Line, Please!
Another day, another dim dime
Hey! Do you decorate for the holidays?
I’ve always felt acute pressure regarding any expectations. The Christmas season is full of scripts that are meant to be followed in the name of spreading joy. The list of kitsch clichés is paired with a predictable palette and a standardized set of musical standards.
Everything is so predetermined that even dissent falls into line. Whether it’s a Scrooge—McDuck or otherwise—or a Grinch, there is a litany of tropes around those who fail to spread Christmas Cheer™️
For most people, this is all endearing.
However, the lost dreamer finds it highlights a specific compulsion in arbitrary routine.
Clockwork
As with any script, the actors are only as good as their lines. While there may indeed be the exceptional improv from an unquestionably charismatic star, that only further proves the point.
With any given holiday, these words are sacrosanct in origin—and why would a holy day be anything but?
The modern melodies may mask the medium, but those God-fearing themes remain:
Sins and confession
Righteousness and glory
Compulsion and routine
All this creates an intense pressure to act—a focus that religiously pairs with a vague fear of punishment when one does not know what to do.
But if that storm is weathered, there is a beautiful image waiting behind the curtain. For with the abstract step back comes a fuller appreciation for the clockwork. Every piece has its place as the dance fuels a passionate fire of merrymaking desire.
There’s a cultural inertia to it all that means it’s just as hard to stop as it is to make the first move.
It’s the weight of tradition that keeps everything in motion.
And just as holidays run on their own well-worn rhythms, so too does the creative process—and breaking either pattern takes a force of will.
Act III
That was what I was really thinking about prior to committing these musings to writing.
The sheer strength it takes to stop or start anything at all.
Brushing up against one of the many walls beyond our will means coming face to face with the limits of humanity.
Whether it’s a ghost of Christmas past, present, or future, we mortals fear the ultimate unknowable realms.
Rather than any sleigh, slough, pew, or plow, I wanted to reflect on how this feels in my own creative work.
Pushing past a barrier of limited inspiration and finding a path to tell a story worthy of hearing. Embracing the vague sensations that, at least for me, define the very motivation hiding in those depths.
Whether it’s ever worth it in the end is something I seem determined to prove false. The lingering catharsis of crafting something meaningful is ironically at odds with my own cynical doubts about whether it’s worth the effort
That paradox of being trapped by entrenched expectations is oddly appropriate for the themes of my new book. Inventing a new holiday, even one that’s set in our world, brings up these thoughts in a tangible way.
But every now and then, true inspiration slips through. I just have to be on time, ready with an anxious blank page and a pen filled with fresh ink.
I guess I’ll have to wait for the clocks to catch up though.
Addendum
I’ve now rewritten the beginning of Significatorius several times. I have a clear idea of where I want the story to go, but I need to make sure the initial spark matches the style and structure.
To be fair, I also am not subjecting this story to the same pressures of deadlines and calendars I have before.
It’s hard to say whether I’m growing into that more relaxed timetable or if my experience has raised my own expectations.
The results will have to be judged for what they are in either case.
As with all my stories, I’ll eagerly await the conclusions you draw from the tale I’ve spun.
Until next time.
—JMB