I don't really enjoy the holidays anymore. It's nothing to do with what some Christians call the attack on Christmas; the celebration and the mystery of Jesus, if anything I enjoy more. I don't enjoy the ridiculous need to buy things people don't need with money you don't have, especially when they don't like you anyway. Give something to Toys for Tots or the Salvation Army, or send books or food (or armor!) to our troops overseas.
Also, because it's winter, and I can't afford to get sick, it means I retreat into Howard Hughes mode for the duration and that makes me... cranky. But anyways. It can't all be bad, can it? What with Bush being named Man of the Year by Time Magazine, and HBO considering cancelling 'The Wire,' the best television show ever? Nah. It's all fine and dandy.
But since I'm supposed to talk about writing, I should do that (because the bitching is so popular). I am doing a lot lately. I finished some much needed revisions to the last bit of what will henceforth be known as 'The Angel Book.' I've been tinkering with this in one form or another for a long time, five years or so now. I don't really do drafts, I've found, more like generations of revisions.
I'm writing a short story for an anthology about a great 'what if?' that has me all excited, mostly because it will give me 5,000 words or so to let my liberal blue state the sky is falling mentality run around. And work continues on the screenplay Sugu and I are brewing in the dungeon.