As I sit here by the fire, ensconced in the warm glow of a fire and a little oatmeal stout, I reflect back on the holidays. Sure, they’re not quite over yet; this weekend is New Year’s Eve, and it’s not like I won’t be traveling in celebration. (Nothing fancy, just visiting some relatives in Pennsylvania.)
The good side of the holidays is that I got to see family. A lot of family, from both my wife’s and my own side of the tree. This is a great thing. Our relatives are spread (literally) all over the country and beyond. They reach as far as Singapore. That makes the little excuses to get together beyond simply “critical.”
The down side is that I haven’t gotten nearly as much work done as I want. I’m sitting here staring at Scrivener wondering where the last two weeks went. The answer is that they were swallowed by Christmas and a funeral, but that’s not satisfying when I want to get the new book on the shelves out the door. Still, realities must be dealt with.
For anyone keeping score: I wrote 10k words this week commercially, a mere 1k on literary pursuits. I’m lagging way behind. The holidays have been beautiful, but there’s more than a small part of me that’s desperately ready to engage back into the normal.
