I always forget this part.
I look forward to the Christmas season all year long. The music, the festive colors, the reminder of what it all means. Sure, it's hectic. And sure, sometimes I get stressed. But what I think of first is the warmth of the season and the sense of celebration.
Then December approaches, and it starts. The rumbling of the retailers. By Thanksgiving week, it's built to a ferocious din as all the stores try to outdo each other. To beat each other to the punch. To be open sooner, to have the sale that YOU CAN'T MISS or you'll be throwing money away. Put down that eggnog!
I'm not into crowds. I usually stay home. But even here, with the blinds drawn, it's hard to escape the persistent feeling that if I'm not shopping RIGHT NOW, it's costing me a fortune.
This year, I'm not only drawing my blinds, I'm thinking of caulking my windows.
I'm neurotic enough without retailers telling me it's do or die and DON'T MISS OUT.
So this year, more than ever, I'm determined to make Christmas what I always promise myself it will be. A time to curl up with that eggnog, listen to the music and, by golly, read some of those Christmas books I've been looking forward to all year.
Yeah, I'll go shopping, too. When I'm good and ready.
Peace on Earth is there for us -- if we allow ourselves to slow down long enough to grasp it.
Don't miss out.
“
Oh, I don’t care much for
romance.”
Those are words that romance
writers – and readers – often hear. The funny thing is, it’s
hard to find a good story without it.
Last night my husband and I watched
a classic ghost story, “The Uninvited.” A man and his sister move
into a haunted house. Sort of an unusual domestic arrangement. Why
are they brother and sister? So the brother is able to become
romantically involved with Stella, the young woman who’s the target
of the spirits in the house.
Why is that? Because storytellers
recognize that most of us are driven by the need for romantic love. A
story may not be billed as a “romance,” but you’ll find romance
at the heart of most stories.
Think of the classics, and you’ll
find that the desire for romantic love is usually a prime motivator
for the characters, even if that pursuit is misguided. In “The
Great Gatsby,” the title character builds a new life for, and is
finally destroyed by, the pursuit of love. In “Casablanca,” the
story hinges on the lost love between Rick and Ilsa. “Gone with the
Wind” without the passion of Scarlett and Rhett? I don’t think
so.
What about action films? Let’s
talk “Spiderman.” In the 2002 film, Peter Parker tells us in the
opening narration: “Let me assure you, this, like any story worth
telling, is all about a girl.” How about film noir? The leading man
in “Double Indemnity” may be motivated by lust rather than love …
but he’s built it up into something pretty important by the time
he’s willing to kill a guy for it. In horror, the mummy is after
his lost mate, and all the Frankenstein monster really wants is a
bride. Comedy? Even in something as light, silly and just-for-fun as
the “Anchorman” films, Ron Burgundy’s gotta get the girl (or
get her back).
Love – the need for it or the
lack of it – makes everything more important. It raises the stakes.
It’s something we all want. Storytellers, readers and moviegoers
are instinctively drawn to it, whether they realize it or not.
Most romance readers and writers
simply recognize that need more consciously, so we go after it more
directly. Someone may be getting killed, something may be getting
stolen, a career may be at stake … but whatever our characters think they’re after, we can be darned sure there’s a
happily-ever-after at the end of it.
And that’s a story worth telling.
