And in the meantime...a little post-holiday fun

I love my readers. *happy face*

Here are three more holiday gems that didn't make it to the blog in time. The first one I completely missed (how do I manage things like that?); the second and third came later. Enjoy!


1. By Tracy Montoya
(Harlequin Intrigue author)

’Twas the night before Christmas,
And all through the house,
Not a page got written;
Didn’t even touch my mouse.

My journal was placed
By the table with care,
But I don’t care to open it,
So it’s just sitting there.

My opening is weak,
My love scene is sap,
So instead of revising,
I’m taking a nap.

When out by my mailbox
There arose such a clatter,
I turned off Oprah
And rose to see what was the matter.

Away to the doorway
I flew in a flash,
Jammed a cap on my bedhead and called,
"I’m sorry! I’ll give you cash!"

The mailman was sitting
In the new-fallen snow,
My dog Zelda chewing on his ankle,
While he shrieked, "Dear God, no!"

When what to my wondering
Eyes should appear,
But a letter from Harlequin
About my proposal so dear.

And the papers inside
Made it thin and not thick;
I knew in a moment
It would make me quite sick.

The rejection, more rapid than eagles it came,
And I screamed, and I stomped,
And called the editor a bad name.

"Darn opening lines! Darn characters!
Darn plots I keep fixin’!
Blast scene-and-sequel! Darn fonts!
Oh, that editor is a vixen!

"To the top of the stairs!
Throw my computer from the wall!
Shred my manuscript, toss my journal,
Kick my monitor down the hall!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the housetop in my bathrobe I flew,
With my hard drive, my printer, and my new scanner, too.

And then in a twinkling,
They all bounced off the roof,
And landed on the ground
In a sad little poof.

As I came down the stairs
And was turning around,
Down the sidewalk little Zelda
Came with a bound.

With snow in her fur,
From her head to her foot,
And my letter in her mouth
Covered with doggie drool and soot.

The mailman in haste
Had flung on his pack,
And was running in terror
Without looking back.

Zelda’s eyes, how they twinkled!
Her fangs grinning, how merry!
I took the envelope from her mouth,
And she went to chew on my neighbor Terry.

I unfolded the letter,
Read the contents below,
And my face must’ve looked
Just as white as the snow.

"Dear Tracy," I read as I gritted my teeth.
"How I loved your proposal!
The book to us you must bequeath!

"Your three chapters were perfect,
Your synopsis better than the telly.
I would rather read your book
Than eat chocolate, peanut butter, or jelly."

My novel was gone,
The disks thrown off the shelf.
And I laughed bitterly at my new junk pile,
In spite of myself.

I spoke not a word,
But went straight to my work,
And swept up the pieces
While calling myself a jerk.

And keeping keeping my eyes
Focused firmly on my toes,
I tried to keep from crying
And blowing my nose.

I trudged up the porch steps,
To Zelda gave a whistle,
And she ran to me,
With a disk in her mouth, like a missile.

I exclaimed and I clapped
When the label was in sight. ...

It was the last copy of my novel.
And the disk was all right.


2. by Yvonne Osborne

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Twelve muses musing
Eleven readers reading
Ten critics parsing
Nine calls from Oprah
Eight maids a'cleaning
Seven waste baskets
Six editors scribbling
Five agents on bended knee…
Four bottles of booze
Three movie deals
Two dictionaries
And a publicist and a book tour.


3. Old Pain's Mine by Rubber Burns

Should all your patience be forgot,

And novels tossed aside?

Should all your patience be forgot,

And words let run dry?

Chorus:

For all work takes time, I fear,

For all work takes time,

We'll take a cup of White Out yet

And put it out of mind.

And surely you'll be apt to quit

And surely then will I,

But we'll take a cup of White Out yet

And get back to the grind!

We two have run about the book

And tossed it in the brine

But we've writ many a weary bit

'Fore two thousand and nine.

We all have prattled on the page

From morning until night

But trees hath laid their lives aside

For this cruddy work of mine.

Where there's a hand and trusty pen

The words are bound to shine

And we'll take a knife and pliers then

And shape it up just fine.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!