Yesterday a massive snow-storm swept through here. Winds of over 100 kph hurled the snow into huge piles and obliterated anything beyond an arm’s length from the window. This morning, I can just peek over the top of a snow-drift that accumulated outside my window and see the bay, still iced over, shimmering blue-white under the clear sky. It was a great day for writing while that storm kept us house-bound. Yet I didn’t write a word, apart from compiling a cryptic crossword puzzle. Writing of a sort, and a great way to keep the mind from stagnating.
And another day has gone by without a word from the agent who is going over my latest manuscript. That’s one week, which seems like six. Another two weeks to wait before she told me she would get back to me. That’s another dozen or so crosswords to devise! Or the muse will kick in and I’ll start another book, although snow-shoeing seems another good option right now.