So the world didn't end. Again. What a surprise. I could have predicted that. First of all the world won't end with rapture, fire and brimstone, and any other Hollywood pyrotechnics. It'll be with a slow whimper.
I'm a Grinch; the whole month of December is nothing but stress, cheesy supermarket music, and way too few daylight hours to me. I cope by batting down the hatches and trying to ignore the whole thing as much as possible.
The only decoration I have is this crocheted snowflake—a gift from Jo Myles. In lieu of tree, it hangs from my Dalek's plunger arm.
No wonder last years Christmas short—the one in Winter Warmers—ended up sort of melancholy. I was battling the flu and fleeing Mariachi music when I started writing it. No holiday short this year, although the second story in Dead in L.A. ends at Christmas time. I was battling a wee bit of anxiety at the time of writing, and did my best to channel it into Jon's character. If you have it, use it. Am I right?
On the brighter side of things: winter solstice was on Friday, and from here on the days are getting longer.