In a couple of days it will be Christmas – again.

A messier Christmas than usual, what with both my mother and myself being down with bronchitis, and other and sadder things…

Still, it’s been an interesting year. A lot of work, a lot of satisfactions. There was the Paper Stage (twice), and History Will Be Kind with the Copperfield Review, and Bric-à-Brac, my self-published e-book of short stories (in Italian), and a couple of big translation projects, and two lovely trips to London, and Ad Alta Voce – the not-quite-book-club – and Agnese’s ghost, and I went back to novel-writing… Yes, quite a good year.

And yes – the second draft could be moving along at a snappier pace, but… I’ve tried to revise a little every day between  pudding-making and tree-trimming, and it worked well enough until last week, when bronchitis struck, and Christmas Eve began to draw nearer and nearer instead of nicely stopping a week or so away. Instead, you see…

And when it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas… well. I’m sure that plenty of writers manage to keep their writing schedule more or less intact even at this time of the year. I’m not one of them – this year less than ever.

So I can only accept things as they are, suspend the revision for a few days, sigh a little at times, keep the annotated print out of a very interested kitten’s claws – and make plans for the New Year.

But it’s too soon for this. Right now, have a good Last Few Days Before Christmas.