Over the River and Through the Woods
The tide of Yule is ebbing this annus horribilis. (Has the near match between annus and anus ever been more appropriate?) Good riddance, I suppose. Still, I’ve made the best of it. I hope you have as well, dear reader.
This year it seemed important to sustain tradition. I drove MBW and the HA to my mother’s house for Christmas. The HA enjoyed Christmas Eve as only a seven-year old can, tearing through wrapping paper like a buzzsaw through whipped-cream.
The receipt of gifts no longer remains a priority for a man in his middle age (“I’m in my prime.”) What little I did get was eminently practical and very much appreciated for that reason. One additional, unplanned gift was that I was able to concentrate somewhat, working my way partially through the third draft of a Karl Thorson novel. With any luck, 2021 will see several volumes released with my name on the covers. If so, 2020 will have proved a productive year for me.
The drive back home consumed most of my post-writing opportunity, so let me wrap up this short one by issuing a happy belated Christmas to you all.