For various reasons, this kind of day has been rare lately: entirely devoted to writing fiction, with just a dollop of skiing for starters. It's the best kind of day I know.
We're having Weather, so school was cancelled and with it my junior high writers workshop. Then the lady I was supposed to interview this morning turned out to have the flu (just as well--for me, not for her--since it's NASTY out there).
So, nothing to do but write.
First, I took advantage of the five-point-three seconds of decent snow out there and skied in the woods for an hour--my favorite kind of woods, too, lovely, dark, and deep. Snow coming down in a mist, sticking to the branches and sides of the trees. Silence. Tiny critter footprints, filling up with snow.
Got home about an hour before it all turned to rain. (Note to self: Remember, there are good things about living by the ocean. OK, snow may not be one of them. But try kayaking on a wheat field.)
And then I worked on the last chapter of The Filioli. I'm so close to finishing the first, rough-rough-rough draft that I can see the last sentence lying on the ground under that tree over there. Lots more to do after I get there--LOTS more to do, thanks to character work I did last week. (I write "journal" entries in the voices of various characters, and haul surprises out of their brainstems every time.) But still, it's progress.
Now the wind's coming up. If the power goes out we'll spend the evening staring at the fire instead of Jim Lehrer. Nothing against ol' Jim but...