Nature launched a blitz attack on my evening plans. The snow began mid-afternoon, millions of flakes rushing to the ground with the aid of a skin-chilling wind. It hasn’t stopped. I’m attempting to focus on the sparkly blanket of beauty and not on the shoveling or the messy driving. In lieu of dinner and a movie with Matt and Nethanial, I am opting for “Without a Trace” reruns, long neglected issues of “Better Homes & Gardens,” and chicken alfredo pizza.
The snow has me in the mood for slippers and writing. I’m craving progress. I’m craving the feel of my pen in my hand, the pressure of the point on the paper. I was part of a conversation today on the transition of books to a digital format. My personal preference remains old school. I’m doing my best to accept that this realm of things is changing drastically though. That the generation after me will likely be raised on digital literature is a fact I’m not going to ignore. But as I listened to the guys talk up the evolving technology I thought to myself that the delight of writing won’t ever change. The satisfaction of scratching those letters onto the lined page will remain. My work can be published in whatever format anyone wants. I won’t fight that. Whatever the end result, it’ll start with pen and paper though. No better night to return to that work than this snowy one.