It’s time for the Fort Armstrong Folk Festival, which is my favorite local ever. After the last three years of working during it, it’s great to actually be able to go and spend time looking at the crafts and eating good-but-not-good-for-you foods.
And for a change the weather is not going to be so hot and miserable that you feel like you’re going to die.
My roommate and I were down there this evening for supper, and we were chilling with some shaved ice when I started getting that uneasy feeling that a storm was coming. I suggested that we head back to the car and we were home less than fifteen minutes before the storm started.
Yes, I have always had this thing where I can feel storms. Probably something to do with air pressure or electricity or something.
And, yes, I once sort of worked it into a story. A very long time ago and I hadn’t thought about it in ages until tonight. I wonder whatever happened to it? (It was just a start but it had promise.)
I also once, a long time ago (before the storm thing) started a novel about a festival. Well, sort of. The end of the festival was the start of the story. Different festival, though.
So, anyhow, before I got sidetracked by a trip down memory lane…
We had a brief but fairly strong storm come through this afternoon just as I was trying to figure out what to write about. It actually managed to tangle my blinds and now I’m going to have to move the rat cage to fix them.
So, the storm delayed this post, then the festival did, and then another storm, and then my stomach decided to object to something I ate. (I’m blaming the cheese fries.)
Anyhow, it occurred to me that sometimes it’s the little things that find their way into your writing.
“There’s nothing sadder than the end of festival.” (Actually, I’ve worked festivals into other novels. They make great settings.)
Sensing storms approaching.
And now, mild food poisoning.
I’m not entirely sure I want to put that last one into a story but, hey, why not? You never know, and it could be interesting…