I’m having one of those existential moments when I’m finished reading to my Creative Writing class and pestering those who haven’t yet turned in their poems, and they’re (theoretically) writing personal narratives, and I’m staring out the window and watching the snow flutter down.

It’s only been happening for a few minutes. The flakes are fat and feathery like little puffs of cotton. But if it keeps up for hours or days or anything longer than minutes, I guess, there will be something to show for it.

And here’s the part where I make a writing analogy, obvs.

I’ve been super dedicated to my daily writing time since before Christmas. I’ve been CONSISTENT, don’t you know. And it’s starting to add up. The words may be fluttery and flaky at the time I write them (and in fact, I’m pretty sure that is exactly the case), but as it happens, day after day after day they start to add up. It may be true that I am 12,000 words into a “story” that I can’t define (in fact, totally true – I don’t know what it’s about), but the point, today, is that I’m 12,000 words into it. 12,000 more words than I’d have if I’d never decided to put down the few flaky words every morning.

Let it snow (words).

(and also snow, I guess.)