Look, Persephone got a Santa hat. She's happy now, sitting under the calendar as the days tick past. I think, actually, that she might be having an affair with the crocheted elf in the kitchen. Ah, old elfie, finally found love. I've had him for like twenty years (more? I don't know. My grandmother made him ages ago), and as far as I know, he has never known love. But I could be wrong. For all I know, by night he is wooing the marionettes. Or the devil nutcracker. Your guess is as good as mine.
December thirteenth. I ask you: how did that happen? Last time I looked up it was still October. Yeesh. I have managed a few Decembrish deeds. Baked some gingerbread. Spice is pretty:
Got our Christmas tree:
Picked out the first one we looked at, and it was perfect. I'm not one of those people who has to look at twenty-five things before choosing one. I like to get in and get out. No agonizing. We even bought the second house we looked at!
As for the book, if you're wondering, it's in this weird place of sort-of finished. I'm combing through it now, making it editor-ready, filling in some scenes hither and thither. My editor has not yet read a word of this book, which of course makes me very anxious. In fact, he probably knows less about it than folks who read the interview at HipWriterMama. It's not because I don't want to tell him. I've resisted sending him part-way drafts because, for one thing, I'm sure is busy, and for another, I want him to read a finished draft with a mind wholly uncluttered by the detritus of earlier drafts. My mind is SO cluttered with could-have-beens and sacrificed chapters etc etc.
Happy December 13th!