What Santa Had to Say About Writing His Book
By Frank Ball
Twas six weeks till the deadline, when all through the house,
My computer was working with help from my mouse.
The due date was taped to the screen’s top with care,
In hopes a bestseller would rise below there.
The elves were all settled down snugly in bed,
While thoughts of acceptance still danced in my head.
My words in a turmoil, my hands in my lap,
I rested my eyes for a nice little nap.
When out on the snow there arose such a clatter,
I looked from my desk to see what was the matter.
I took to the keyboard, both hands in a flash,
My fingers were wanting a super good smash.
The moon on the slopes of the new-fallen snow
Gave light to great scenes but the plot wouldn’t go.
Then what to my wondering mind should appear:
A wonderful plan for my story made clear.
Just a little suspense, oh, so lively and quick,
And I knew the right twist that would make a neat trick.
More lofty than eagles, great phrases they came,
I whistled and shouted and dreamed of my fame!
No blunders. Go writer! Now throw in the colon.
On, comma! On, period! On, em-dash and question!
To the best of the books! To the top of the wall!
Time to dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!
As the leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
So the characters’ obstacles clashed and they cried.
Going on with my story, the chapters they flew,
All the kids would be pleased and the dads would be too.
But then, in a twinkling, I thought about SCOOP.
In plotting and writing I had to regroup.
Situation and Character had to be right,
The Objective and Obstacle followed by Plight.
Needing title and plot that would captivate well,
I sought expert advice that would help me excel.
The elves had no skill to say what would work best,
But help from my writer’s group calmed my unrest.
Their eyes how they twinkled. Their thoughts were so merry!
Improving my story, they made me feel cheery.
For each little book would be wrapped with a bow,
And parents and children would shout “ho-ho-ho.”
As I looked for a way to print millions of books
All the agents and editors gave me sad looks.
No printer could do the amount I was needing.
I ran out of breath while relentlessly pleading.
With his presses so fast, a right jolly old elf
Quickly claimed he could print them but not by himself.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
With hardly a word, he went straight to design,
Creating a cover that looked really fine.
And laying the wording across every page,
The copy was good, every chapter a rage.
I sprang to my sleigh with my bag of bestsellers
And knew what to say as a help for all writers
“Your success won’t be easy,” I cried through the night,
“But your Christmas is best when you make time to write.”
