It’s that time of year again, where I feel the urge to go parody some classic of holiday literature.  It would not be Christmas if I didn’t write doggerel and share it.  So here is my holiday contribution as the first blog for the twelve days of Christmas giveaway.  (Actually my blog is the 13th day, but we won’t quibble over that, because 13 is not a lucky number)

Any one (muser or otherwise) who posts a holiday greeting will be automatically entered in a drawing for a bound copy of Small Town Christmas.  This anthology is only available for purchase in e-book form, but I have one last precious printed copy.  The anthology features stories by Jill Shalvis, Katie Lane and myself.  It’s a great, short read. 

Ya’ll have a merry Christmas and I hope Santa is very generous to you all this evening.

How the Muse Got her Groove Back

Every author in Blogville liked Christmas a lot

But the Muse, who lived just north of Blogville, did NOT.

The muse hated Christmas!  The whole Christmas season!

Now, please don’t ask why.  Does a muse need a reason?

It could be that Christmas was so darn inspiring

Authors found words without even perspiring.

But I think the most likely reason is simple

The muse enjoyed making all authors feel dismal.

But, whatever the reason, she hated the bloggers

As she brooded on Christmas Eve, sipping a lager.

For she knew every author down in Blogville could write

They just didn’t need her, and that just wasn’t right.

“And they’re getting published!” she snarked with a smirk

“Even at Christmastime, and that just doesn’t work.”

Then she flounced to her boudoir and put on her makeup.

“It’s time to get busy for a big Blogville shakeup.”

For tomorrow, she knew, all the bloggers would wake,

And hoist a few glasses and of feasts would partake

They’d do it without her.  They’d be merry and bright.

And not a single sentence or word would they write.

They would drink and be happy and all would ignore her.

But I, the great Muse, I could play saboteur.

Why, they haven’t invoked me for centuries, now,

I need them to adore me again, but how?”

Then she got an idea!  Of course she’s a muse.

Ideas are her thing, and this one was a doozy.

“I know just what I’ll do!” the Muse sighed without stress.

And she ran to her closet and pulled out her red dress.

Then she checked herself out in the mirror to see

If she still had her mojo.  Then she chortled with glee,

“I’ll seduce all the authors and make them realize.

That they need me whenever they improvise.”

Then she sashayed into Blogville, right into the bar

Where the authors had come from both near and from far.

There were bold ones, and pretty ones, and a couple were meek,

And they’d all come together for a Christmas critique.

The Muse entered the bar and sat down on a stool

And arched a thin eyebrow and looked oh-so-cool.

She offered up edits to a few works-in-progress,

Doling out help like a queen with her largesse.

She stayed put for some time, giving help and advice

When at last a young author asked, “Hey what’s the price

For services rendered?  Or are they all free?

And if they are, honey, will you come home with me?

At which point this young author found himself in a bind

Because ten other writers had the same thing in mind.

And you know what happened next, it’s a hackneyed old plot.

When the fists started flying at that watering spot,

The Muse slunk away with a nefarious grin

It had all come together.  She had scored a big win.

Tomorrow she’d find them all weeping and whining

And when they invoked her, she’d be stretched out, reclining.

“Every writer in Blogville, the rich and the poor

Will soon be boo-hooing, they know they need more.”

So she paused and she waited to hear lamentation

Or maybe, just maybe a real invocation.

And she did hear a sound rising over the snow.

But no invocations!  No. They were still making merry.

No, this couldn’t be so!  How could they be merry?  But they were.  Very.

She stared down at Blogville! The Muse popped her eyes!

Then she shook! What she saw was a shocking surprise.

Every author in Blogville had called a big truce.

And they all blamed the Muse as their simple excuse.

Be it Christmas or not, they had all stopped creating.

For their muse, it would seem, they were all simply . . . waiting.

“They love me,” she thought, and the thought made her glad

“I don’t have to play favorites; that just makes them all mad.

“Screw invocations, I’ll just visit when I want to

“I’ll fade in and fade out and still ski in Vermont, too.”

“They will learn to adjust, and they’ll love me even more

When I don’t very often darken their door.”

And with that, she took off for a little vacation.

And from that day to this, she’s ignored all invocations.