I used to think being a writer during the winter was kind of glamorous. Wake up, look out at the snow I don’t have to deal with because I was smart enough to find a way to make money that doesn’t even really require me to put on pants, have a smoke and some caffeine, take a bath, and go to work. Drink cocoa until around dinner time, then switch up cocoa for whiskey and Coke. Continue until bedtime. Maybe, occasionally, go to a party and talk writing with other writers, swapping triumphant tales and horror stories about The Craft with others of a similar persuasion.
Surprise! Reality doesn’t work that way.
Over the course of the last semester I’ve found myself waking up far earlier than customary. I usually roll out of bed around 8, hop in the shower, scrub down, dress and run a brush through my hair, and I’m out by 8:30 to make my 9am class. This is how it should be, anyway. Somehow, though, my body stayed on Daylight Savings Time while my mind was looking forward to falling back. Net result: I’m slightly less likely to be up at 5:30 than I am at 8:30, but only slightly. Which SUCKS.
One of the great joys of being a freelance writer is not having a set schedule. As long as the work gets done, HOW and WHEN it gets done are no concern to anyone but me. This is not a problem until I realize that my nice, easy day has suddenly ballooned out to ten hours without my knowledge or consent. My biggest problem is that I have a nasty habit of taking on waaaaaaay too much. Like, three peoples’ worth of way too much.
So, my winter break looks like this:
Wake up when I wake up.
Write a blog.
Go take a bath.
Get dressed.
Write another blog.
Write another blog.
Write another blog.
Take a break.
Peck out 2k words on a WIP.
Take a break.
Write another blog.
Dinner.
Go to open mic poetry (Thursdays. Otherwise, have a GrooveFest/LitFest planning committee meeting.)
Write another blog.
Peck out another 1k IF I feel like it.
Bed.
Wake up…
Sounds thrilling, doesn’t it? But, hey…there’s still the part about not having to wear real clothes if I don’t want to! 
Which brings me to what to get the writer who has everything for Christmas.
A lot of writers would be thrilled to get a copy of Stephen King’s On Writing, a signed copy of Janet Evanovich’s Secrets of a Best-Selling Author, or the Chicago Manual of Style 15th edition. These are all worthy tomes in their own right, and I would never gainsay them as great gifts for the author in your life.
But you know what this author really wants for Christmas?
Reviews.
That’s it. Nothing big, nothing elaborate, although I asked Santa for a book deal paying “fuck you” money just to cover my bases. (For the uninitiated, that’s having the kind of money where someone tells you to do something and you can look them square in the eye with perfect confidence and say “Fuck you!”)
With just that much authority, may I add…
But seriously, all I want this year are reviews of two of my works. I haven’t seen one since April, and I’m starting to get a wee bit of a complex. I don’t even care if they’re BAD reviews. I’d just really like to hear what some of the people who’ve read my work in the last little bit are thinking about it. Reviews make the world go round for writers, folks. So if you’ve read some of my work lately, please talk about it on Amazon, Twitter, G+, SquitterFace, or Goodreads. I’d love to know if I’m on the right track or if there are things you think I could be doing better. 
So now you know.
Just in case I don’t get back before (a distinct possibility of late), Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
Until next time,
Best,
J.S. Wayne
