BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

This classic holiday entry originally ran in 2006…

“Twas the Night Before Christmas, 21^st Century Edition”

Copyright © 2006, M. R. Sellars

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring, not even my spouse.

Her wet stockings were hung in the bathroom with care,

My razor was dull and full of her leg hair.

My wife was nestled all snug in our bed,

While visions of shoe sales danced in her head.

When out in the living room there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my keyboard to empty my bladder.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But some fat S.O.B. drinking my last beer.

His eyes were unfocused, and his cheeks were a-flush,

I could tell at a glance that Santa was a lush.

His knees how they wobbled as he finished with a slurp,

Then he got up from his chair and let out a burp!

“Hi there, young fella,” he said with a *hic*

“Best get outta my way, I think I’m gonna be sick!”

He rushed to the bathroom and I heard my wife scream,

Seems she was in there and didn’t think this too keen.

What was next to occur was kind of a shock,

I found her pummeling Santa with our new alarm clock!

“Hey honey, chill out!” I said with a start.

“Surely you don’t wanna kill the old fart!”

“Look lady,” Santa cried as he lurched and careened,

“I only got airsick ’cause I forgot my Dramamine!”

“So you’re NOT just some drunk?” I asked as he scratched his crotch.

“Of course not,” he replied, “But I WILL take a Scotch!”

“And to show there’re no hard feelings,” he chortled with glee,

“Tell me what is it you’d like to find under your tree.”

I took a sharp breath, and held it inside,

Santa you fool, you’d better run and hide.

You’ve asked the wrong question, instead of the right,

And now you’re gonna be here the rest of the night.

My wife’s eyes sparkled, teeth showing as she grinned,

And the next thing I knew she had the guy pinned!

Catalogs flew, and flyers they fluttered,

Creating immediately a large pile of clutter.

Santa couldn’t move and his eyes filled with fright,

Seeing her chance my redhead squealed with delight!

“Some diamonds and pearls, from this place and that!

Some pumps and some boots, and maybe a hat!”

She ran down her list in a voice filled with glee,

All I could think was “I’m glad it’s not me!”

Santa wriggled and squirmed as she sat on his chest,

Then he shouted and hollered, “Hey, give it a rest!”

But my wife wasn’t finished, that much I knew,

For she held that elf down and started anew.

“Sapphires and rubies, and rings of white gold,

I don’t even care if they’re new or they’re old!

A black leather jacket and a skirt that goes with it,

Matching gloves and a gift card that spends without limit!

A full length fur coat, synthetic of course,

Hey! Are you taking this down? Don’t make me use force!”

The old guy kept kicking, and somehow broke free,

How he managed to do so was way beyond me.

But my redhead was behind him as he sprang for the door,

While she screamed, “No, don’t leave now, for I want so much more!”

Santa ran through my yard as though he were scared,

And I can’t say I blamed him, for I doubted I’d be spared.

He hollered, as he raced, his words not too thrilling,

In fact I must say they were in all senses chilling.

With what he said, I had no choice but to agree,

For she was all wound up and he was leaving her with me.

Now here’s the last thing I heard, as he fled from this strife,

“I’d stay for that scotch, but I’m afraid of your wife!”

And now, a bit of explanation about this poem…

I feel compelled to give you all the history behind my version of “Twas the Night Before Xmas”…And, no, it isn’t because EK has me in a choke hold, or that she is standing over me with a flogger…

Anyhow, the posted version of “TwasXmas” is one that is slightly tweaked, with a couple of extra verses added. The “original” psycho-redheaded-material girl filk of this timeless poem was written by me back in December, 1995. Yes, pre Rowan Gant (but not by much, as I began writing the short stories upon which the RGI series are based in 1996.)

Some of you may be aware that I had a long career as a Senior Level Electronics Technician, and in July of ’95 I was stolen away from the service center I managed by a company that had landed a lucrative contract with none other than Western Union. They needed someone capable of doing component level repair on old Concord Payment Terminals. Now, while I had never even seen one of these blue beasts before going to work for this company, I was part of a dying breed of technician–meaning, not only could I work on computers, but I actually knew how to use an Oscilloscope, Logic Probe, Solder/Desolder Station, as well as being able to read schematics. This meant that I could take one of these little beggars apart, track down the offending components (logic IC’s, resistors, capacitors, crystals, what have you) and replace them. They offered me A BUNCH of money to come work for them, as well as some especially tidy bonuses if I could meet a particular quota of repairs. At the risk of blowing my own horn, I actually did 2.5 times the quota each year–so the bonuses were very nice.

So, there is the setup. I left a management position to become a bench tech for another company. While that seems a step down, the dollars made it quite a step up.

However, something I discovered after joining this company is that during the annual Xmas Party, the newest member of the staff was required to Sing, Dance, or in some fashion briefly entertain the rest of the staff. Having been hired on in July, I hoped that I would be spared by a more recent hire but alas, that was not to be. When the holiday party rolled around, I was still the newest kid on the block, and 2 minutes of silly entertainment was expected of me.

Since I cannot carry a tune in a bucket, even if I have help, (just ask the Barstool Prophets…I sat in with them during a party held in my honor at Violet Flame Gifts in Ohio and croaked through a song or two…in my defense I was rather inebriated, but I digress…) As I was saying, since my ear is apparently composed of a tin-aluminum alloy, I asked if it would be okay for me to recite a poem instead. (Yeah, I can’t dance either…think Elaine from Seinfeld)…They were all for that and so it was set. However, you know me. I couldn’t see my way clear to recite something serious, and “TwasXmas” was born.

I actually have the two fading yellow sheets of legal pad paper upon which the original version was written here on my desk. I dug them out of my files so that I could transcribe the bit of rhyme here, and of course, decided to tweak it a bit in the process…(One of those silly writer things)

But, this isn’t where the story ends…(Yeah, here comes the part about E K)…The poem was written all in fun. The absolute truth of the matter is that E K is one of the most practical individuals on the face of the earth. Were the scenario in the poem real, she would be more likely to offer the fat SOB a Scotch, then sit down and calmly talk to him about her list which would contain such items as warm socks, an electric blanket, or maybe some new towels for the linen closet. I kid you not.

Yes, “Virginia”, the only thing material about my redhead is the fact that I spoil her with material things whenever I can afford it. Oh, she’s still Evil, don’t misunderstand. She’s just not a material kind of Evil…

So, there you have it.

Have a very Merrie Axemas…

More to come…

Murv

With thanks (and apologies) to Baz Lurhmann for the original. Wear Sunscreen re-imagined by yours truly for writers everywhere…

This originally appeared in a comment thread on my Facebook wall, 12/12/2010… About 30 minutes ago, as a matter of fact. All because I was bored and felt like entertaining myself.

USE FLASH DRIVES

Writers and wordslingers of the class of 2010…

Use Flash Drives.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, Flash Drives would be it. The non-volatile redundancy benefits of Flash Drives have been proved by cataclysmic hard drive crashes, whereas the rest of my writing advice is really just a bunch of meandering, tongue-in-cheek humor…

I will dispense that advice, now:

Enjoy the power and beauty of the adverb. Oh, never mind, you will not understand the power and beauty of the adverb until you grasp adjectives.

But trust me, in 120,000 words you’ll look back at adjectives you didn’t use and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much descriptiveness lay before you and how great the verb really could have looked… Adding LY is easier than you imagine.

Don’t worry about the optional comma; or em-dash, but know that an ellipsis is as effective for indicating a pause as a semicolon. The real punctuation in your work is apt to be removed and then restored by an editor; the kind that blindsides you with revisions at 4pm on some Saturday when you planned a family outing.

Write one thing every day that makes absolutely no sense.

Spellcheck.

Don’t be reckless with apostrophes, and don’t put up with people who are reckless with colons.

Revise.

Don’t waste your time on head popping POVs. Sometimes you’re in one characters head, sometimes you’re in another… the story is what’s important, and in the end you’ll only confuse your readers.

Remember the good reviews you receive, forget the bad; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how. Keep your old notes, throw away your old rejection slips.

Edit.

Don’t feel guilty if you surf porn for a few hours when you have writer’s block… Some of the most interesting writers I know were kinky at 22. Some of the most interesting 40+ year old writers I know are still kinky.

Do plenty of research. Be kind to your editors, you’ll need them when you’re late on a deadline.

Maybe you’ll get a multi-book deal, maybe you won’t. Maybe your book will get optioned for a movie, maybe it won’t. Maybe you’ll be a mid-lister, maybe you’ll hit the NYT best seller list… whatever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – it’s all a matter of luck, for you and everybody else as well.

Enjoy your first novel, and admire it every way you can… Be proud of it, and ignore what other people think of it, it’s the only first novel you’ll ever write.

Read. Even if you have no time to do it but on your lunch break in the bathroom.

Learn the rules of grammar, even if you don’t follow them. Do NOT read “How To Write” books, they will only make you feel inadequate.

Get to know bookstore owners. You never know when you’ll need to book a signing venue. Be nice to other writers; they are your best shot for a cover blurb and the people most likely to chat you up to acquisitions editors.

Understand that readers come and go, but there are those who will stay loyal no matter what the critics say. Work hard to fix your plot holes and make suspension of disbelief as seamless as possible, because the deeper you get into a story, the more you need your readers to follow along.

Write a chase scene once, but don’t let it overwhelm the story.

Write a sex scene once, but don’t let it become the entire focus of the plot.

Double space.

Accept certain inalienable truths: commas generally go before conjunctions, periods end sentences, and interjections don’t always denote excitement, but when they do you should follow them with an exclamation point, not a period or a comma, unless followed by another interjection.

Use interjections.

Don’t quit your day job. Maybe you’ll get an advance, maybe you’ll retain your electronic rights, but you never know when or if a book will earn out and pay royalties.

Don’t mess too much with your arc, or by the time it develops people will be bored. Be careful with your characters, but, be patient with their back stories. Character development is a form of mental masturbation, and nurturing it is a way of creating a personality, giving it legs, breathing life into it, and making readers believe the fictional construct is real.

But trust me on the Flash Drives…

More to come…

Murv