How do you feel about reading or writing seasonal stories and poems at the 'wrong' time of year?
Do you want ghost stories at the end of October when the nights are drawing in, the wind is blowing and scary kids, demanding you hand over your chocolate supply, could descend any minute? Or would you rather read a summer romance then?
By the time December 25th comes round are you in the mood for a magical tale of peace and goodwill, or does a murder mystery hold more appeal?
The magazine stories I read often reflect the time of year, but other than that I can read anything anytime. When it comes to writing, I write the story when I think of it. It can be a little disconcerting to look up and see that although I've spent the last hour on a hot beach everyone else has been scraping ice off their windscreens, but it's no worse than realising I'm no longer planning an Easter egg hunt, organising a firework display, plotting to overthrow the government or doing whatever else occupied the main character just a few minutes previously.
Here's a seasonal poetry competition with a £25 Amazon voucher as the prize. My entry is here.
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