Tell Me I'm Frozen

So in case you've been living under a rock, it's cold out there. Like, really cold. Really, really cold. We're talking so cold and so icky that the snow's piled up to a depth of six and a half inches here in South Mississippi, the roads have been solid sheets of ice, highways are closed, businesses and government buildings are shut down, and my husband hasn't been able to get to work for the past two days.

It's cold.

I bring this up because I had a bit of a brainwave earlier. I don't get to experience snow very often (thank you, Mama Nature), but from time to time snowy environments crop up in my stories. Not really being familiar with snowy environments in the real world, I base all my descriptions on what I've seen and heard from others, with what precious little snow I've dealt with thrown in. I like to think it's passable, but I didn't realize until this week's Snowpocalypse just what kind of cold snow is.

Snow is cold. Snow is freezing. It's white, it blankets the earth, it dampens sound. Most people know this, even if they've never been in snow, because these are all extremely common descriptions of snow. This week, however, I've learned so much more about snow than I ever wanted to.

Snow isn't just cold, it's wet. The cold stings whatever exposed skin it can find, and the dampness soaks through your clothes and your very skin, cutting all the way down to bone. Your body tremors and shivers and shakes as you try to fight off an invader that sometimes feels like its eating at you from the inside. The ice, which may conjure thoughts of fun things like ice-skating and snow days when it first forms, blackens and takes on a menacing sheen that you know could be the death of you if you venture forth. The sky turns to steel and while the sun may shine, it is not the friendly sun of a sweet spring afternoon. The sun--that bastard--only exists to mock you at this point.

It makes me feel slightly better about the cold, really, all this learning I've done. Not by much, mind you, but slightly. It's gotten me thinking about descriptions in my own writing, and how they can always be improved by getting out and experiencing things. Obviously I'm not going to go out and experience what it's like to get shot or stabbed or shoved in the trunk of a car (good lord, my writing is bleak...), but even everyday experiences can help shape my writing into something more realistic and immersive.

Though I wish the lesson in snow hadn't been so...uh, well, I wish it hadn't been so damn cold.

All y'all frozen folks stay safe out there.
'Til next time,
J.