Even though we’re in the middle of the week between Christmas Day and New Year’s Day, and Kwanzaa was yesterday, and Hanukkah just ended, it’s still a good time to spread more cheer.
Every year for the past few, I’ve given my friends and family a gift of one of my stories, and this year Stalking Season, book two in the series, will be free at Amazon until New Years Eve.
It’s a perfect time for relaxing and reading after the hustle and bustle of the holiday, and I do hope you enjoy the read.
Now an update on my writing, which has been painfully slow, but slow and steady works. For those of you who may have been waiting with bated breath for book four in the Seasons Mystery Series, the plan is to have it out shortly after the first of the year. The writing is almost finished, and the manuscript will then go on to be professionally edited and formatted.
Next year, I’ll write more short pieces, novellas and short stories, as novel writing takes concentration that I no longer have, thanks to the neurological conditions that are chronic. It’s counterproductive to push my brain beyond what it is capable of, but I also want to continue to be creative as long as my muse will come and visit now and then and kick Ramsay Hunt out of my head. 😊
Looking ahead to New Years Weekend, I hope that the country isn’t hit with more nasty winter storms and people can gather and celebrate with family and friends.
Today’s also a good day to share this excerpt from my humorous memoir, A Dead Tomato Plant and a Paycheck. The story about New Year’s resolutions originally appeared as my weekly column for a Dallas suburban newspaper. Enjoy…
As the last days of the year wound down, our thoughts turned to New Year’s Eve parties and the inevitable aftermath on New Year’s Day. I preferred going to someone else’s party, as it was a lot easier to bring a snack to share then clean my whole house and prepare a bunch of food. Plus, I needed time to think about my New Year’s resolution for the year.
Normally, when it came to New Year’s resolutions, I tried not to demand too much of myself, preferring to do something simple like giving up escargot. But one year, in the interest of strengthening my character, I decided it was time to exercise a little self-discipline. I swear it had nothing to do with the strange dream I had the week prior.
In the dream, a cloudy apparition hovered over the foot of my bed and called my name, “Maryann Millerrrrr.”
“Wha… Who me?”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
”I’m the ghost of columns past.”
“Right. And I’m Erma Bombeck.”
“Tis not a moment for levity. You have much to account for this night.”
“How about your indiscriminate use of poetic license?”
“It’s not indiscriminate. I work very hard at it.”
“Aha! So you admit to lying in your column.”
“Well…not exactly lying. I prefer to call it ‘stretching the truth.'”
“And how do you think your family and friends feel about this?”
“Oh, yeah? What about your friend, Mary? Do you know she was kicked out of the Gingerbread Hall of Fame after you credited her with your fiasco?”
“I didn’t know that was going to happen. But you must admit it was a funny story. Gingerbread jerky. Honesty would have been very dull.”
“So. Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’d do anything for a laugh?”
“And you are going to persist?”
“Of course. I’ve got job security to think about.”
“In that case consider yourself warned. You might be sorry.”
With that the hazy form disappeared, leaving me with much to ponder.
Perhaps it was time to ease up a bit. So, I made a solemn vow never to poke fun at my friend, Mary, again.
On second thought, maybe I’d start next week. First, I wanted to tell all my readers about the strange punch she used to make.
WISHING EVERYONE A HAPPY NEW YEAR AND ALL THE BEST IN 2023