First, from Writers Who Kill, happy holidays, whatever the holiday, and best wishes for the New Year.
I spent the last few days preparing to submit to fifteen agents. The busyness of this time of the year distracts me from right-brain thinking so I’m not opening up my next novel in my missing person series or the two short stories I’ve started. Instead, I’m thinking as though I’m applying for a job by studying agents, agencies, and their clients. Hopefully, my subconscious is busy on the vague images and ideas that need development for my next WIP and for my short stories.
Sometimes I wonder if the magic of Christmas decreases after a person reaches five years of age because by then, a person forms recoverable memories. She holds in her mind an image of imperfection and disappointment.
I consider myself lucky that my parents weren’t equipped economically or emotionally to let me think I should get what I want always or that someone else could provide me with happiness. I’m not sure I ever had an ideal image of Christmas.
Today, I think much about Christmases experienced by others. I can’t shake images of children in Third World countries who need a sugary peanut concoction to avoid stunted growth and intellectual retardation. Mothers in Africa and India can expect to lose some of their babies. How terrible is that?
The peace and goodwill message of Christmas seems an unrealized ideal. I’ll spend Christmas with my children and grandchildren, and enjoy that. But, unless a person is an extreme introvert, it’s impossible to remain happy for long. We keep trying to improve the situation but we seem destined not to see the finished product.
Congratulations to all those authors published this year and here’s wishing for success for those seeking publication in the coming year.