Slightly Off the Mark: winter hatred

Showing posts with label winter hatred. Show all posts

Notes About Autumn and Denial

I've often said I hate fall. That's not exactly true: I love the first part of fall, when the temperatures are reasonable and the colors are glorious. If that was immediately followed by spring, I'd be ecstatic.

But late fall leads into winter. It's like when I was a teenager and my mother made liver and onions: No matter how good the rest of the meal was, I knew that sooner or later I'd have to deal with the bad part. (I learned to surround little bits of liver with a gob of mashed potatoes, and swallow without chewing. I could do nothing about the nauseating smell.)

In September I go into denial. By mid-October the days are just short enough for my seasonal effected disorder to kick in, so I have to force myself to start prepping for winter. But it's also approaching the end of the year, and I go into panic about all the other things I was going to get done. For instance, the bushes I needed to trim as soon as it got warm in the spring looked like Mark Twain's hair by the time I finally tackled them last week.

Being retired doesn't change that a bit. People said I would have more time when I retired. They lied.

But prepping started out well, because I was able to get the furnace running--which means it's worked (eventually) for 47 years in a row! It's been a good fifteen years since I had to buy a part, which is good, because I doubt they make parts for it anymore.

Every time I check on the cost of a new one I get chills.

Meanwhile, in addition to preparing for winter--which between the age of the house and my procrastination is a big deal--I've got all the other things I'm supposed to do. For instance, the part time hours I work at the full time job I retired from. There's something fundamentally wrong with that concept.

Then there's the Hoosier Hysterical sequel, which was to honor America's 250th birthday. Okay, birthday year. Okay, we're not going to make the birthday year. I guess it'll come out in honor of my 65th birthday in 2027, which is not nearly as exciting.

How could anyone not want to read a book that has Orville Redenbacher in it? I don't know, either.

Then there's book promotion, which I have to ramp up in the fall because holiday time, big shopping season, buying presents, all that stuff. Am I going to make my goal of selling a thousand copies this year? I don't know, because like everything else, I've procrastinated on adding up my sales.

Probably not, though. 2025 was a banner year, because Haunted Noble County, Indiana sold really well. In 2025 I counted 979 book sales, but over 400 of those were Haunted Noble County, Indiana. (I guessed in January the total for all books would be 565 ... no idea why.)

But we didn't put out a book this year, so ... no. I'm going to take a term from sports and call it a rebuilding year. My goal over the winter: release at least a couple of more books and do a lot of promoting.

I hate promoting.

Most writers hate promoting. Why? Because we feel like we're selling ourselves, not our books.

"Buy me! Buy me! Typewriter not included."

I was taught that bragging is a mortal sin, right up there with stealing and not saying goodbye to the relatives at the end of Thanksgiving dinner. Every time I promote I feel like my Aunt Dorothy is going to walk all the way from Ohio and slap me up top the head. I'm not even comfortable when other people talk me up, although please do.

Don't even get me started on public speaking.

But I do it, and not because I plan to get rich--I became a realist a long time ago. No, it's because I want people to read my stuff, and enjoy it. There's no better compliment than hearing someone's day is a little better because of something I did ... and with my back, shoveling the neighbor's walk is increasingly not an option.

But first I need to clean the gutters, mow the lawn one last time and put the mower away, cover the air conditioner, put in new smoke alarm batteries, take the aluminum cans to recycling, get the oil changed, get tax stuff around ... and oh yeah, probably check in with the family once in awhile.

At least we're not doing the holidays again this year.

Wait ... are we?

You can relax at home, inside, by the heat, with any or all of our books:

· Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO

· Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/search?attributes.contributorId=13727646

· Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter

· Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/

· Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/

· Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/

· Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914

· Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/

· Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter

· Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter

· Substack: https://substack.com/@markrhunter

· Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

· Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ozma914

· Audible: https://www.audible.com/search?searchAuthor=Mark+R.+Hunter&ref_pageloadid=4C1TS2KZGoOjloaJ&pf

Remember: While leaves are turning, you can turn book leafs.

Flaming Snowblower Update

So, we found out why our snowblower caught fire, and I think you'll find it ironic.

First of all, I was the only one who ever operated the snowblower. It's important to know that Emily shares none of the blame. It's also important to know that I did not attempt to fix it, so the self-repair restraining order was not violated. Emily, on the other hand, downloaded the user manual (thus bypassing my confused filing system), brought out the variable speed drill I bought for her birthday (I still have a scar), and dug right in.

As with our vacuum cleaner, the snowblower's belt can be reached through a panel. (My belt can be reached beneath the result of way too many cans of Mountain Dew.) I was actually able to put a new belt on the vacuum cleaner once, and it only took me three days. I figured in this case it had to be either the belt or the motor. When I realized the belt was on the opposite side of where most of the smoke came out, I got a bad feeling.

But we immediately saw the problem. Snow had gotten into the belt/pulley area, then melted a little, then froze solid, and the entire space was now packed with ice. We had to dig it out, then let the thing finish melting and dry off for a day.

It got a lot of snow on it when I used it, but in it?

In case any of you are as slow as I was: Our snowblower was killed BY SNOW.

But the belt was just fine. So after double checking it, we closed the panel back up, I plugged it in (outside), and pushed the button. It ran for three seconds and died, then smoke started coming out.

Two days later I hurt my back while using a snow shovel.

So I wrote this--again, perhaps ironically--with ice on my back, but my neighbor promised he'd take care of the snow removal. He has a normal sized, gas engine powered snowblower, but it still doesn't sit right by me. I want to do stuff myself! But sometimes, I suppose, I have to admit I can't anymore.

Which doesn't mean I'm not in the market for a new snowblower. Also, as of November the lawn mower is working just fine.

At least, it was.

Support my snowblower replacement fund! Find our books here: