This will be brief. Since the rest of the world seems to have disappeared under a blanket of snow and/or packed up early for the holidays (unless they’re sitting glumly on their suitcases at St Pancras station or in an airport lounge somewhere else in the UK), there’s not a lot I can do for the next few days to progress the cause of crime fiction. So in a little while I’m off to help decorate the tree.
Yes, American readers, we have snow. Maybe not in the quantity we encountered one year on the Vail Pass (end of May that was, and boy were we glad we’d let the car rental people talk us into upgrading to a 4 x 4) but as much of the stuff as brought DC to a halt a few days ago, and more promised/threatened. Dunno about global warming; a mini-ice age has definitely set in around here. Does a white Christmas have to mean snow on the day itself, or does a five-day-old snowy landscape count? What the heck, I’m having a few days off anyway, my daughter’s home, we’ve ordered a wonderful organic turkey and calorie-free chocolate really exists!
And biggest Christmas treat so far: I have the manuscript of the new Maureen Carter, a siren song sitting on the coffee table, luring me away from the preparation of seven vegetables, last-minute wrapping of gifts and other assorted tasks that make the festival happen. Everyone else will have to wait until July 2010 but I get to read it now! It will be a close call between that and Doctor Who on Christmas Day evening.
Happy winter festival, everybody, whatever you celebrate.
