Merry Christmas America (Are We Dead Yet?)
By: Vincent Zandri
Tags: Writing Life, Writing Tips, Writing Challenge, Writing, Writing Prompts

A few years back, Xmas in Rome.

Yes, I’m writing on Christmas morning, but that’s not my choice, it’s sort of my duty. A long time ago when I was studying and writing at The Breadloaf Writer’s Conference, the novelist Tim O’Brien kindly took me under his wing, personally critiqued a short story of mine which was then called Portrait, and which later became the novel, When Shadows Come (a novel that was orphaned prior to its release from Thomas & Mercer when the editor jumped ship — something that happens a lot over there. But as usual, I digress).

In the middle of going over the story, sometimes line by line, he with red pencil in hand and trademark Boston Red Sox baseball cap on his head, lit cigarette between his lips, suddenly asked, “Hey you don’t happen to have any coke on you?”

I was sorely disappointed I didn’t.

In any case, when we were through he said…and I’ll never forget it…”One day, you’re going to be more famous than you are now. You will have fans, and they will expect a lot out of you. They will, in some cases, become more needy than your wives (yes, he used the plural), and you will need to put out for them. That means you will be writing on your birthday, when you are sick with the flu, when you are happy, and when you are depressed. You will be writing ON CHRISTMAS DAY, whether you like it or not.”

So there you have it, readers. It’s Christmas and I will spend my day or most of it anyway, working on novel edits. But let me say, Merry Christmas to you all. Some might find that offensive but I’m not woke, and shall forever remain asleep, metaphorically speaking, I guess. 2020 is about to come to an end and let’s hope the door slaps it on the ass on the way out.

I still recall standing inside a bar in Lake Placid last New Years Eve as a blizzard was blowing outside. I had a pool cue in hand, and was watching the wall mounted TV while my GF was beating me at pool. The report about a virus outbreak in China sent a chill down my spine. At that point it was still a small story in the grand scheme of things, but I recall saying half under my breath to said GF, “This is going to be bad. This is going to be very, very bad.” And bad it became.

I’m not fond of the Grateful Dead, and in fact, I hate their music (I prefer old punk rock), but I’m reminded of their song that goes What a Long Strange Trip it’s Been. It’s raining outside my window. I had planned on skiing today (sorry Tim), but the grass outside my writing studio looks like a putting green. There’s hardly any planes in the air and many fewer cars on the road. Carbon emissions are way down. Why isn’t it snowing AOC? But again, I digress.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, it doesn’t feel like Christmas. In fact, the whole year doesn’t feel like we’ve progressed, but if anything, regressed into this population of fenced in individuals who are slowly going insane with boredom, loneliness, financial ruin, and despair (BTW, my profound thanks to the US government for pulling through with stimulus for normal everyday folks who will visit the food lines today instead of enjoying a nice Xmas dinner. The US government is broken and you only have yourself to blame…You know precisely who you are. Enjoy your ice cream, Nancy. And Mitch, I hope you’re sipping only the best Kentucky bourbon today with a big fat cigar stuffed in your mouth. You both should be drawn and quartered in public…once more, I digress).

It almost feels like we’ve actually succumbed to the disease and simply don’t know it yet. Like a person who’s suddenly dropped dead and sort of hangs around for a while as a ghost. Or maybe we’re all in purgatory. Who knows? But then, election fraud was real, not that anybody cares. The rent is still due, and the price of chicken has doubled if not tripled in just just a few months. These things are reality.

So than, I can bitch and moan all I want, but on the other hand, I am thankful for my health, my relative youth, my publishers (Yet another notable outfit approached me the other day and said they would love a Zandri novel in their catalogue, God bless them…I remember when I couldn’t find a publisher to save my life. Now they come to me in some cases), my family, my kids, my mom, my life (which is blessed in every sense of the word), my God, my travels, my country (as busted up as it is), and what lies in store for the future. It’s got to be better than this. My hopes are that very, very soon, all us dead folk will be resurrected.