It’s been a while since I shared a newsy blurt because what I’ve been working on is top secret! (Okay, that’s a lie to make myself feel interesting, LOL. 😁 My current work-in-progress is not, has never been, top secret or even bottom secret—but it has been very fun!)
I spent our record-breaking hot summer writing and editing a cozy Christmas story. (Yes, it was surreal to fantasize about things like snow-crisp nights, hot chocolate and snuggling under fuzzy blankets in front of a blazing fireplace, while I was living in my bathing suit and sarong, with sweat beading down my back like a permanent accessory, but I digress…)
The exciting news is—drum roll, please—
My novella A SHARLA BROWN CHRISTMAS will be coming out October 16, 2018 in a super fun box set collection called LOVE, CHRISTMAS II that features 26 all-new Christmas romances, written by award-winning New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestselling authors.
Each original novel in the set was somehow inspired by its author’s favorite Christmas movie. (I suspect you’ve figured out which oldie-but-goodie, favorite-of-favorites that A SHARLA BROWN CHRISTMAS nods to. Good grief, what a smart guesser you are!)
As for how the cartoon plays into my story or what the zany crew inspired…well, you’ll just have to read it to find out—which brings me to what might be the most exciting part for you! LOVE, CHRISTMAS II is available for pre-order for only .99 cents! Buy it now and you’ll be all set for a fall and winter full of sweet, cozy reads.
Sunset at Sheridan Lake. Photo credit: Brittany Higginson
I was sitting on the porch of a lovely log cabin on the banks of Sheridan Lake, taking in Loon Bay—a blue jewel of water, surrounded by emerald forests—the location of my family reunion. Birds chattered and called, and a soft flow of happy campers and relatives drifted past, walking dogs, carrying fishing rods, and chasing toddlers. It was one of those perfect moments and all I could think was, I can’t believe I had cold feet and wanted to duck out on this lovely lake holiday. What is my glitch?
While I was thinking on this—my bizarre habit of dreading events that I know I will love once they actually happen—my cousin’s 11-year-old son, who I’ll call H, popped into view. He was gently tugging my aunt’s stubborn little black dog, Petey, on a leash; Petey was tugging back, not as gently, in the opposite direction. H tried to urge the dog on, whispering kind, encouraging things.
Petey sat down, then leaned back, straining in the direction they’d just come as hard as he could.
H picked Petey up and carried him a few steps, but Petey, in squirmy resistance mode, made travelling very far that way impossible.
Visibly disappointed, H set Petey down again and resumed trying to beg, bribe, and coax the dog down the road.
I said something ridiculously obvious like, “Trying to take him for a walk?”
“Yeah,” H said glumly. “But he knows the way back to his campsite and as long as he can tell where it is and where Auntie T is, he won’t quit trying to stay there.”
I commiserated and H finished wistfully, “If I could get him to the forest trails, he’d forget about the campsite and he’d have fun. He did yesterday.”
With that, H was off again, valiantly continuing his quest to cajole Petey into enjoying a new adventure. “I’m sorry, I know this is kind of mean,” he whispered—then threw a dog treat a few feet, only to snatch it up and toss it again just as Petey ran forward to get it.
This strategy worked for a few metres and they disappeared from view—but Petey quickly caught on to the trick. A few minutes later he reappeared, high stepping at a good clip in the direction of “home.” Behind him, shoulders slumped, face a picture of dejection, came H.
Maybe I’m a bad person, but I had to laugh. “I take it you couldn’t get him to the forest?”
H sighed heavily. “No.” Then, as if talking to himself not to me, he muttered, “If he’d just go there, he’d like it.”
They went on their way, Petey continuing to prance like he’d taken first prize in some prestigious dog show, H wearing a Charlie Brown look of resignation.
I couldn’t help but feel there was a lesson for me in the dog’s ridiculous behaviour.
All too often, despite knowing how I end up enjoying and benefiting from them, I waste a lot of time worrying and feeling anxious about upcoming parties, workshops, conferences . . . or pretty much any event that pulls me out of the comfort of my homebody ways. Like the little curmudgeon Petey, I balk at new opportunities and dig my heels in when confronted by change.
Unlike Petey, however, I’ve learned that avoiding the discomfort of the unknown only leads to disappointment.
When I let myself be tricked by the seductive comfort of “safe” and familiar and fall prey to the temptation to hermit myself away, I am always sorry. Not going, not trying, not taking the unknown path, feels like failure. Conversely, I never regret—and have never regretted—pushing past my anxiety, fear of failure—and any other neuroses I have—to tackle new-to-me terrain in my social life or work life. Even when a situation, event, or journey “fails,” I feel stronger or better for having tried. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
I know I’ll have failures of nerve in the future. I’ll keep working through them though, perhaps with a modified version of H’s muttered admonition to Petey: “Just go there. You’ll have fun. You’ll love it, actually.”
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“Just Go There” by me, Ev Bishop, was originally published in the Terrace Standard, August 3, 2018 as my monthly column “Just a Thought.”