Man Who Invented Christmas: A Writer’s Tribute

Writing is hard. In fact, it can be downright impossible at times. There’s always pressure to finish, always questions. Always annoying arguments from your characters, that no one but you seem to believe is real.

The Man Who Invented Christmas seems to profoundly understand that. For Charles Dickens (played by the brilliant Dan Stevens) is having a problem we all face: writer’s block. After the success of Oliver Twist and the failings of three smaller books, he’s in debt, he’s out of ideas, and his publishers want another story.
So he decides to write a Christmas one. But what to write? And his main character won’t appear.

What writer doesn’t have this struggle? Which one doesn’t sit for hours, or stare at themselves in the mirror trying to get the name right? Or who doesn’t think “my favorite author would never have these problems,” which was asked in the movie as well.

Dickens criticised by his MC

When I went into the theater to watch this movie, I knew it was a writer movie, I knew it would have plenty of relatable moments, but what I didn’t know was that it would be that extra push, that extra bit of motivation that I needed to finish my story.

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Treehouse Dreams

If Sam and Slayer ever had a house, ever found the time to stop the war waging on all fronts and learned how to battle the demons raging in their minds, this would be it. Because for The Leader of the Legercharms and her Protector, they could never have a real house. They would always have battles to win and monsters to beat.

So they would find a house, deep into the forest and carve a home with Sam’s magic and Slayer’s strength. Windows would be added, to see the outside world, but no welcome mat would be placed in front of the blue door that Slayer kept telling Sam wasn’t blue but brown on the stone steps molded by Sam. Sam wouldn’t listen about the color of the door and would attempt to hang up a police call sign; Slayer would keep taking it down because they were in hiding. For that would be the only way they could live as happily ever after as they could.

They would have to be alone. Hiding from the crowded world and trying to hew out a piece of some semblance of a life. Some moment in an infinite number of seconds to try to, one day, live as comfortably and peacefully as any good Baggins should.