…Unless you’re an author who suddenly finds her writing schedule being trampled, pell-mell, by Christmas parties, Christmas symphonies, Christmas-tree hunting, Christmas cookie baking, Christmas-light hanging, Christmas shopping trips, Christmas ornament swaps, and Christmas, Christmas, C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S.
Now don’t misunderstand me. I LOVE Christmas. But I also love writing. And apparently, the two don’t mix very well. Ever since Thanksgiving, it seems like my wonderfully organized and disciplined (er…you believe me, don’t you?) writing schedule must have been accidently thrown out with the leftover green-bean casserole! Now my supposed writing sessions have turned into internal debates that go something like this:
Writer: “Hmmm. According to the schedule, I should be writing today.”
Christmas-Lover: “Yes, but today you have to go Christmas shopping.”
Two days later…
Writer: “I should really get some writing done today.”
Christmas-Lover: “Yes, but today you’re going to hunt up and decorate the tree.”
Three or four days later…
Writer: “I’m getting way behind. Today I REALLY need to-”
Christmas-Lover: “Sorry, can’t hear you over the music! Fa la la la la, LA LA LA LA!”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you loose your grip on a writing schedule.
All of that is simply to say that if my blog posts are rather shorter, or later (like this this one) for the next few weeks, it’s only because (hopefully) I’m devoting my limited time to writing my actual book! I’m trying hard to keep focused on that during this busy season, even if it’s only information gathering. When I traveled during Thanksgiving, for example, I drove through Florida. And you better believe I spent some time staring out the window at the scenery as we went through the area closest to Fred Overall’s childhood home. Palmettos, pine trees, and swamps. Hmmmm. Reminds me of my childhood home, in south Georgia!
I only have one picture of Fred’s childhood, and it’s not very clear. But I’m sharing it anyway:
Apparently he and some siblings and friends were eating watermelon in the backyard (or, well, backswamp).
There’s nothing like being a kid in the country.
I was one.