Sean Lynch: Christmas Reflections

As part of our 12 Days of Christmas, we’re bringing you some of your favourite authors talking about what Christmas is to them…in whatever form they like! We’re also bringing you their books at only £1!

Today is the turn of Sean Lynch, author of Wounded Prey and the forthcoming The Fourth Motive.

Here’s how to take advantage of our seasonal special offer:

1. Visit the Robot Trading Company at www.robottradingcompany.com

2. Add the book(s) you’d like to buy to your shopping basket

3. Add the magic word ‘tinsel’ to the ‘coupon/voucher’ box

4. Click the ‘update basket’ button and the discount will be applied

Happy reading!

 

Christmas Reflections

 

It was my great good fortune to be born into a family which reveres Christmas.  Christmas at the Lynch household was the zenith of a holiday season which began before Halloween and concluded with the advent of the New Year.  In our home, the season kicked-off with the blustery sting of autumn’s breath and the taste of Trick-or-Treat candy, and finished with the ale and revelry of New Year’s Eve.  But the main event was always Christmas.

As this year draws to a close, my family, like many families around the world, celebrates our unique holiday traditions.  During such a time it’s only natural to reflect on Christmases past.  With an invitation from the great folks at Angry Robot/Exhibit A/Strange Chemistry, I have been given an opportunity to memorialize this year’s Christmas reflections.  I ask your forbearance in advance for my nostalgia.

image8_0009 (2)If I described my childhood as idyllic it would not be too strong a label.  I grew up in a small river town in Iowa, one of five children to working class parents.  The house we owned was built during the Civil War; a two-story, red-brick mausoleum which resembled a haunted mansion, featured an eerie, crypt-like, cellar, and was the source of endless chores and renovations.  The property nested on acres of wooded land, sported a tire swing, a zillion giant trees to climb, and our very own creek.  It was a kid’s paradise, and in the days before VCR’s, computers, and video games there was always something exiting to do if you thrived on adventure, liked to be outdoors, were willing to indulge your imagination, and weren’t averse to skinned knees.

My summertime memories include fierce lightning storms, the cacophonous hum of cicadas, capturing fireflies, mowing lawns, delivering papers, and detasseling corn in the sweltering Midwestern heat.  Independence Day I will forever associate with humidity and ravenous mosquitos.

My winter thoughts, however, are always tinged with echoes of Christmas.  As a kid, the cackle of Halloween goblins would still be resonating in my ears when anticipation of the Christmas-to-come began teasing my brain.  Thanksgiving was merely the midway point between Halloween and Christmas, and the yuletide season’s official start.  Especially since it is not uncommon where I grew up to get the first snowfall before Halloween. By the time Thanksgiving’s turkey and stuffing was digested a blizzard may have already arrived.

Winter memories include snowball fights, snow forts, (to better prevail in snowball fights), sledding, (I lost my front teeth riding belly-down on a Western Flyer), shoveling snow, delivering papers, and tromping to school in rubber galoshes while bundled up like Neil Armstrong during his moonwalk.

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