I’m sitting at my desk on a cold February day and it hits me how much stories and snow have in common. If you’ll indulge my little analogy, here’s why I think so.
At the start, small flakes are falling in a quiet tumble. Little whispers of plot are coming out of the sky and teasing the reader of what’s to come. You stop to catch a few on your eyelashes, you keep reading because you want more.
As you move past the excitement of a gentle dusting of snow the jumbo flakes begin. They barrage the reader at a breathless pace. You can’t keep up with the twists and turns of each little flake. You can’t stop because you need to know how to get out of the storm, your tracks all but erased behind you as the snow deepens.
The reader continues to tromp and romp through the pages. You hear the crunch of each step as the temperature drops and you find yourself breathing quickly because of the turn of events. You must make it to the conclusion or face the unknown soundscape around you.
You turn around and realize a plethora of characters are following you into the dark. They will walk the length of this book with you, companions till the end.
Stopping to build a shelter seems important as the night gets deeper. But you can’t stop the story storm has you hooked. It’s going to be an all nighter, responsibilities of the morrow be damned.
The last pages near and the snow dissipates into a clear sky. You look up and see the stars showing the clear path you traveled the author leading you right the whole way. Dawn is near. Responsibilities loom. But in this moment it’s been a perfect snow storm. Lost in a story so deep and real that nothing else mattered.
This is the deep snow dream that books can be. They can pull you in so fully that you must continue on. These are the books authors aspire to write. Read and write on.