For those who attend one of our four Christmas Eve services at Calvary tonight, be sure to pick up a copy of "The Memory and the Dream" . . . my Christmas gift to the congregation this year in the form of a scroll. I'll also be reading another story, "The Peddler", as my message.
Interestingly enough, I wrote both of these Christmas stories (along with two others) back in May. And if you recall, May was HOT. I wrote these four stories over a two week period sitting on the back porch at night dripping with sweat. I had to write something winterish to keep cool.
Which makes me wonder: do I need to sit on the back porch now and write about summer? I could plop down in a lawn chair in a swimming suit and see how long I could write before dropping off into hypothermia. Might be interesting.
Writing outside of the season has its own energy. I've already discovered that I've written two stories about Spring and I'm working on my Easter story, too. Snow and cold will do that to a person.
It's not yet Christmas, but I'm already past it. As my wife and I toasted (last night) another year of Christmas completed, we were already turning our attentions elsewhere toward the promise of a new year and plans for travel to some exotic location. Preferably some place warm.
I'm ready for Spring . . . and we've not yet tackled the big pile of crap under the tree. But since we don't have small children in our house any more, I've already received instructions. "Don't wake us until noon!" Amen. I'm not sure I'll be dreaming of a white Christmas. I'll just be dreaming. And maybe later, a bit of writing, too.
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