The story is dragging on. I feel trapped in my protagonist’s daily grind, at the same time I need room to build in all the little hints and arguments and behavioral traits which finally amount to his character. That is not so easy.

Language is a fascinating tool. I try to follow wise writers’ advise to “show, don’t tell”. That turns out to be difficult and lot’s of work. Instead of simply naming it: “He was melancholic”, I try to describe what that means in terms of  “How did he know that he was melancholic?”

It’s not that we wake up in the morning and tell ourselves, uh, I am pretty melancholic today. It’s rather that we feel heavy in our bed, unable to move, enervated by the alarm clock, then, once we dragged out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom we see a grumpy face in the mirror which we wash dolefully.

So, being melancholic is obviously hard work, maybe it’s only fair that writing about it is not any easier.

1729 words of melancholy today.

But to cheer you up a little, I have some X-massy atmosphere for you. That is homey FRAport, preparing for a red nosed reindeer’s arrival.

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