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| photo credit: Joe Buckingham on Flickr |
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all night
not a writer wrote, no word was in sight.
blank pages were scattered on desks and floors,
in the hope that the manuscripts would jump from their drawers.
radio humming a cheerful song,
Yet I tortured writer, wanted a muse seems.
and me with my coffee and sleeping family
Did the watch page trying not to cry.
When the snow there was such a noise,
I fell off my chair, unaware balance.
I ran to the door, my heart in my throat,
And do not throw open my coat forget ,.
And Christmas lights on bright sparkling snow
Seemed just for a moment to put on a show.
When my astonishment- I'll admit I do cry
Came a sledge from the sky led by reindeer on the road.
a driver with eyes brimming with laughter,
His face I knew I remember afterwards.
With such a white beard and cheeks ablaze,
He waved and smiled, "It's me, do not you know!"
I yawned and stammered for a moment and said
"This can not be real everything is in my head!"
But Santa, he chuckled and said with joy,
"I hear, my dear child, you love to write."
"It is true," I said, looking down at my feet
"But a writer, I'm not-I admitted defeat."
And Santa, he furrowed his eyebrows me-looked into eyes
And he said, "You're a writer, do not let your dream die."
So I told her my troubles, how words do not come,
and he said: "It is a gift he will not always be fun.
it will not always be easy or simple or kind
But for writing, my daughter, is what you intended. "
and he lifted my chin with his finger and said
"the problems you are experiencing are they all in your head!
So, go back inside and rest for the night,
But know that tomorrow you are going to write the first fire! "
He mounted his sled and took off into the air,
the reindeers they trampled the stars with their flair.
So, inside, I went off and the TV
and sitting by the fire with a cup of hot tea.
Asleep, then I fell, and I dreamed of the
and when I woke up, my mind an age gold!
I rushed to my computer and typed until dawn,
His words, I quickly realized they were right all along!
with in hindsight I guess I should not have been surprised,
to this day, it was Christmas, true and undisguised.
and this man I saw, it was Santa or not,
He brought to my mind the things I forgot.
a writer is a writer every day of the week,
on good days and bad days, the nights seem dark.
But I do what I can and what I can write is
As Santa reminded me to my delight.
So the next time your writing refuse to flow,
Remember what the Father tells me and know
You're a writer, tonight and always will be
For writing really makes you feel free.
not a writer wrote, no word was in sight.
blank pages were scattered on desks and floors,
in the hope that the manuscripts would jump from their drawers.
radio humming a cheerful song,
Yet I tortured writer, wanted a muse seems.
and me with my coffee and sleeping family
Did the watch page trying not to cry.
When the snow there was such a noise,
I fell off my chair, unaware balance.
I ran to the door, my heart in my throat,
And do not throw open my coat forget ,.
And Christmas lights on bright sparkling snow
Seemed just for a moment to put on a show.
When my astonishment- I'll admit I do cry
Came a sledge from the sky led by reindeer on the road.
a driver with eyes brimming with laughter,
His face I knew I remember afterwards.
With such a white beard and cheeks ablaze,
He waved and smiled, "It's me, do not you know!"
I yawned and stammered for a moment and said
"This can not be real everything is in my head!"
But Santa, he chuckled and said with joy,
"I hear, my dear child, you love to write."
"It is true," I said, looking down at my feet
"But a writer, I'm not-I admitted defeat."
And Santa, he furrowed his eyebrows me-looked into eyes
And he said, "You're a writer, do not let your dream die."
So I told her my troubles, how words do not come,
and he said: "It is a gift he will not always be fun.
it will not always be easy or simple or kind
But for writing, my daughter, is what you intended. "
and he lifted my chin with his finger and said
"the problems you are experiencing are they all in your head!
So, go back inside and rest for the night,
But know that tomorrow you are going to write the first fire! "
He mounted his sled and took off into the air,
the reindeers they trampled the stars with their flair.
So, inside, I went off and the TV
and sitting by the fire with a cup of hot tea.
Asleep, then I fell, and I dreamed of the
and when I woke up, my mind an age gold!
I rushed to my computer and typed until dawn,
His words, I quickly realized they were right all along!
with in hindsight I guess I should not have been surprised,
to this day, it was Christmas, true and undisguised.
and this man I saw, it was Santa or not,
He brought to my mind the things I forgot.
a writer is a writer every day of the week,
on good days and bad days, the nights seem dark.
But I do what I can and what I can write is
As Santa reminded me to my delight.
So the next time your writing refuse to flow,
Remember what the Father tells me and know
You're a writer, tonight and always will be
For writing really makes you feel free.
Merry Christmas to all!
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" 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all night / no writer wrote, not word ... " (Click to tweet)
writer @Ava_Jae sharing a special version of 'Twas the Night Before Christmas for writers. Enjoy! (Click for tweeter)
