No, really. We had snow round our way yesterday (OK, most of the country had snow yesterday, but that’s by the by) and I stood at the window at work, bouncing up and down on my toes and making little happy noises. I rang my colleagues who work downstairs in the basement, just because I absolutely had to tell somebody it was snowing. No thoughts of ‘but I don’t have my wellies with me today’ or ‘what if they take the buses off and I can’t get home?’
It was all good, of course. It didn’t snow heavily enough either for me to need my wellies or for the buses to be cancelled. But when I got home I had a look at some of the writing I’ve been doing lately. And it’s all about the snow. Seriously. The last story I put up, Silver – snow. Lots of snow. The story I’ve been writing this week; OK, I had a wintry prompt for it, but it’s got snow in as well. It’s autumn in my novel right now, with a cold winter coming. Liam’s trying to keep me on track but I want to jump ahead – ‘I don’t want to write about leaves falling, Liam! I want to write about snow!’
Maybe it’s seasonal. Maybe it’ll pass. Surely if we have a winter here like we’ve had the last couple of years I’ll be heartily sick of the stuff before spring comes.
Maybe not.
Wrap up warm.