So, yeah, Christmas!
Today when sat at work bored, I did two things. One was write two little linked Christmas stories which I will share further down this blog post, another was write a list, which I will share with you now.
Anything of length that needs finishing/deserves to be finished.
- Bron part 2 (tighten up plot ideas for part 2, still seems all over the place & revisions of part 1)
- A&R (and I have written ‘ha ha’ in brackets next to this as it probably is consigned to the bin for now)
- Cavendish (in any form)
- Screenplay? (Revise story)
- Actually start work on play (Again, plot needs revising)
- Nano 2012 novel – HB&SS. Story seems compelling enough. Make it exciting.
Perhaps this will serve as a “resolutions” list of sorts. This isn’t the order I want to get to things in (apart from Laurie, of course as that really needs to be finished!) but is instead a list of things I think need/deserve to be finished. When I say that they deserve to be finished, I mean that I believe in the story enough to want to complete it.
Now, onto the festive tales! (Bonus point if you can identify the book/film that’s quoted in the first line!)
‘Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without any presents!’I groaned. Not this again. I had become indifferent to Christmas in about 1985, when I was five years old and our house had been burgled. Whoever it was, the cruel bastard, had broken into our house on Christmas Eve and had taken all the presents – and the TV. I just assumed at the age of five, that I had done something back and Santa had come to take all the stuff back. I didn’t occur to me that my parents stuff had gone too. I didn’t even cry, just shrugged my shoulders and went to bed. I treated the next day as if it were any other. All that was different was that I didn’t have to go to school. Our neighbors rallied round and tried to make the best of it but I wasn’t all that fussed. I didn’t really see the point of it all. But, we must bend to tradition and every year Christmas continued, and still continues in elaborate fashion. My parents, still scarred from that Christmas burglary, insist on holding Christmas in their heavily alarmed house, forcing everybody to deliver their presents to them a week fore to save anyone else from burglary.
I still wonder who opened the presents that said, “To Peter, from Mum and Dad” on them.
2.I really loved Christmas, like, fanatically, but we never really had anything. We had a tree, which every year looked as though Dad had nicked it from a garden center and shoved it hastily into his car. He probably did. Any decorations on it were made either at school in particularly rowdy art classes or at home, using scraps of magazines and paper and lots of old felt. One year, Dad promised Christmas presents. He said he’d got a Christmas bonus (from a job he didn’t have) and was going to go out on Christmas Eve and get some last minute bargains. We sat and waited while he went out and believe it or not, came back with sacks of presents. Some for Mum, some for me and even some for himself! They’d all been wrapped and tagged with great care. Explains why he’d been out so long! I was so happy as I unwrapped what he had bought. It was exactly what I had wished for. Turning one of the brightly coloured tags in my hand I read, “To Peter, from Mum and Dad”. It wasn’t his writing, but I didn’t care. To my knowledge, he couldn’t write. Never mind, we had a great Christmas. We even got our first TV, bought round by Uncle Bob, who wasn’t really my uncle.
So, merry Christmas all and see you in January!