Stephen bought a bouquet of ranunculus, which was the extent of our holiday decorations. It was more than enough when you factored in the beautiful December light.
A subdued celebration seemed appropriate given the state of so much that’s unfolding in the city/state/country/world.
Recently, I’ve been catching up on novels published in 2023; is it me, or are most of them about doing tons of drugs and driving around LA?
I wondered if I could write 80,000 words about the winter light seeping through the blinds in the late afternoon. I propose that ‘winter light’ be considered a new literary genre to go along with historical, mystery, horror, LGBTQ, fantasy/SF, getting high and driving around LA, and YA.
I forgot to mention that we also have a vase of eucalyptus leaves.
It’s December 24th, and while the light wraps us like a blanket, Christmas feels very far away.
