I wrote a story to a prompt for Barrelhouse’s special Christmas edition, for once not a grim or macabre telling of any sort:
Christmas Eve finds you sitting alone in an emergency bothy on the side of the mountain in the Scottish Highlands, soaked to your underwear, poking at damp logs and trying to get a fire to catch. It’s taken you all day to get here, though it was not at first a strenuous journey. This is a families-and-their-dogs type of summit, busy most holidays and weekends in good weather. The hut is only provided on the off-chance of bad weather and foolishness, which there are plenty of in this instance.
Also, over on Necessary Fiction, I and many others talked about favourite books of the year. Need some reading ideas? Have a look!