In the end, the snow stopped. The sidewalks and roads were clear, or at least clear enough. So, I ate dinner and headed to class. It was good.
it would seem that I have volunteered to read aloud another story for next week.
I don't have another story.
Well, I have a story idea floating in my head and about 3 pages of scribbled notes to myself - written on the metro, written in the middle of the night, written when I had an idea that I didn't want to forget.
Starting today, I will attempt to pull together those ideas into something more cohesive. *egh* I told the instructor I would email him about my progress on Sunday. Deadlines. Deadlines are good.
The problem I have with writing is that I come up with some -IMHO- interesting ideas, yet I can't translate those ideas into an actual story. I feel like I am writing a scene, a snapshot of someone's life. And, whenever I attempt to continue the scene, I fall into the Land of Bland, where everything is too typical, maudlin, cliche ...
Something to work on, I guess.
Oh. I found a copy of The Grapes of Wrath. very. excited.