Holiday: bad for word count

I had hoped to, by tonight, have built up a word count surplus to carry me through the next three days of Thanksgiving time off. This did not happen. I swear I can actually hear the progress screeching to a halt.

Last couple of days have been busy at work, coupled with a case of the blahs – one day’s being accidentally self inflicted. Who knew Nestle puts Sucralose in their hot chocolate? Drank some at work, and I’m essentially allergic in that I eat it and I get a headache at best and a migraine so bad I’m begging for a sweet reprieve in Hell. Luckily this one managed to be low enough dose to be the former.

In any event, instead of a week’s word count in a few days, I’ve gotten a single day’s count in a few days. Tomorrow is going to be spent cooking and eating, Thursday is going to be spent doing the dishes. Friday will be spent in bed, telling the universe to go away.

With luck I can get some few hundred words or so on each day to keep from falling too far behind, then get some miraculous boost Saturday and Sunday.

In any case, it’s only 15000 words in 10 days. I’m sure I’ll manage.

Good night, Happy Thanksgiving.


Lessons and discoveries

It’s rather amazing to be an author. You really get to discover a lot about life, the world, Humanity, and so forth by seeing it through various different eyes, and by living so many different lives.

Take Christmas. America exports its “traditions” all over the world, corrupting things that really are old traditions. Bringing commercialism into it and all that. Here’s a fun thing though: ever thought about what Christmas might be like through the eyes of someone who only sees the commercial Hallowthangivimas trappings, but always heads across the Atlantic before mid December has come to a close?

I’ve really been learning how strange our Christmases must look to one whose frame of reference for the holiday is Italian, German, Austrian, and French (mostly Italian). In Ready or Not Salencia is staying in America for the Christmas holiday for the first time in her whole life. It’s the first time she’s seeing the things that she only actually knows from movies, television, and whatever gear up her friends’ families might engage in on the last stretch from Thanksgiving to New Year. Another first, ringing in a new year in the states, but one that’s pretty much universal for western society.

It’s a really great thing fiction. Reading it as well as writing; either way we find ourselves experiencing things, thinking things, discovering, learning, growing all because a little voice in our own or someone else started whispering little things, and then before long it has a name, and a story, and a following. Stories really are remarkably like the gods one meets delving into the fantastic Small Gods by Pratchett.

Anyhow, I wish you all bon nuit!