Look at that picture and tell me you wouldn’t loooooooove to be there right now. I’ve been dying to go to this hotel in Adelboden, Switzerland for a a while now, and I was hoping to make a trip this winter, but alas friends weddings (read: bridal showers, bachelorette parties, bridesmaids dresses, and hotels) have left me far to low on funds. Still, a girl can dream:
There’s no Thanksgiving in Europe because, you know, there were no pilgrims and Indians to make peace and break (corn)bread. No turkey. No cornucopias or decorative gourds. And nothing to be thankful for. Just kidding.
The upside of this is that without Thanksgiving to worry about, London is rushing full speed ahead toward Christmas. The lights are up on Oxford Street and Covent Garden is virtual shit storm of festive cheer. From now until Christmas, there’s even a live reindeer for all your petting pleasure (Saturdays, 12-4pm).
The holiday spirit rubbed off on me and I just had my first minced pie of the season. Confession: When I first got to England, I thought minced pies were actually filled with meat. (So glad I was wrong.)
I’m debating whether or no to do a British Thanksgiving next weekend. It’s basically a battle of gluttony vs laziness. I’ll keep you posted on which of the deadly sins wins out.
In the meantime, enjoy the holiday spirit–regardless of which holiday you’re celebrating.
I have become a procrastinator. For the past few months, I’ve come up with one excuse after another on why I can’t start my next book yet. These excuse range from totally invalid (I don’t know the name of my protagonist yet) to totally valid (I’m dealing with the recent death of my father).
Even this blog post is another way to procrastinate. I keep waiting “to feel it.” But it’s been too long. I’m not going to get smacked by a big ol’ dose of 5,000-words-in-a-day inspiration until I start writing the damn book. I’m sure inspiration will strike, but it’s not going to happen on day one.
Okay, enough talk. Now for more writing.
My father died last week. From the moment I heard the news, I instinctively knew I’d never be the same. I’m sitting in my childhood bedroom watching the November rain make the last of the green leaves heavy. The yellowed leaves have already been blown away. Scattered. Dispersed. There is no specific “where” to go from here. It’s just “go.” We move forward whether we want to or not, don’t we?
Wishing you and your loved ones a happy month of November.
It’s so nice to be home! (And I can’t believe that England is my home now that I have a visa.) I feel right back into my routine. It feels like I never left which is nice. My fingers are desperate to be writing, but I haven’t yet found a plot line to follow. I like to outline first, but perhaps I should just jump right in? I don’t know.
Career-wise, I think I should be working on a follow-up to Girls Who Travel. Something contemporary, romantic, and about travel. I have an idea about a backpacker, but I’m not sure it has the legs to be a whole novel. Maybe I should write it as a short story. Then I have a few other ideas (a study abroad plot), but nothing feels substantial enough. Regardless, it’s time to start writing. I’m going to start Monday, regardless of my story line. Scary, but onward I must go.