Ho-Ho-Havoc

Okay, so I really want this Christmas tree. Realy, really, really! However, thanks to the month from H-E-L-L, we got a Charlie Brown tree last night because the good ones were taken. And yes, getting a live tree is green (as in the environment)--did my research . . . as long as you turn it to mulch and get it from a Christmas tree farm.

But 'tis the season. For stress. I found this quote from Buddha.



A family is a place where minds come in contact with one another. If these minds love one another the home will be as beautiful as a flower garden. But if these minds get out of harmony with one another it is like a storm that plays havoc with the garden. ~Buddha



Nothing like Christmas to play havoc with your garden. It's a pressurized version of family. Which brings me . . . to writing.

You see, many of my books have holiday scenes in them. I'm not talking about writing romance books set at Christmas, sold just in late November/early December. Like this one by my fellow Nocturne author (which is a big hit, so buy one for the vampire fan on your list). No, I'm talking about intentionally setting books in November so I get Thanksgiving and Christmas in there. How many books have I done this in? The Roofer, Mafia Chic, Knockout, Double Down, Invisible Girl, Spanish Disco . . . and if I think about it, probably a few more.

And why? Because there is nothing like the holidays to just crush your characters. While it's a time of comfort and joy, it's also usually high-stress, and if there are any family issues, nothing like the Christmas season to bring them to the forefront. Why, it was Christmas Eve nine years ago, when we called my in-laws to wish them a Merry Christmas that my significant other's stepfather told him that I was a b**** and he was a piece of . . . well, one of the unmentionable words on the nun's list from last night's post. Merry Christmas to you, too. :-)

At Christmas, you see people alone. I did that in Spanish Disco because Cassie had no one to spend Christmas with. The Christmas season has a way like few others to both pull people into the warmth of the holiday . . . or leave someone out in the cold.

Grief is sharper at the holidays. Yesterday, I found an old picture, and sat in my office and sobbed because of the inexorable march of time. I don't want my parents to get old. It's that simple. And that terrifying sometimes. I talk to my mother every day of my life. I can't even "go there" to the inevitable of life and loss. I lost my beloved Grandma the day before Christmas Eve. I had a miscarriage in November, and always feel a pang before the holidays set in. You just FEEL more at the holidays. At least I do. And don't EVEN get me started on the Christmas movies. Yes, I sob at It's Wonderful Life. Every year. EVERY year.

So Christmas is pressure. But it's the good stuff too. Demon Baby is freaking out over Christmas. In a GOOD uniquely Demon Baby way. At Lowe's getting our Christmas tree yesterday, he was SCREAMING at all the light-up Santas and all that other Ho-Ho crap they sell. Happy, delighted, shrieking screams of joy. So we bought a "Santa house with light show." It plays this vaguely Mexican-sounding song (being as my kids' father is Mexican, we love this stuff--Baby Girl says it reminds her of her "peeps"--oh yeah, she's eccentric that way), and the house lights up like a friggin' airport runway and does a light show. And Demon Baby dances. Not once. Not twice. No, on the 150th time he presses the light show, he's still dancing like a madman while we all want to take a hammer and smash Santa's light show. I heard the Santa House song in my sleep last night. But . . . I love that he is so into it. He brings us all joy. And migraines. But that's the dichotomy of the season.

So . . . ever intentionally stick a holiday into a book? And how jealous are you of my Santa light show playing all day . . . long?

Peace,
E