I have been writing like a fiend for the past week, and it feels so good. I know that next week, and next month, I’ll be treated with the blessing of my children’s company, as they are out of school for the holidays, so my writing time will be at a premium.
I am churning out articles at a pretty quick clip, but am hoping I’ll run out of [paying] source material soon (isn’t that a terrible thing to wish?] so that I will be forced to resume work on my novel, which has been languishing in my C drive for weeks now.
That is really frustrating, because the one reader to whom I showed it had a miraculously positive reaction to it, and I am eager to get back to it.
So for today, just a brief update, and the sharing of something I wrote last year for the Professional Editors Network newsletter. I’m dedicating it to all you writers out there. Keep the faith!
‘Twas the cusp of the holidays
And all through the house
One lone figure was stirring
But this was no mouse
Her fingers danced over the keyboard with care
In hopes of crafting a masterpiece there
Her children were finally upstairs, all in bed
While Mom set to paper the dreams in her head
With her coffee grown cold
And a blanket in her lap
Mom was struggling in vain
With the writer’s great trap
For from her stilled keyboard
Came no further clatter
Writer’s block, she knew,
Was the heart of the matter
Away to the window she flew like a flash
Feeling inspiration nose-dive with a crash
The glow from her monitor lit up the room
Imparting a lustre of frustration and gloom
When what to her wondering eyes should appear
But a miniature sleigh, all laden with gear
With a spry little driver, so lively and quick
Great Heavens, she thought, could this be St. Nick?
Swifter than rejection letters his reindeer they came
And the dapper little man called each by name
“Now, Character Development! Now, Tone, Voice, and Diction!
On Dialogue, Plot, Word-Choice, and Great Fiction!
To this stumped writer’s keyboard, at the end of the hall!
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!”
As writing professors with their red pens do fly
When they tear through a term paper offending their eye,
So straight to her manuscript the proofers they flew
With their sleigh full of gear and St. Nicholas, too
And then, his hooves clattering, Dialogue muttered “Oof,
If I’d written this tripe, I’d leap from the roof!”
Nick spoke not a word, but joined his proofers at work.
“Don’t mind Dialogue,” he whispered, “Sometimes he’s a jerk.”
The Writer withdrew to a spot in the back
Watching the reindeers clackety-clack.
Nick wore a tweed sportcoat, with natty, patched elbows
Enormous bifocals perched high on his nose
His fingers were tarnished with toner and ink
He turned with a smile, gave the Writer a wink
His eyes, how they raced through her work at top speed
His fingers dexterously doing the deed
His brow, how it furrowed at each troublesome ‘graf
“I’m sorry, “the Writer said, “It’s just my first draft.”
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave her to know she had nothing to dread.
“All that this manuscript needs, my dear,
Is a little attention, here, here, and here.”
He edited each page, worked the dialogue over
As his cloven-hoofed proofers munched on some clover
From his sleigh Nick fetched thesaurus and a dictionary
And when at last he was done, his face looked quite merry
“I think if you’ll read the feedback I’ve left,
You will find the suggestions I’ve made are quite deft.
Keep up the good work, and don’t lose your hope.
This is good, but now get some sleep, you big dope!
Like a good stew, your manuscript should simmer;
Have some holiday cheer, go out to dinner.
The longer you stare at it, the harder it is;
You must wait out Writer’s Block—that’s just part of the biz.”
And handing her the new Chicago Manual of Style,
He said “Happy Holidays!” and turned with a smile.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle
They departed her office with the speed of a missile.
But she heard them exclaim, ere they drove out of sight
“Happy Holidays to all, and to all a good write!”