On snow - and being stuck when you’re writing.

I always feel a sense of excitement when I hear snow is coming. I probably would not feel the same way if I was an Eskimo – but, then again, I’m not. I’m Anglo-Irish and currently living in Virginia near Winchester (site of innumerable Civil War battles and adjacent to the Blue Ridge Mountains, the Shenandoah and other mythic places).

Ireland can be horrendously cold, thanks to the rain, humidity and the wind-chill factor, but – at least insofar as the Republic of Ireland (the North is still British occupied) it is light on snow. Accordingly, I tend to associate serious snow with my time at boarding school in Yorkshire, England, when the snow could yield drifts six to eight feet deep which were marvelously disruptive to the normal school routine. As far as I was concerned, sledding, snowball fights and building igloos all added up to paradise. In truth, I never managed to build a really good igloo – but I live in hope.

I’d like to be able to tell you that snow is the answer to every writer hit by writer’s block (tough if you live in one of the Southern states) but, actually, my solution is just to lean against the kitchen counter and just meditate in a glassy eyed way.

Looks odd, my kids tell me, but seems to work.