smile*
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