Are you up for a giggle?


Shall we have a little fun at the big boys' expense? Why not? So here is my take on an annual favourite from an author's weird mind.


'Twas the night before Publication Day, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The computers were stoked for action in the office with care,

In hopes that tomorrow, all my dear readers of sagas would be there;

The files were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of Facebook,Twitter and Google danced in their digi-heads;

And there was I, leaving aside my author’s cap,

And settling down for a good night's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash,

Tore open the curtains and threw up the sash.

The moon shone peacefully on the newly-fallen snow

Giving the lustre of stardust to the lawn below,

When, to my startled eyes there should appear,

A miniature sleigh, pulled by eight tiny reindeer

With a little old driver, by the name of Zuckerberg, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment my books were getting some schtick.

More rapid than eagles in flight the books came,

As Mark whistled and shouted, and called them by name;

"Here, Bella! Here, Kay! Now, Ettie and Daisy!

My heroines gathered around him like crazy!

"To the top of the saga list," he commanded. "To the top of the pile!

Now fly my lovelies, sell away with you all!

As dry as the leaves that before a hurricane fly,

No more disasters for you beauties or casualties to die."

With the sleigh full of books, and Jeff Bezos waiting,

I happened to hear the call of a philanthropist’s mating!

Then down the chimney came Bill Gates with a bound.

He was dressed all in Microsoft and looked really sound,

Then I spied, a little perturbed, that all the way down from head to foot,

His good deeds were tarnished by ashes and soot;

Still not to worry, for a bundle of laptops were safe on his back,

Though he looked more like Dishy Rishi opening his bank.

His eyes -- how they twinkled!

His cheeks how they dimpled!

The key to his fortune he held tight in his teeth,

And the dollars they encircled his head like a wreath;

Then who should appear, but the ghost of Amazon - a wily old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

This controversial old publisher indicated there was nothing to dread;

For he spoke not a word, but gave me a look,

And filled all the stockings with hundreds of my books.

Laying his finger on the side of his nose,

He blew me a kiss, then up the chimney he rose;

Artful old Amazon sprang on his sleigh and gave a loud whistle,

And away soared the books like the down of a thistle.

Then I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,

"To all you dear readers, you’ll never be short of a twist in the tale; with Carol's new book you'll sleep sound at night!"


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