Oh, and the magic eight ball in my stocking, when asked about novel publication this year, replied: it is certain. Superstitious bugger, aren't I? Writers refuel our tank of dreams from every passing station, it seems.
For me, breaking in the new pjs and reorganizing my writing space seems to be the way of it each year. I'm juggling two novels, so the inspiration chotchkes are a muddled signal to my subconscious. More often, they shout "clutter!" than "write me!" And thanks to one of my sweet crit partners, this phone booth of awesomeness will not be relegated to the ornament box come January.
The tule beneath it is my feeble attempt to capture the white Christmases of my childhood. Sure, it makes the tree look like a cheap bridesmaid, but at night, when I squint just so, it could pass for snow.
The tule beneath it is my feeble attempt to capture the white Christmases of my childhood. Sure, it makes the tree look like a cheap bridesmaid, but at night, when I squint just so, it could pass for snow.
Both kings seem to think so, too.
I wish everyone a fruitful start to the new year, filled with certain 8-ball messages, happy memories and a comfy pair of pjs.
5 comments:
My hope is for your hopes to live in the words of the wise 8 ball which I hope also you never find yourself behind.
There was a holiday? Musta missed it. Calendar disconnect is a dreadful disease.
Happy New Year, L.A.!
You're phone booth reminds me that I saw a pretty good Dr. Who the other night, The Christmas Carol episode.
@WM-Sometimes I think I live behind that 8-ball ;) Take care.
@Jen-You, too, Jen :)
@Charles-I actually watched some of that SAME eppy the other night. I know I should love Dr. Who, but I can't get past it as torture from my babysitter when I was ten.
Yep, I squinted my eyes and it looked like snow too. haha :)
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