Friday, February 3, 2017


Taking this class, my muse has taken some hits.  I don't go deep enough because I do too much plot at the beginning of my scenes.  I like this piece that I just sent in to my instructor.  What do all of you think of it?

Threatening darkness loomed in the background.  Swirling puffy snowflakes assaulted the asphalt road, turning it into a gray wasteland, like a desert backdrop.  The glitter on each flake reflected off the headlights, blinding, reminding Nancy of a spaceship going into warp drive into the desert of space, only the small Escort lacked four-wheel drive let alone the navigational system for the confidence to propel forward with security of travel. 

Forty mile an hour winds whipped the hazardous snow around causing low visibility, much like what her military husband explained to her about the sandstorms in Iraq.  In the comfort of her own home, typically she loved to watch a winter storm from her kitchen window, all snug in the warmth and safety home.  She also loved shoveling the sidewalk and driveway in a snowstorm.   The exertion of conquering the elements, like her pioneering ancestors, filled her with a sense of accomplishment.

Drifting snow piled on the side of the road against the silver guard rail, slithering out into the lane ready to strike out at the tires.

The jeering of the windshield wipers mocked me as the rubber grated on the window.  The heater roared.  All the noises clawing on her stressed nerves.  The music from the stereo blared Beatles tunes to distract from the loss of site, the fear.  She hated snowstorms while riding or driving in a car.  Visions of her sister-in-law laying in a casket assaulted her memory, dying in a storm in the middle of Minnesota countryside.

The musky smell of wet dog permeated the air due to the Beagle standing sentinel in between the front seats shielding his desert queen sitting next to him and the princes in the back from harm.  His back paws on the rear seat and the front paws on the seat divider in the front.  His eyes never leaving the darkness in front of them as if he willed the car to stay on the road, their little protector. 

Her parched mouth thirsted from the anxiety as if she was in a desert.  The irony of the wet flakes falling in front of her only made the desire for drink heightened.  A thermos of hot chocolate lay on the floor of the car, like an oasis, just out of reach.  She longed for a stiff drink to calm her nerves. 

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