No, that's too strong, 'cause it is my favorite holiday.
It is beginning to feel a smidgen like Christmas. Perhaps it's the chill in the air or the news that Santa got waylaid somewhere over Denver and had to stop his time bending trip preparations with a layover in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Or maybe it's because I saw a small flake flash before my wandering eyes this morning as I got out of the PATH train station. Maybe it wasn't snow. Maybe it was a piece of windblown crud.
Or maybe it's because I'm about to get my Christmas wish: a couple hours off from work -- well, a few days, actually. But with the travel to see my loved ones and rip open a few presents and toss back a few beers, it'll feel almost like work. Almost. I'll have Tuesday.
No, what I'm looking forward to doing is mapping out a week of winter vacation to do whatever I want to do. At home. Cooking breakfast for my wife after making her late to her office (which is just a room away). Jogging more than 20 miles in a week -- in sunlight. And working on the novel. If I can finish the revisions in a week, it could be the second best vacation of my life -- after the one where I proposed to my wife, of course. At least I'd have an idea of how much work is needed. Then I could use my train commute to sketch out the next book or evaluate literary agents. That's work too, but it's future-focused work.
I'm reading Book Doctor on the train this week, by Esther Cohen. Funny. Some wonderful scenes and playful characters. Not as good as Ward Just's An Unfinished Season, which I finished earlier this week, but it moves along at a comfortable pace. I find myself wishing I knew someone like Arlette Rosen, the lead character in Book Doctor, who devises clever exercises to help writers see their characters and the focus of their books more clearly. I know what I'm writing; making it compelling seems to be my battle.
So I need another vacation. That's what I'm asking Santa for Christmas. Oh yeah, and an iPod.
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