Thursday, December 31, 2015
No news that a discarded Christmas tree is one of the saddest of sights ever. The most iconic symbol of holiday cheer and happiness kicked to the curb like an old drunk.
This entire month has passed in the usual blur of work, shopping, cooking, parties, more shopping and, in between all the holiday fuss, writing. Short stories, one with deadline in January (who thought that was a good idea??), a new novel clawing its way to the surface, book promos, etc. And this blog. Even though I don't have a vast following, posting once a month is my own personal touchstone, the place where I prove to myself that I can do this, with or without permission, support, or any other extrinsic reward. Hey, this is the writing life. Extrinsic rewards are in short supply.
But I was utterly "blogged down" trying to think of something interesting enough to me, let alone any poor sucker who happens across this entry.
Finally, today, December 31st, at just past three in the afternoon, I figured out what I'd write about: soldiering on even when it feels like my work is about as appreciated as last year's Christmas tree.
I'd seen a tree across the street, tossed in the snow, the perfect image. Scurrying into my coat, I went out to take the photo.
The tree was gone. Recycled. Turned to dust.
Oh, God--was this a symbol of my writing future? I had the choice to cave in or refuse to take such treatment from the Universe.
Somewhere, surely, there must be another tree lying at the side of the road. I hopped in the car, trying not to consider the sigilistic aspects of my quest. No tree = no blog post = no writing future.
But the Universe smiled, or possibly smirked, and seven or eight blocks from my house, I found the tree pictured above. So perhaps it is a sign after all. Perseverance. Always. Amen.