Every year I wonder how I'll cram a live, aromatic, non-Charlie Brown Christmas tree in the front seat of my little red Miata.
And every year, the wonderful elves at the tree lot help me find one, truss it up and wiggle it in.
The journey home is snug, especially with a stick shift, but the scent of freshly-cut pine is intoxicating, and, for me, is essential to holiday happiness.
I've gotten good at carrying the tree in and setting it straight and firm in the stand, too.
See? It's so worth the effort to bring a bit of forest home.
Now for the pleasure of unpacking ornaments I've collected from around the world.
In other news, and this is HUGE, fellow writers. According to this article in the magazine of the American Library Association, there is an historic report in the Library and Book Trade Almanac, which for the first time counts the number of published YA titles separately from other kidlit titles.
The numbers left my jaw hanging. It's no wonder it's tough to sell books once they're published when you consider the amount of competition.
Preliminary numbers for kidlit titles in 2009 is--gasp--21,878. YA is 4,644. And I was proud of myself for reading 60 books this year.
I mean, I'm ecstatic that the market is exploding but wonder about long-term implications.
What say you?