There’s mountains of snow that fell between last night and now. Spring break was last week, and my son went to school today with the hopes of building a snowman. It’s all part of life in Canada. I think we need to rename spring break, or perhaps we need to change the date.
My husband was late for work, shovelling, my son was late for school – you got it, because we were shoveling out the car. I missed baby group, yup, ’cause I didn’t feel like shoveling again. It just doesn’t stop falling.
I’ve been writing, and playing with kids while they were home for the week, and doing all the grown-up stuff required of me this last week, so there’s been no time for blogging. It also means my planned post about de-cluttering is not written, and will be next (I hope).
I recently began taking violin lessons again. I was chatting with my teacher about the language of music, and I happened to mention that I’m a writer. She said, playing the violin is much harder than writing.
The thing about writing is we can make it as easy or as hard as we want it to be. I choose to make writing very difficult. I like multitudes of layers, composition that is seemless. The more I work, the less you as a reader do. And you get more out of the read. I can get lazy when it comes to snow, but as for the writing, I won’t ever stop shoveling.