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‘Twas the Week Before Christmas
By Karen Docter
‘Twas the week before Christmas, when all through the land
My dust bunnies had grown bold, joined the Editorial Band;
Revisions were hung by the critique rank and file,
In hopes that my manuscript would soon top the pile;
Characters were canoodling in their own special way,
While villains of danger snuck into the fray;
And my hero in his splendor, and heroine bathed in moon’s light,
Had just dissed their love for the fourth time this night;
When out of my brain there arose what I’d been missing,
Had to rush to the office to tweak a bout of kissing;
Away to my chair, I stumbled and swore,
Ripped open a Window and widened my eyes more;
The cursor, blinking cheerily on the computer screen, teased,
Tormenting my poor muse, more than it appeased;
When, what to my beleaguered senses should un-wend,
But my muse on a lotus blossom, and a close writer friend;
With a great mighty shove, so swift the prevention,
I knew in a thrice, this was editorial intervention;
So swift the editor kicked off her perch, ideas they came,
And my muse danced and sang, I knew this was the game.
“Now, Narrative! Now, Point of View! Now, Adjective and Verb!
On, Sentence! On Paragraph! On, Synopsis and Blurb!”
“To the top of the list! To the top of the pile!
Now print away! Print away! Print away, smile!”
As manuscript pages that before crazed muse envision,
When they hide behind walls, come out with permission;
So rise to the occasion the plot points they grow,
With a screen full of characterization, my muse did yet glow;
And then, in that moment, I heard my hero speak,
Those sensuous words and statement of love’s peak;
As I reached for the words, and was putting them down,
My heroine laughed and tried on her wedding gown;
From her fingers danced stars, my muse had donned glitters,
Her crown was tipped over from too many gin-and-bitters;
But she sat on my poor editor, not allowing her vent,
My muse looked like an angel, or maybe an agent;
Her face – how it glowed! Her dimples how naughty!
Her eyes full of mischief, her nose not one bit haughty!
Her gleeful expression was fixed on the page,
And the stubborn tilt of her chin was as firm as a sage;
An eraser-less pencil she clenched tight in her hand,
And an aura of contentment encircled the land;
She had purpose to her step, was lithe enough to bend,
To the winds of creativity, she was surely there to wend;
She was the vision of my heroine, an odd little perk,
And I laughed when I saw her, my psyche at work;
With a gracious smile and a nod in my direction,
She gave me the notion I could bow to her perfection;
She spoke not at all, but took over my work,
And filled all the holes; then turned with a smirk.
And saving her words, I would tomorrow sigh,
And giving me a look, out of the office she did fly.
She freed my sorry editor, dusted her off with a smile,
And away she tottered without the least bit of guile.
But I heard her exclaim, as she packed up her bikini,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good ‘Finis’!”
[‘Twas the Week Before Christmas, Karen Docter © 2007]
[[Inspired by ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, attributed to Clement Clarke Moore.]]
Looking for a cute contemporary romance to slip into your stocking? Take a peek into my novelette CATCH THAT SANTA for only $.99!!
CATCH THAT SANTA
BY KAREN DOCTER
O’r the river and through the woods, to Grandmother’s house we go…
When widow, Sara Marks, hears her Grams has gone on the lam from Happy Acres Residence on Christmas Eve – on Santa’s arm, no less — she teams up with sexy stranger, Francisco de la Vega, to chase the couple down with one thing in mind. Keep her Grams from becoming Mrs. Claus. Of course, Francisco’s grandfather is not really Santa Claus, but Grams did run off to Vegas to marry him and she’s obviously not in her right mind.
Sara leaves her seven-month-old baby, Lanie, with a friend and she and Cisco head west in the worst snowstorm in decades, chasing his grandfather’s ’57 Ford Fairlane over the river and through the woods.
Will they catch Santa and his crazy Mrs. Claus before it’s too late? Or will love stop them in their tracks?
(Novelette, approximately 17,000 words/50 pages)
CATCH THAT SANTA
BY KAREN DOCTER
“What do you mean, Grams ran off with Santa Claus?” Sara Marks stared at the first floor orderly, Buddy Cantor, who’d met her outside her grandmother’s room at Happy Acres Residence. She could barely catch her breath after dashing through the facility carrying her sleeping seven-month-old. It had taken her a full thirty minutes to drive from the church near her apartment across Denver’s snow packed streets in her crotchety, old Ford, when it should have taken ten. Twenty minutes too long if her grandmother was truly missing.
She should never have gone to the Christmas Eve service. She’d suspected Grams was up to something when she called and told her to come later so she could take a nap before their usual dinner together. There was something in her voice, but Sara hadn’t paid enough attention with little Lanie fussing in her ear. “Next thing you’ll tell me is Santa took her to the North Pole in a sleigh pulled by reindeer.”
“No. A gold ’57 Ford Fairlane convertible.” The man shuffled uneasily in the doorway. “And they’re headed to Vegas. We think.”
“Vegas.” Movement in her arms made her aware Lanie was fully awake and ready to play. She grinned up at Sara with two shiny new bottom teeth, like she’d woken up just to laugh at her great-grandma’s latest flight of fancy.
Oh, Grams, what have you done?
Sara frowned at the orderly. “This is insane,” she said. “She has to be here. You searched the building? She loves the arboretum.”
Buddy nodded. “We’ve canvassed the entire building, mast to deck. Stem to stern.” The orderly fancied himself a sailor, although Sara couldn’t see how buying a bass boat gave him the chops to litter sailing terms through every conversation she’d ever had with the man.
“Could she be hiding for some reason?” There was never an inkling Grams was unhappy at Happy Acres. Or that her faculties were failing. The woman might be pushing eighty but she was still sharp as a tack. It was her mobility that forced Sara to accept her grandmother’s insistence she move to this facility.
Happy Acres was a large complex with suites on the west side for more independent residents, while those who needed assistance lived in the east wing. Grams had moved herself into the east wing after her fall four months ago, claiming it was time she move out of Sara’s tiny apartment anyway and make room for her first great-granddaughter. Sara argued until she was blue in the face but her independent Grams had already signed the papers and paid the upfront, non-refundable fees. It was a done deal by the time Grams asked Sara to help her pack.
A knot of apprehension grew in her chest, right above where little Lanie was elbowing her sternum. Sara smother her growing panic and laid the baby on the bed to remove her new hat and coat. “Okay, so Grams isn’t here.” She picked up Lanie and refocused her attention on the orderly. “When did she leave with this Santa Claus? Did she know him?
“Of course, she had to know him, or she wouldn’t have left with him!” She frowned. “Why do you think they’re heading for Vegas?”
He reached into his pocket and handed her a folded piece of paper. “Your grandmother left this note on her bed.”
Sara unfolded the paper. Sara, baby, don’t fret. Santa’s finally come, as I told you he would. Getting married in Vegas. Your Christmas present is under the bed. Don’t wait till tomorrow to open it. You’ll need it. Love, Grams.
There was a postscript. P.S. Didn’t have time to water my begonias. Please take care of that for me before you come? Can’t wait to see you!
Grams’ hold on reality was becoming dicey in Sara’s mind. “I don’t understand.” She glanced around the small room at the begonias Grams babied like children – fifteen begonias to be exact, scattered on bookshelves, an antique dresser and armoire, on the floor near the sliding glass doors that led to her private patio – as if the hand-painted pots also held the answer that would end her confusion. “How long has she been gone?” she asked.
Buddy shrugged. “We’re not sure. Last time anyone saw her was at the Christmas party before dinner. Santa was here handing out presents to all of the residents.” He reddened. “She sat on his lap and whispered something into his ear, they disappeared soon after that. No one knows when they left the building. We weren’t even sure she’d gone off with him until we found the note a few minutes ago.”
“Did you check under the bed yet? The note says there’s a package. There has to be more, some reason, something to tell us what she’s doing. Maybe it’s in there.” Not daring to leave Lanie on the bed unattended she handed her to her favorite raspberry-blowing buddy, put a hand on the edge of the bed, and began to drop to her knees on the floor.
“Oh, no,” the orderly said, trying to hand Lanie back. “Let me do that! You’re going to get your pretty Christmas outfit dirty.”
“I’m already down here,” she said, pushing his legs out the way so there was room for her to stick her head under the bed’s dust ruffle.
There! Just out of reach toward the wall at the top of the queen-sized bed. A large, rectangular box wrapped up in colorful images of Santa Claus and Ho-ho-ho greetings. A muffled chortle from behind her told her Lanie was occupied by Buddy for the moment, so she tried to snag a piece of wrapping paper to pull the box toward her.
“Umph.” She shuffled a few inches on her knees, her fanny sticking up in the air. Undignified, but she’d worn her wool pants and heavy silk sweater to church and there was no one to see besides Buddy.
Bestselling author, Karen Docter writes two different kinds of romance novels…Contemporary Romance w/a Karen Docter and Romantic Suspense w/a K.L. Docter.
Karen’s contemporaries are cute & spicy romances. She loves writing about real men and women with dreams and goals that don’t allow for a relationship just so she can throw them in each other’s path…with a tickle and a smile. Her romantic suspense novels are also filled with romance, although the dangers the hero and heroine face are intense, usually because a serial killer is bent on ending one or both of their lives before they can fall in love.
Karen/K.L.’s an award winning author, a four-time Romance Writers of America® Golden Heart® finalist, and won the coveted Kiss of Death Romance Writers Daphne du Maurier Award Category (Series) Romantic Mystery Unpublished division.
When she’s not saving her characters from death and destruction or helping them fall in love, she loves camping and fishing with her family, reading, gardening & cooking. If she can do most of those things over a campfire, all the better!
Links to Karen’s website, blog, books, etc.
Enter HERE: http://www.romcon.com/giveaway
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Five (5) full-length suspense/mystery/ thriller novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors JERRIE ALEXANDER, KIM CRESSWELL, K.L. DOCTER, RACHEL KENT and MARIAN LANOUETTE!!
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