Warm Embrace

At left,a photo of ice on the water from Poland by the photographer Raffik.

I'm near Lake Michigan which is covered in rolling ice near shore. Beyond the rolling ice is slush which recedes into fog. It's snowing, will snow tonight and into tomorrow. At home, snow. More snow.

There's no point in going home tonight because its a holiday and the plow action will be slow. Tomorrow morning: full staff and full press. Today - not so much.

I'm warm, dogs are happy, chili in the pot, friends napping. I'm writing in the "snow room" [ what you call a "sun room" in winter ] with a quilted comforter on my legs and the laptop tray propped up by a large pillow. It's beautiful, quiet,relaxed. If I should die in a minute, I will have been at the state of peace we all would hope for in the last breaths.

Hard to beat that.

I've got some writing to do. I've done a little coaching, written an example of something, and thought of revisiting a story I haven't touched in months whose opening is too good to let fade.

Busy, content. Hard to beat that.

I hope you all are busy  and content. I've decided to shove work thought revision and critique to submission this quarter. It's been many years since I done the submission, query, and the shop around routine. Markets, styles, and form have changed. Time to get back on the horse. There is writing and there is not writing. If anonymity is akin to not writing, why would I think that brings happiness?

To work mule. Write, mule, write.

Hope you're writing. Hope you're warm and happy. Hope the ice is thick.

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An "awkward silence" example
 :::::::::::

Suzi pushed her hair back over an ear. 

"You  dated Margie, then?" 

"A little, before. Well. Yea, before..."

Bob aligned his spoon with the precise edge of the napkin. Its near-bleached white browned by the last drop brought from the stir. He moved it away, started over.

" A little."

He looked up from the spoon and Suzi was watching the bus driver hustle bags into place out in the snow driven by wind. He was in a light jacket. She felt his cold.

Bob looked and stared too.

" Miss her," Suzi said.

Bob held his cup. Neither moved until the bus pulled away and the waitress walked by ignoring them again. A bell rang order-up.

"Sorry." 

"You're not," she said.

He stirred the cold dregs.

"Maybe not as much as you. I still feel bad."

Suzi looked for the bus and wondered when the next one came. She remembered the ride from Dallas. It was a mistake, too. 

"You're don't."

Bob pushed the cup to the edge of the table. Added the spoon, napkin. They sat unmoving.

"No," he whispered. "No."