I used to hate Christmas and the holiday season in general. Every time November rolled around and that damn turkey came out, I turned into the Grinch, Grumpy Cat, and Maleficent all rolled into one. Obviously, without the cool outfits. I know the exact reason too. I’m nothing if not aware of my own traumas (or at least most of them). Years, before, I’d been in a relationship where every potential gift was an emotional trap – “That wasn’t the gift I wanted! You don’t know me at all! – and that left me dodging brightly wrapped packages, Christmas caroling, and wishes of “Happy Holidays” like they were bombs about to explode in my face. It’s only been in the last few years, post-relationship, that I’ve started to see the joys of the holidays.
Now, the holiday season is my favorite time of the year, and not just because it’s close to my January birthday. The lights put on display in every city for the season are the absolute bee’s knees. These amazing displays flash and glimmer and gleam as if JOY itself is in the air. For me, there’s nothing better than taking a drive through the city or walking through my neighborhood to see all the different ways the Holidays have basically exploded their guts all over the landscape.
This transformation from The Grinch to Ms. Clause hasn’t exactly been gradual. It was spectacularly sudden. One moment, I hated every holly bush and Christmas wreath in sight, and the next I was sweetly tossing out “Merry Christmas” and “Happy Holidays” to everyone who crossed my path. I blame this awakening on Madrid. This fall in that city, and for the first time in my life, I actually smelled chestnuts roasting on an open fire. I even tasted them—they’re delicious by the way—and allowed myself to get carried along on the magical tide that is the celebration of Christmakwanzakah. It was pretty amazing, especially since I should really be crying right now.
This season – November through early January – usually ends up being my busiest time of the year. Last year – and the year before that – I allowed myself to get hemmed up by two projects that needed to be done by December 15th. This year is no different; in fact, it might even be a little worse. I have not one, two, or even three projects to complete between December 15th and January 2nd, but a nail-biting four. Obviously it’s my fault. Lady Procrastination has been my side chick for ages. And it doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere.
Among all this anxiety inducing work that could have and should have been done months ago, I’m still excited about my two new projects coming out within days of each other. A historical romance for my str8 writing alter-ego, Lindsay Evans, and Insatiable Appetites, the third installment of my How Sweet It Is series (that I refer to as Sex in the City with LesBis).
The books are popping out into the world December 31st and January 1st and I plan to drink spiked eggnog and OD on holiday lights in celebration of their birth. That’s what my Christmakwanzakah season is all about.