Diary of a writing project. Day 89-90-91: Roasting on an ​open fire

Word count goal for this week: 62 500 words. Words wrote: iiiissssshhhhh.

A week from now, it will be Christmas.

The fire is slowly dying. It’s getting late. Everything is quiet in my quiet in the little house near the river, sleeping in a little nordic town.

I should’ve wrapped a bunch of presents, plus get some writing done before even thinking of sitting here on that couch.
Neither of those happy tasks were accomplished.

A week from now, it will be Christmas. And it depresses me to no end.

Open Fire

I used to LOVE Christmas. Still, come November and the first snow, I can’t wait to put up the Christmas tree every year, listening to music, bake cookies and eat too many clementines.

But the buying of presents. But the several gatherings. But the too much foooood (we are a mixed-faith family celebrating both Christmas and Hannuakh).

This year, oh joy beyond compare: no mega big family gathering thought.

Just us… which still means a good bunch of people, but at least this year, we’ll only have to add 1 table in the dining room.

It used to be an occasion to celebrate. To talk about the last movie we saw, the last tv show, the last music festival we went to…

Now, it’s an occasion to make awkward small talk about the weather, pretend another drink is needed or that the kids need help with something, and get the hell out of the tiny living room for as long as possible, before having to go back in the open fire.
Because, you know, it’s the social requirement.


Sometimes, feeling down actually helps me write. I write myself up a pretty little scene, or I take notes for a future writing project.
The blue feelings morph into feelings of accomplishment or excitement and joy.
Writing is my very best friend (it makes sense of a metaphoric level, right?).

Being depressed is a bit different, as you may well know.

Finding the willpower to move is exhausting when a feeling of depression overcomes me.
I can’t bare the outside world, as I can barely see the happiness of my own home.
And beauty itself makes me sad.

Not much left to do then sleep, take it over-easy, and wish for a white Christmas and happier writing times.

Tomorrow will be better. Bonus, I don’t have to pack, drive three hours, act as responsable-put-together-adult until bedtime tomorrow.

Gotta look for the bright side of things!

Dear writer friends, thanks for reading, and until next time.

Auteur : Marie Alice

Writing away and reading books. Joy! Écrire à tout vent et lire des romans. Joie!

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