September Snow is a chunky dark churn of Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer and the horrid pressures of being caught in an avalanche. It is one man doing his best to survive and failing.
September Snow by Misty Warner
Available on Amazon:
https://t.co/VoQkqHbdoh
In school, we folded and passed little notes. At my age, I would not expect to get one. And I certainly wouldn't expect the post office to be able to deliver it. What a wonderful surprise from a younger family member.
I'm a part of two writers groups. In one, I am the oldest person & I am surrounded by people writing in journals, doing outlines, & research, but few are getting words down for a finished product. In the second, I'm pretty much the youngest, & they are polishing & publishing.
I have a stack of bookmarks. I have bookmarks that are magnets or made out of leather. I use only one and it's about tattered. Yet, I can't resist. It's like taking a cookie out of a cookie jar.
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Yesterday, under pity party balloons of pink, I wrote in my journal that no one has ever claimed to love one of my books. And then today it happened. I now have a fan club of one.
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I sit, surrounded by writers who went to college, as they go over the concepts for their book. They talk like they're in a social studies class or writing a thesis. As they stare at their outlines, I think to myself, "yeah, but where's the story?"
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Sometimes it's all about dropping your things right at the door, exhausted after a long day, just so you can get 300 words in. Don't give up. Don't give in. There is time. You just have to find it.
An older gentleman stopped by. He didn't bring any writing, just a long tail about a dog getting shot. I guess he stopped by not to participate, but just to tell EVERYONE that they required an outline in order to write. So glad a screen writer knows how a novelist should work.
It's been over 30 years since I picked up a paintbrush for watercolors. I feel like I've forgotten everything I knew, which is good because, this turn, I care less about coloring inside the lines or getting the color right.
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It's been awhile since I've been. My motorcycle kept me away. Sometimes my brain needs not the function of words, but the set of muscles. But I'm back at the table with others writing, typing, trying not to get the chocolate chip pumpkin muffin.
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