Bloody hell, it’s cold. I shut out the icy wind, stomp off my boots, and peel off my coat. I could have picked a writer anywhere in the world. Hawaii. The Bahamas. Hell, New Zealand. But no, I had to pick Minnesota.
No one is at the desk in my writer’s office. Not a surprise. The aroma of mulled apple cider infuses the air. The walls reflect colored light. I almost expect to hear carols.
“Oi, are you here?” I round the wall that hides the alcove from the back door.
Christmas lights drape like garlands over the two recliners in the nook. My writer is focused on her laptop screen, headphones on–good. Very good, unless she fell down an internet rabbit hole, like Facebook. Then it’s just a time-suck. She’s wearing a fuzzy hoodie, sweats, and booties she has claimed are toasty warm. Her feet are tapping out a rhythm against an imaginary floor.
“Well, at least it looks like you’re working.”
She jumps. “Damn it! You scared me.”
I have to take pleasure in the small things, even if it annoys her. “I called out when I came in, love.”
She pulls off her headphones. “Whatever. You’re late again.”
“Late? For what?”
“For writing my blog post.”
“Excuse me? Your blog post. I’m here for inspiration.”
“Uh-huh. And writing my post this week. Where were you? Adelaide? Sydney?”
“Minnesota.” I grab a bottle of water from the friggie and claim the second recliner in the alcove. “And why would I be writing your post this week? You were going to talk about writing and voice, weren’t you?”
She hands her laptop to me. “Here. Just, I don’t know, write about the solstice. This is your chance to share about all those pre-written history stories of whatever celebrations they used to do for the solstice.”
“Why would you think I’d know anything about that, love? I am not that old.” Chaucer, maybe, but not the Iron or Bronze Age.
She gets up. “I don’t know, think of something. I have to walk.”
“Because I can’t focus. Again.”
I can’t help but smile. “It’s not that you can’t focus, love. Say it.”
She turns to me and rolls her eyes. “Arrgh. Fine. I can’t decide what to work on.”
*Chuckle* “And why is that?”
“Really? I suppose you’re going to take credit for me being inspired by three different projects, one of which isn’t my current genre. You were the one who started that. Remember? That urban fantasy?”
“Yes, I am going to take credit, love. And you’re thinking about the urban fantasy because you’ve been reading Jim Butcher and KN Banet for the past month. So pick something. You’ve been doing fine with the police procedural.”
“Yeah, but I have to reorganize it, and add some scenes, and pull some scenes.”
“It’s called ‘revision’.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but I’ve spent years on that book.”
“And you’ve won a contest with it, and a publisher offered you a contract for it, even if you didn’t take the offer. Finish the revisions, love.”
“It was a small publisher, and they wouldn’t negotiate the contract. I need to work on Book 2.”
“You will.” I love it when she’s like this, with all that creative energy. “You’re still waiting on beta reader feedback for book 2 anyway. Go walk. And bring back some of that mulled cider I smell.”
“It’s a candle.”
Damn. “Then bring back some hot chocolate, love.”
Happy Winter Solstice! Can’t wait for the days to start getting longer again (more sunlight, not more hours)!