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‘Twas The Night Before Christmas, Writer’s Style, Part II

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Sitting at the keyboard,
tapping away at the keys
a lone writer tries plotting
a story that is the bee’s knees.

“This story sucks” he lamented
“my Muse has up and fled,
I’m so terrible at craft
I’d be better off dead!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,”
the Muse had returned,
“But you’re right about this,
this story should be burned!”

The Muse, how she’s loved,
At times she’s so inspired
At others, her suggestions
leave much to be desired.

When she really gets going
her thoughts seem to race,
so many ideas but they
are all over the place.

“Start with a peaceful meadow,
surrounded by large trees
and cute furry animals
doing what they please.”

“We need some conflict,
so make it at night,
and some dire wolves enter
to snarl and bite.”

“And hunters arrive to kill
anything within sight,
that includes the wolves
who fade into the night.”

“We need a little mystery,
with a detective named Mace,
and just for good measure
a World War One flying ace.”

“Why do we need them?” he asks,
“They don’t seem to fit.”
“Because I said so”, says Muse,
“trust me, just run with it.”

“We need some romance,
a Mafia hit man, maybe,
who falls for a cowgirl,
of course, she has a baby.”

“Then come time-traveling dinosaurs
who arrive from a glowing portal,
and a hot, sexy vampire,
who’s nearly immortal.”

“Dinosaurs? Vampires?
How’d they get in the mix?
Even during the revision, it’s something
I don’t think I can fix.”

“Hold on a minute,” says Muse,
it’s going to get better.
We’ll move the story to the ocean
where everything’s better when wetter.”

“Arrr, pirates, and cannons,
that’s what we need!
In this fertile ground
we’ll plant a new plot seed.”

“A steampunk airship,
a caveman from the Ice Age,
pulling from epic fantasy
we’ll get an Archmage!”

“Things that go bump in the night,
flying saucers in the sky,
skipping down the Yellow Brick Road,
lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my!”

“This is absurd, ridiculous,
it simply won’t work!
I don’t wish to cause conflict,
but Muse, you’re being a jerk!”

“Oh, ye of little faith!
From out of this whirl,
I’ve got the perfect ending,
it’s – squirrel!”

“No! Wait, I must know
how does it end?”
The Muse lost her train of thought,
and had gone ‘round the bend.

The writer sighed,
“Don’t worry, my dearies,
there’s so much material here,
I’ll have to write a series!”

I can come up with no better line,
to end this, try as I might.
Than “Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good night!”

With many, many apologies to Clement C. Moore