If I can keep writing just one good page a day, I will have 15 published novels in my expected lifetime. Tick, tick, tick...
For in America this season is decreed __amily season_. (Eat your hearts out, you pitiable loners who don__ have families!) Melancholy as Thanksgiving is, the Christmas-New year__ season is far worse and lasts far longer, providing rich fund of opportunities for self-medicating, mental collapse, suicide and public mayhem with firearms. In fact it might be argued that the Christmas-New year__ season which begins abruptly after Thanksgiving is now the core-sason of American life itself, the meaning of American life_ the brute existencial point of it. How without families must envy us who bask in parental love, in the glow of yule-logs burning in fireplaces stoked by our daddie__ robust pokers, we who are stuffed to bursting with our mummie__ frantic holiday cooking; how you wish you could be us, pampered/protected kids tearing expensive foil wrappings off too many packages to count, gathered about the Christmas tree on Christmas morning as Mummy gently chided: __kyler! Bliss! Show Daddy and Mummy what you__e just opened, please! And save the little cards, so you know who gave such nice things to you
My Sister, My Love
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For in America this season is decreed __amily season_. (Eat your hearts out, you pitiable loners who don__ have families!) Melancholy as Thanksgiving is, the Christmas-New year__ season is far worse and lasts far longer, providing rich fund of opportunities for self-medicating, mental collapse, suicide and public mayhem with firearms. In fact it might be argued that the Christmas-New year__ season which begins abruptly after Thanksgiving is now the core-sason of American life itself, the meaning of American life_ the brute existencial point of it. How without families must envy us who bask in parental love, in the glow of yule-logs burning in fireplaces stoked by our daddie__ robust pokers, we who are stuffed to bursting with our mummie__ frantic holiday cooking; how you wish you could be us, pampered/protected kids tearing expensive foil wrappings off too many packages to count, gathered about the Christmas tree on Christmas morning as Mummy gently chided: __kyler! Bliss! Show Daddy and Mummy what you__e just opened, please! And save the little cards, so you know who gave such nice things to you
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