I'm often alone for the holidays. I try not to let it bother me because I really enjoy solitude when I have it. I do, honestly. However, I still feel a little sad when people post photos of their smiling families gathered around the dinner table or their beautiful, glittering holiday decorations that look to be straight out of Martha Stewart.
The plus side (I think?) is that people run off to share these days with their families, so the chatter on Facebook, Twitter, and so on is virtually nonexistent. Without others to distract me, I can focus on my novel-in-progress, The Fracture of a Dream.
Toward that end, I spent this Christmas Eve researching brain trauma, comas, and amnesia. (Am I allowed to call it an amnesia love story? Probably not, as it goes far beyond that label.)
It occurred to me that if anyone at Google were to keep track of my search terms and examine them individually (instead of in aggregate), I would certainly look like some kind of hypochondriac or psychopath.
That's the writing life, I presume! May all your search terms raise eyebrows and forever remain interesting, fellow writers. Happy holidays!
Lia B.