Holidaze

photo credit: Piled High via photopin (license)

It seems unreal there's another book coming out. How weird. When people ask, "What do you do?" It's hard to admit that I'm a writer. It's like saying, I'm a big phony, or I love myself, or something cheesy like, I'm special. It just doesn't feel right. But I am a writer and love every second of it. Always been lonely, always been happiest by myself, and so writing is like that little ingredient of happiness where there's always been a void.

What do you love to do?

By the way, it doesn't look like we'll have much snow this Christmas. I feel bad because in my heart I wanted a mild winter and was enjoying the very spring-like temperatures, however, the kids were really looking forward to some of the white stuff coming down. I remember one year while we were doing our shopping I said to them, "Oh, look at all the snow! What a blizzard! We'd better hurry up and get into the store before we freeze our butts off." Then we sang "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow" while walking through the parking lot, much to the amusement of passersby. There wasn't a flake in the air or a touch of frost anywhere to be seen, but for that moment it felt like we were in the North Pole. If there's one thing I want my children to have, it's a good imagination. And you can't cry over spilled milk if there isn't any milk in the first place. Or snow.

Here's another question for you: What is your favorite Christmas song? And your most hated? And . . . what is your favorite Christmas memory? Or any winter holiday memory . . .

I hope you're having a wonderful day. Thanks for stopping by.