You wouldn't know it from my loquacious bloggery, but as a writer I generally subscribe to the sentiment that less is more. Someone famous and writerly (please don't ask me to look up who) once said, "If I'd have had more time, I'd have written you a shorter letter."
Point being, it takes a lot of work to distill your thoughts. That's why poets get paid more than Bill Gates. (My dear poet friends, I heard you laugh all the way in Pitkin.) But we don't just stack sentence on top of sentence because we're lazy; sometimes, beneath the pile of articles and contractions and 5 dollar words, we're burying our truths.
And by sometimes, I mean during the holidays.
You know exactly what I mean now, don't you? Because there's no way I'm the only person with a distant uncle who sends out the itemized list of family accomplishments, followed by an awkward confession, followed by a didactic paragraph on the Reason for the Season.
Let me just say right now, I'm not down on this tradition. I think holiday letters are a lovely way of telling people you're thinking of them during the season. Photo cards will adorn my fridge for a year, only to be replaced by the latest installment. Cards will be hung from wire strung up my staircase, an always rotating decoration that makes me think of you.
But the letters. Oh, the letters. I come from a family who abides by the letter tradition. My dad puts his own spin on it though. No one gets the honor of having saved 60 souls on a mission trip or achieving highest honors in college (I did do that, but it never made it into a letter). Nope. Dad just says a few funny [see: rude] things about all of us, attaches a goofy picture, and goes on his Merry Christmas way.
People seem to love Dad's letter. He actually gets calls and emails around Christmas time from people asking to still be on his letter list. They hem and haw about getting their own cards out, but one thing's for sure: they don't want to not read what the Yadon's haven't done this year.
Much as I'm proud of my dad's circulation (and perhaps a little jealous), all his funny words are not all that different from someone else's seasonal brag book--both have a way of masking that which is real. Which is fine. I don't think any of us want to deal with one Holidays on Ice style Christmas letter--let alone 30.
But I just can join in the sham. Not because I'm a terrible grinchy grinch, but because I'm a writer. A writer who wants to write you the shorter letter.
So here it is--my new holiday tradition: in the tradition of the six-word memoir, I'm going to write you a six-word holiday letter. My year, six words, your time saved.
Ready?
Set?
Found the treasure without the map.
Point being, it takes a lot of work to distill your thoughts. That's why poets get paid more than Bill Gates. (My dear poet friends, I heard you laugh all the way in Pitkin.) But we don't just stack sentence on top of sentence because we're lazy; sometimes, beneath the pile of articles and contractions and 5 dollar words, we're burying our truths.
And by sometimes, I mean during the holidays.
You know exactly what I mean now, don't you? Because there's no way I'm the only person with a distant uncle who sends out the itemized list of family accomplishments, followed by an awkward confession, followed by a didactic paragraph on the Reason for the Season.
Let me just say right now, I'm not down on this tradition. I think holiday letters are a lovely way of telling people you're thinking of them during the season. Photo cards will adorn my fridge for a year, only to be replaced by the latest installment. Cards will be hung from wire strung up my staircase, an always rotating decoration that makes me think of you.
But the letters. Oh, the letters. I come from a family who abides by the letter tradition. My dad puts his own spin on it though. No one gets the honor of having saved 60 souls on a mission trip or achieving highest honors in college (I did do that, but it never made it into a letter). Nope. Dad just says a few funny [see: rude] things about all of us, attaches a goofy picture, and goes on his Merry Christmas way.
I'm not sure this ever came to fruition, but last year's plan was to impose this goofy pic of dad onto the mantle behind the rest of us. If that did happen, that's hilarious and I'm impressed.
People seem to love Dad's letter. He actually gets calls and emails around Christmas time from people asking to still be on his letter list. They hem and haw about getting their own cards out, but one thing's for sure: they don't want to not read what the Yadon's haven't done this year.
Much as I'm proud of my dad's circulation (and perhaps a little jealous), all his funny words are not all that different from someone else's seasonal brag book--both have a way of masking that which is real. Which is fine. I don't think any of us want to deal with one Holidays on Ice style Christmas letter--let alone 30.
But I just can join in the sham. Not because I'm a terrible grinchy grinch, but because I'm a writer. A writer who wants to write you the shorter letter.
So here it is--my new holiday tradition: in the tradition of the six-word memoir, I'm going to write you a six-word holiday letter. My year, six words, your time saved.
Ready?
Set?
Found the treasure without the map.
That's my 2013, folks. I look very forward to hearing about yours. Send me your whole holiday letter in the mail. Send me your picture for the fridge. Write me your own six word letter. Whatever you do, know I'm thinking of you this season and wishing you a 2014 worth writing about!
love love LOVE it!! Miss you!!
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