I'm the lucky writer who gets to post for Christmas and I mean that sincerely. As a regular reader of this blog, as well as one of the writers I've been thinking about Chester Campbell's post "'Tis the Friday before Christmas," and Libby McKinnons' post entitled "The Time of Year." Like Chester, my writing could use some regularity. It's not that I am disorganized. It's not even that I don't want to write. I am just plain too busy. And as for reading being guilt free because I'm a writer, as Libby said? Oh, I only wish.
I think Christmas is just about the only day of the year anymore where I feel able to sit back and just not do anything. Oh yes, there are the family rituals and the feast but what other day of the year is it permissible to sit back and watch snow drift lazily down? On what other day of the year do I tell myself I SHOULD read this book, since it was a Christmas present or go see a movie with the kids?
And that is a shame.
I have just realized that I am always late for something and always feeling as though I should be somewhere else. And it's not a comfortable feeling.
While I'm sipping eggnog today and reading a bit--maybe finding a new mystery to read with that gift certificate I'm hoping for ( Fictionwise for my Ipaq or maybe one to my local indy bookshop Murder by the Book)I'm going to take a second to reflect on all the hurry and bustle we all just got through and ask myself how that is working for me. I think I may already know the answer. But at least I'm finally asking the question.
Have a Merry Christmas, everyone.