Our critique group gave ourselves a challenge to write a story based on an object and a place. We gave ourselves a year and planned to read the stories at our December meeting. As the deadline approached, Julie Royce found herself enmeshed in a story that would not behave itself. She wrote the following poem instead, and now we offer it as Tri-Valley’s Christmas present to our readers. – Lani Longshore, Moderator.

 

 

Twas two months before Christmas,when away at Retreat,

three patiently waited, their muses to meet.

We glanced at each other, eyes locked in blank stare.

in hopes inspiration soon would be there.

Our characters nestled all snug in their files,

while visions of brilliance demanded our wiles.

With Elaine in her bathrobe, Janie coffee in hand,

we settled to writing, our courses well-planned.

When from my far bedroom the walls echoed my yell,

as I thought of the words, and the drawing from hell.

I fingered the slip, and swallowed the lump

that rose in my throat to cause writers’ slump.

Baton and Atlanta, the words hadn’t changed.

A tough assignment left me feeling deranged.

When what to my wondering mind did there lurk,

the germ of an idea with which I could work.

Like flashes of lightening, the plot twists they came.

I whistled and typed, gave characters name.

No adjectives! No adverbs! just strong verbs – not weak,

Showing! Not telling! and descriptions not bleak.

The words they came, on a spectacular roll.

Here a phrase, there a phrase, I rushed towards my goal.

Then as dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

my mind met an obstacle, made me break down and cry.

Those twirling batons were becoming a pain,

and Atlanta was causing a major brain-drain.

My story was silly, a whole lot of trite,

and no further reflection would make it sound right.

And then in a twinkling, my other work called.

NanoWriMo was looming, I had no time to stall.

With not a moment to waste, from frustrating file fled.

I could visit it later, for now put it to bed.

I showered and dressed, rebooted my brain,

slouched back at my laptop, and started again.

A bundle of words, I flung on the pages.

I looked like an author, quite maddened by ages.

My eyes – how they narrowed! Back firmly on track!

Now the Atlanta monkey was peeled from my back.

I told my droll little self, with thoughts swimming smug,

I’d find time for it later, I gave a pleased shrug.

The rest of the weekend, I held tight to my plan.

While words flew to the screen, and first drafts to trash can.

A broad smile on my face, as I shelved the baton,

would I ever transform my ugly duckling to swan?

When bronchitis came knocking, I found myself ill.

and work product dwindled to practically nil.

Fate again winked its eye, in an unscheduled twist,

and a heavy dose of hectic my crazy life kissed.

Courtney landed a job, she was headed to work.

As an aid to her planning, her mom was a perk.

I sprang into action, my boys needed their Granny,

to assist the transition from Mommy to Nanny.

A week I was gone, twelve hours each day.

Thoughts of Atlanta stayed far, far away.

So you’ll hear me exclaim amidst complaints of my plight,

Merry Christmas to all, but I had no time to write!