I’m in desperate need of a haircut, could do with a shower, haven’t been seen out of my jogging bottoms and woolly jumper for days and I’ve barely left the house, which needs cleaning, except for an hour when I got caught in snow and had to abandon my car. As I suspected, it’s just safer not to leave home.
All but the essential things, such as eating and sleeping have been consigned to the bin. Living a normal life with normal rhythms right now is impossible.
As for Christmas,I was starting to panic, really panic, and then I read Lola Borg’s Confessions of a Christmas Underachiever, in the Telegraph on embracing the imperfect Christmas ( I know, where did I find the time to read?) and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I’m with her one hundred percent on ditching ‘perfect.’
‘Far better,’ she writes, ‘to accept that families – and by extension family events – are meant to be messy, chaotic and unpredictable. Which is surely the best way to approach the entire holiday itself.’ Perhaps the best way to approach life I’m thinking…
So how come I’ve gone into hibernation? No, it’s not because it’s December and I’m missing the heat and light of India which I undoubtedly am (see pic of Udaipur below). It’s because I’ve been working to a deadline (not entirely self-imposed) editing a new draft of my current novel. It’s because I’m selfish enough to put this before most other things. It’s because I’ve embraced the selfishness that comes with being a writer. I’ve followed Danni Shapiro’s advice – ‘Embrace this selfishness, for now.Wrap it around you like a quilt made of air. Let no one inside of it except those you love most…Be a good steward to your gifts.’
The good news is it’s all but done. Or at least past the point of no return when you can’t see the proverbial wood from the trees and you’re ready to consign the lot to the bin (no seriously, never do that with your writing.) Who says writers are selfish? Me. It’s the only way we can get the work done.
