Stornoway Sunday

That time known in the writing world as deadsville is upon us. Yes it's Christmas [or every Sunday if you live on Stornoway]

No point trying to phone any Biz contacts. They are either recovering from, preparing for or in the process of lunches, dinners, cocktails, office parties, wrap parties, and probably a few Anne Summers parties. And that's just the guys.

Well okay......some are actually busy as they frantically try to put the lid on various ongoing projects before the pain in the arse 2/3 week shutdown .

There's enough of the kid in me to still like Christmas. Despite the double whammy of the expense plus no movement on projects. Not that anything is galloping down the final furlong anyway.

I used to get annoyed when I was told 'Oh she's in Cannes, he's in Toronto, she's at Sundance, he's off for two weeks to nurse his sick mother'

Now? Meh. As my aged parents used to say. And probably still do. ''If it's for you it won't go by you.''

I think that must be the Presbyterian version of fatalism. Unless you live on Stornoway in which case it is called Heresy. Cue the smell of burning peat, roasting flesh, cries of angry villagers and Christopher Lee in there somewhere.

Can you tell I'm going up North for Christmas?

I kid. I am going up North. Because come Hogmany that is the place to be. I'll be 'first footin' ' with the best of them.

Anyways, I have hopefully just finished my last piece of 'stuff I have to do' for the year. I can look forward to a few guilt free weeks of no deadlines, no panicked phone calls, no sweating late at night wondering how the hell I'm going to make this piece of shit scene work.

And 'They' are feeling the same way. It's time to chill. This is our Stornoway Sunday. Those aspiring writers with full time jobs can think about maybe stringing two or three days together of full time writing. Those full time writers can think about stringing two or three days together of uninterrupted spec time.

'Tis indeed the season to be jolly.