Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, - not even a mouse:
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there...
Clement Clarke Moore
If you were to write a Christmas Eve short story or poem where would you begin...are the stockings hung by the chimney with care? is your fictional or real house quite different than the one Clement Moore writes about? Here's my fictional story start.
The night before Christmas I woke up earlier than usual. The house was dark and I tripped over the electric heater in the dining room. Rubbing my bruised leg I headed towards the kitchen and prayed that someone remembered to buy coffee.
On my list for the day: stocking stuffers, a dessert for Christmas day, presents wrapped, a vegan alternative planned for Jason's new girlfriend and the sheets in the guest room needed to be changed. With Mark getting laid off at Thanksgiving there wouldn't be many presents under the tree this year. But the kids really loved their stockings and with good timing I could find discounted items right as the stores were closing. Next year will be better I told the kids although I didn't believe it myself. A handful of coffee beans lay in the bottom of the jar, not nearly enough for a pot of coffee...but maybe enough for a French press?
Today, add to this story...or start another fictional story. Now get back to work!
The Writing Nag