Snowed in today, home from work and writing. Which means, of course, staring out the window at the endless snow blanketing cars, rooftops, trees. I have not found much time to write lately, so I am grateful. I met with my writers' group again last Sunday, submitted a sample chapter from the book that they critiqued. It was like open heart surgery. I'm not sure I was/am ready, should probably have considered the possibility that it was a terrible idea, although I think the input will prove helpful in the long run.

I have considered sharing some novel excerpts on my blog, but I figure the writing is much too young, and I would much rather talk about my writing than share the actual writing itself. Furthermore, it's really important to establish a safe space within which to share. The internet is kind of like a bus station and I would never write in public. (Funny story, I once rented a room from a writer who did an art installation in which he lived/wrote a novel in a gallery for a month before an audience. Interesting.)