12:37 p.m. So, the Big
Storm promised by the Weather Guessers actually arrived. For the past three or
so hours we've had blustery, windy gusts (up to 50 mph according to the news)
and buckets of rain. It is nasty out! I've heard where it's supposed to blow over by
3 p.m. or so, which would be great since I have class tonight. Just in case, though, I
brought my heavy, grey London Fog raincoat with a hood, and cheery, bright yellow
umbrella (in case the wind dies down, but it continues to rain). Pity I don't have
any
wellies.
Perhaps I should look for some. They're fashionable and functional!
5:45 p.m.
Handwritten before class, typed up later.
The gusty wind and driving rain
stopped promptly at five o'clock; just in time for everyone to go home, and for me
to head to class. It started sprinkling again by the time I parked on campus and
started walking to class, but it wasn't enough to pull out my umbrella - the hood on my rain coat was sufficient.
Class was, once again, interesting and informative. It was also
pretty small due to the inclement weather. I quite enjoyed it. It felt more intimate
and the comments seemed more thought out, and we were able to have actual
discussions about the stories. Maybe it's that we've been doing this a while,
though, and we know each other better. I don't know. All I know is I came out of that
class totally inspired to sit down and write when I got home, but I'm so very tired I
can barely see straight!
Gah! I'm going to bed!
for what it's worth,
Hez
Escape
Reading: You've Got to Read This ed. by Ron Hansen. Tonight we
discussed "Packed Dirt, Churchgoing, a Dying Cat, a Traded Car" by John Updike,
"Labor Day Dinner" by Alice Munro, and "The Flowers" by Alice Walker, plus the two
short stories submitted by classmates. Next week we have only one short story to
work shop, and three stories to read out of the book, so Marc is going to bring in
some samples of submission letters and will discuss getting published.
Classic Book: Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens.
Previously: Animal Farm by George Orwell.
Listening to: Nothing specific, just the radio.
Writing: Nothing. I've got too much reading to do.
Gratitude: Rain, rain, rain!!