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Can someone explain to me how this is just?

I type in “Oldies Christmas” into Spotify, and one would assume, the top played Christmas playlist would have BURL FREAKIN’ IVES in it…

One would be wrong.

After searching plenty of playlists to set the mood for this post, we spiraled down a rabbit hole of anger. (The “we” here is clearly me.)

Anyway, Merry Christmas!

Haley and I talked for two entire minutes on whether we should do a Christmas post, and to be honest, I wasn’t paying attention on the outcome of that conversation. So, we are writing about Christmas! And what’s Christmas without music?

Nothing. It’s nothing without music.

This is generally where people challenge, “Monster Mash” doesn’t count, and don’t think that “Auld Lang Syne” does either. That is meshed in with Christmas.

On that note, let me share with you one of my favorite memories about Christmas.

My mom, like lots of other people, got me hooked on good Christmas music: Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett, Bing Crosby, and yes, BURL FREAKIN’ IVES. If you don’t know every name I just mentioned, get it together. We are all worried for you.

My sisters and I would watch all the old animated Christmas films, (that popular Reindeer always had our hearts) and on Christmas Eve, we would sit around our fireplace, eat tamales, beans and over-medium eggs. My parents, in their overwhelming generosity, (sarcasm, because they both read this blog 😉 would let us open a gift to share. This was a game we would always play as a family.

That was one of my favorite traditions, and we still do it every time my wife and I are in Arizona for Christmas.

Because I like telling stories in pairs, now comes a quick dramatization of the trial of all trials, nay, the torment, and utter impossible task of getting my older sister out of bed to open gifts on Christmas morning. I was always up first, and she was always last, after my little sister and parents.

I mean, for real! She absolutely would kiss a gorgon before bed on Christmas Eve, because when my happy little ass would skitter into her room to wake her up (that was my job every 25th) I would ALWAYS find a petrified corpse that was my older sister. In the end, Christmas would always be spectacular, and my family still holds strong to our traditions. I love that about this holiday.

Now, stop reading this, and go spend this holiday with your family. Merry Christmas.

Oh! And listen to Burl Ives, please.

Okay, I have been chewing on ideas for my preliminary blog post for some time. Like, twenty minutes now. I think I’m ready. Nicotine: CHECK! Rolling Rock: CHECK, CHECK! (That means I have two!) Phone for dictionary word look-ups: dead and somewhere in the ether… CHECK!

For starters, let’s make introductions. My name is Jonathan. I write. The two ladies that were bad in each of their past lives and are now being punished by having to be a part of mine (both I will mention quite frequently) are: Haley, my Marketing Director and Tiarra, my Editor. May God forgive them both.

I started writing when I was eighteen. And I’m POSITIVE we can disregard everything from the first four years while I was learning my craft as complete and utter caca… that means shit. As everyone says, practice makes perfect. Over a thousand hours later, I believe it is appropriate to release my madness upon you: my readers. May God now forgive you.

Also, to be noted, I was restricted by Haley AND Tiarra in the use of profane adjectives and nouns, so my blog just shrunk by thousands of words. Tyrants! This is funny because I get four blog entries before they get to defend themselves.

STRUGGLING HERE…

Okay, I’ll be honest. I write what I want to read, (cliché) but also, I try to push the limits of found plot and protagonist. I think many authors, past and present, have such beautiful characters and worlds, but I don’t want to tell their stories in a better way. They have been published. They have sold books. They have told their stories. That left me with a honed skill to tell stories, influenced by thousands of magnificent stories I couldn’t tell. I was ecstatic. I had so much blank paper to write what no one has before.

And then that bomb hit.

You can’t do that, outright, without producing some meta-garbage piece of half-worked poop that still isn’t original. There’s a lot of poop out there.

Once I learned how to write, once I spent years practicing, once I spent years producing, I decided on people, on characters. My characters would be original because only I could make them the way no one else could.

So I did.

Or I’m the most self-deceived writer to pick up pen and paper. Happiest too, I might add. That doesn’t help with the brooding-writer stereotype, I know.

Anyway, I hope you stay tuned. I hope you read. I hope you [buy my book(s)]. But mostly, I hope you wonder, and allow yourself to imagine the magic of things that are fantastic and fun.