A Very Creepy Christmas

Why aren't you writing about me, Russell? I'm lonely, Russell. I'm in your head...you know the things i could do in here?

Why aren’t you writing about me, Russell? I’m lonely, Russell. I’m in your head…you know the things I could do in here?

With less than two weeks to go out in my blaze of short story submitting glory, I’ve been battling holiday demands and trying to carve out writing time. I’ve gotten back a couple more rejections since and have yet to re-sub. My daily word count has absolutely plummeted.

I’m starting to have withdrawal symptoms. Like the narrator in my head giving a play by play while I’m brushing my teeth, (though I’m seriously debating the POV). Or the characters that keep staring at me, also in my head. They aren’t saying anything, obviously, because I’M NOT WRITING, they are simply staring, waiting, like something out of Children of the Corn.

All of this started with a simple Christmas request.

For his birthday, my son asked for a new laptop.  I offered a compromise – give him my old desktop but upgrade it to seriously beefy proportions. I’ve built several computers in the past, including the one I planned to upgrade for him. No problem, I thought. So, I ordered all the components and offered to get this done before we were swept into the holiday quagmire. That way, even though he’d have little in the way of gifts from us under the tree, he’d get to use the computer a bit before the official holiday.

Then his laptop died. We spent an afternoon trying to revive it to no avail. I next spent three days trying to get the new components for his Christmas present all running smoothly only to come to the conclusion that the most important piece, the new processor, was defective.

Prior to this, I’d already spent large chunks of my days running errands of the holiday variety. Sneaking around during my normal fictional-working hours to buy gifts, finishing the annual charter for my Scout troop, and prepping for a new crit group I recently joined. Add to that disassembling the two exterior doors in the house that decided to either jam closed or constantly pop open and my week so far has been pretty writing free.

So what did I learn from all this? I learned I’m cranky and mentally unstable when I don’t write. I learned that sitting here at the keyboard today, ignoring all the end of the year chores and demands, writing about insect-humanoid acolytes and trying to flesh out a female paladin from a matriarchal society, all I want for Christmas is to be left alone in my messed up head. Not too much to ask, right?

That’s not what will happen though.

And really, I can’t say I regret sitting down with my son and spending some extended geek time together or anything else that’s been soaking up my time for that matter. It all reminds me of what the holidays are about: Giving. Time, assistance, guidance, whatever you can. For now, I’ll work on keeping my withdrawal symptoms down and the Bah Humbugs to myself.


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