Christmas 27: The Christmas Stocking

She had pretty much given up on Christmas. Sure, she liked all the trappings that came with the season – the trees, the ornaments, the lights. But it was all too...commercial, too fake. No one really meant any of the things they said when they wished you a Merry Christmas. It was just like someone saying hello or goodbye. It didn’t mean anything.

Andrea had felt this way since she could remember. Since her father had gone away and left her and her brother to fend for themselves. That had been the worse year in memory, and she often over did during the Christmas season just so she would be too tired to remember it. This year was going to be even better. [Better than what?]

Tonight her work was throwing a company party. ["work" is a verb. Her company was throwing a Christmas party.] Being the Friday before Christmas, it made things cramped for time, but she’d already packed most of what she’d need. She looked forward to the party – lots of noise, music, food and the yearly bonus the boss handed out.

She needed the bonus to finish paying for her trip, booked for Christmas Eve. Her brother was going to be out of town, and she didn’t want to spend it with any of her married-with-children friends who’s [whose] happy holidays brought nagging memories. This year she was going to be gone on a cruise ship known for it’s partying atmosphere. Despite having saved all year for it, her bank account was still on the red side – needing that bonus money to cover stuff till payday. It was her present to herself.

Looking around the apartment, satisfied with it’s clean condition, [tell us what she saw; what was the "proof" of its clean condition?] she glanced again at her own appearance before picking up her wrap, purse and keys. Her red satin dress with the slit up the side, her high heels and fake stole were all stunning; her hair had been worth the cost, laying in wild dark curls around her shoulders. Satisfied, she stepped out and locked the door, passing the apartment next door with a twinge of guilt that she firmly pushed aside. Everyone at work would be bringing a friend – but she hadn’t invited anyone. Jared was the only one she talked to with any regularity, but she wasn’t sure he was someone she wanted to take to a social function, he always seemed so laid back. What if he didn’t have a suit? [Who is Jared? Need more here.]

The clouds were heavy and hung low in the sky, a sure sigh snow was on it’s way. She flagged down a taxi and told him the address where the party was being held. This was going to be the kick off night – she could hardly wait.

***

Packages were mis-delivered to his apartment all the time. Jared was used to telling people that he had their stuff. In fact, the postman regularly left them with him now, figuring it was sure to get to the right people that way. When the package came for his neighbor, his heart skipped a beat.

Not one to push his company on anyone, he hadn’t seen her very much, exchanging even fewer words. But he thought she was gorgeous, and he definitely wanted to get to know her. He day dreamed about her all the time – having her over for dinner, showing her his collection of Victorian Christmas cards... [use real punctuation]

But he hardly ever saw her, and they had been neighbors for almost 5 years now. Perhaps now...now she would have to see him, and he wondered if it would make any difference.

[We need some stronger indication that he's thinking of Andrea. Give us a description.]
***

It wasn’t until two in the morning that Andrea stumbled up the stairs, so tired she couldn’t see straight as she tried to find her door key. The party had been even better than last year, the bonus had been exactly as expected, and she could hardly wait for Christmas Eve. Stopping in front of her door, she focused on a post-it note stuck there, and frowned. A package?

Squinting at the note, she shrugged. It would have to wait till tomorrow – there was no way she was going to knock on someone’s door this time of night.

[Need a break here, not below.]

The sound of someone knocking worked it’s way through her sleep numbed brain, and Andrea pried one eye open to focus on the clock by her bed. 11:30 am...most normal people would be up. What in the world?

***

Jared stood outside her door, nervous and excited at the same time. When she answered, disheveled and wrapped in a robe, he became embarrassed.

“Yes?” she mumbled, eyeing him warily.

“Um, you got this package,” he said, feeling like a fool. What was he thinking? She wasn’t even going to remember him later.

“Oh yeah.” She stared at it and him blankly, before opening the door. “Come on in.”

He gulped and entered, afraid she would change her mind. “Uh, did you get the note?”

“Yeah, but I got in real late,” she said, sitting down on her couch with her feet tucked under. [under what? her? the couch? a pillow?]

She didn’t seem eager to take the package, which puzzled him and he placed it on the low coffee table.

“Does it say who it’s from?” she asked, looking at him tiredly.

Surprised, he looked at the return address. “It says Morgan Waterson, LA.” [Who is Morgan Waterson?]

“Oh.” She reached out and picked it up, suddenly interested in the contents. In no time she had cut open the tape with scissors and pulled out a thin felt stocking, the kind kids used to hang for Christmas years ago.

There was no sound – she stared at it with her mouth hanging open as she held it from her fingertips as if afraid to hold it tightly.

“That’s...um, that’s cool,” Jared said, feeling awkward. “Is it yours?”

She nodded, her eyes looking suspiciously moist. “I - I didn’t know it was still around.” There was a small note tucked in the top, and she pulled it out, wiping at her face. “Mom found these before she died,” she read out loud. “I forgot to send it on to you. Merry Christmas, Morgan.”

Sighing, it seemed as if she deflated with the air leaving her body, the stocking falling to her lap with her limp hand. She looked so forlorn, Jared wanted to pull her into his arms.

“I haven’t seen this stocking since I was a girl,” she told him, absently stroking the faded felt. “Not since my dad left us.” As she rubbed her fingers over the fabric, there was a crinkle of paper, and she felt inside to discover an envelope, yellowed a little with time, her name written on it.

“What in the world...” she slipped a finger under the flap and ripped it open to read it through before looking up at Jared, her face draining of color. “It’s – my dad – I,”

Jared reached over and gently pulled the paper from her fingers, since she wasn’t going to be able to say it out loud and read it for himself.

“Dear Andrea: Never doubt that I love you. Leaving you this Christmas was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I’m going away to battle, and it’s likely I won’t come home, so I didn’t want you to have to deal with that. Its probably the coward way out, but I wanted you to remember me here, and not think of me wounded or dying half the world away. Take care of your mother, she needs you, and remember your brother loves you too. You will always be my little sprite, Love, Dad.”

Tears were running down her cheeks when he looked back up, feeling a catch in his throat and an ache in his heart. “I –,”

She shook her head, wiping now at the tears. “I know, you don’t even know me, but you see, I thought he’d just left us. Mom never explained, only that he was gone. We never knew...or at least I didn’t.” She took the letter back and pressed it with shaking fingers. “I always hoped he come walking back someday.”

Jared wished now that he’d never come. What a terrible thing to have during the Christmas season! It was like getting a telegram from the past that someone had died.

“I’m glad you’re here, Jared,” she said softly, still looking down at the paper and touching it softly. “You understand.” [we need more clues earlier in the story that they are close friends.]

He stared at her in surprise. “What?”

She smiled through her tears, as if her heart wasn’t breaking. “You have always understood – you see – you know everything that goes on.” She tilted her head to one side as she regarded him. “Why haven’t you ever asked me out?”

He gulped, feeling his palms start to sweat. “I – I was afraid you would say no.”

Her giggle surprised him and she looked up, her face still wet with tears, her eyes sparkling with a light that captivated him. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to ask you. How do you feel about cruising?”


Watch your grammar, sentence structure, spelling. There are a couple of places where you use two words when it should be one word or hyphenated. Use words to create scene breaks, not ***. Ellipses almost never work. Use real punctuation.

Show us more, don’t tell. Give us some inner dialogue, more description of setting, physical appearance. Identify your characters better. You throw out names and the connection is not always clear. Unless it's a mystery, the reader wants to know the connections right off.

The relationship moves a little too fast to be believable and the characters need to be developed more. The biggest problem you'll have to deal with is that I don’t believe for one second that her mother never told her about her dad. It doesn't make sense—unless her mother is long dead or mentally ill.

What I liked best: Your description of the main character in paragraph 5.

Magazine ready? No. This is not really short story material. You've got the beginnings of a holiday romance story. It would take some work, but I could see you expanding this into a novel or a Lifetime Christmas movie.

Christmas 24: Lydia's Christmas Wish

The glow from the Christmas party filled her heart as Lydia entered her bedroom and twirled around, still hearing the music in her mind. What a wonderful evening, she thought, stopping and clasping her hands to her chest where she could feel her heart beating like a wild thing. Never had she enjoyed such company! [good opening paragraph for this genre]

The past year had been long and dreary as she’d mourned her father. Thankfully her aunt and uncle had taken her in, bringing some joy back to her life. While not destitute, she hadn’t been left with enough dowry to attract anyone of title – her father had left debts that made selling the estate imperative. Her hopes, therefore, had not been high as guests came to call on her aunt and uncle. They were popular and wealthy, so their guests were much the same, and wondrous to behold. [don't tell us they're popular and wealthy; show it to us by describing them in some way.]

But tonight! Oh, it had been glorious! She had met so many who were kind and fulsome [assuming this word is appropriate for your setting, but it's not clear what your setting is] in their compliments. She knew that she had looked her best in the new gown her aunt had given her. Royal blue in color, it brought out the sparkle in her eyes, and offset the fairness of her skin. Her long dark hair had stood out [awkward] against the many blondes in the room, and she had found herself the object of such attention that she’d been nervous.

Her aunt had waved most of them away, except for one gentleman whom she’d introduced with a small bow.

“This is the Earl of Whithersby,” she’d said in warm tones. “He is a dear family friend and neighbor, as his property is just over the hill. This is my niece, Lydia.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, my lord,” Lydia had curtsied gracefully, after which he bid her rise. [would she really need his permission to rise? There's not that much difference in their social class.]

“Please, call me Lawrence,” he’d insisted, his eyes warm and friendly in his face carved in handsome lines. [I'm imagining Pride and Prejudice here—and it would be inappropriate for him to ask her to call him by his first name so soon.]

They had danced several times, which seemed to set tongues wagging, [good] she could hear them as they passed. He ignored all of it, keeping her supplied with punch, and then insisted on taking her in to dinner. It had been an evening of dreams and she felt her heart beat quickly, thinking him very attractive. She felt as if she knew him already, as her aunt spoke of him any moment he was absent. Aunt Margaret held him in the greatest esteem, espousing nothing but praise for his management and appointment.

With a dreamy sigh, Lydia settled on the window seat, gazing out into the cold, crisp night. She watched the clouds drift past the moon which cast soft light on the snow covered ground. It was the Christmas she had always wished for. This evening...[don't use ellipses] this was the type to make memories from. Caroling with friends, sipping hot wassail, shopping in the stores along London’s busy streets. [she did all this, plus dinner and a dance in one evening?] The trip to London had taken quite a while to describe in the little notebook mother had given her upon her 12th birthday.

“Oh Mother,” she said, pulling a soft blanket around her shoulders and leaning back against the window frame. “I wish you could have been here, you and father.” [drop the journal; give us this info in some other way.] The ache she felt for her mother had been tempered by time – she’d died five years ago. The ache for her father, however, was fresh and seemed always with her. They had grown close the years before his death, spending many hours in front of the fire, reading to each other and conversing about what they read. If only she could find a someone to be with, like her father had found with her mother.

There was a light tap at her door, and she turned to see her maid, Gertrude, enter.

“Oh miss!” the girl exclaimed, seeing where she sat. “Tis late to be sitting in that cold drafty window, you’ll be catching your death, you will!”

Lydia sighed and submitted to Gertrude’s administrations. Soon she was under warm sheets and blankets, reviewing the evening once more. My only wish for Christmas, she thought drowsily, is to see the Earl – Lawrence, again.

****

Morning dawned snowy and cloudy, and Lydia gradually became aware of the lovely smell of hot chocolate and the sound of a fire crackling. She sniffed the air appreciatively before throwing back the bedding to grab her wrap, hoping Gertrude was lingering nearby. Sure enough, the minute she picked up her cup and saucer, there was a tap on the door.

Downstairs, the atmosphere was still festive, the decorations gleaming from last nights party. She hurried to the parlor, as Gertrude had informed her that’s where her aunt and uncle waited. [Did she get dressed first?]

“You have a guest, miss,” the butler said before she got to there. “He’s waiting in the Parlor.”

Lydia’s heart quickened its beat, nerves slowing her steps. She licked suddenly dry lips, and stopped at the doorway to the parlor, the lovely scene with the decorated tree and roaring fire losing any appeal once she realized who the visitor was. [awkward]

“My Lord!” she gasped, putting a hand to her throat. “What a surprise!”

The object of her cherished dreams stood, coming to her side where he bent over her hand, his warmth and distinguished good looks unchanged. “Good morning, Miss Lydia,” he said, his voice setting her stomach to butterflies. “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas to you,” she replied, missing the warmth of his fingers when he released her hand. [good] “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He smiled, waving her to a chair. “Please, sit down,” he entreated. “Would you like some hot cocoa or wassail?” [It's her home; he would not invite her to sit or drink, she would ask him.]

Lydia felt sure that her hands would tremble too much to hold anything without spilling. “Oh, no, I am fine, thank you.”

The Earl seemed ill at ease and paced a few steps as Lydia stared at him with wide bemused eyes, scarcely believing he was here to see her. Finally, he turned and knelt down before her chair.

[Up to this point, your story has the makings of a fine romance—great descriptions, the requisite attraction, a few stumbling block, lots of dreamy sighing and racing pulses. But this is where you lose my willingness to believe the story.]

“My dear Lydia,” he said, his voice low and tremulous, causing her pulse to quicken even further as he took one of her hands in his. “I know this must sound mad – I have deliberated all night, but have been unable to see any other solution. I realize I am a stranger to you, but could you...um, might you...consider marriage to me?”

She stared at him in confusion, her heart telling her that he’d felt the same as she had, yet her head refused to acknowledge it. He must have seen the signs of faintness because he was up and reaching for the bell pull, but she stopped him with a gasp; not wanting the whole house in an uproar.

“I am not certain I heard you correctly,” she managed to whisper, her eyes searching his face.

He knelt again, taking both hands in his and lightly rubbing them with his warm, strong ones. “My dearest, I fear that I’ve frightened you,” he admitted, his voice husky. “But I cannot think of life without you. Please tell me that you don’t despise me – that I have some worth in your eyes!”

Lydia shook her head, feeling as if she was still sleeping -- this had to be a wonderful dream from which she didn’t want to awake.

“I regard you with nothing but the highest respect,” she finally managed to say, looking into his handsome face which was flushed with emotion. “I could never despise you.”

“Then you might be persuaded to consider my offer?” His grip, while tightening, was still gentle as he held her hands, and Lydia felt it was a anchor for her heart.

“I would be pleased to accept,” she heard herself say, a song beginning in her heart. “I am stunned that you think so highly of me.” [No! It's too soon.]

He smiled and leaned closer to her, touching her face with feather lightness. “It would not surprise you, I think, to know your aunt has continually brought your virtues to light before your visit. I feel as if I’ve known you for ages, and have anticipated your arrival with much eagerness.” [huh? Need more set-up for this.]

Lydia gazed at his fine boned face, seeing the warmth and sincerity in his eyes. “You do me much honor,” she said softly. “You have already spoke with my Uncle, I presume. Does my aunt know?”

The Earl smiled. “I’m sure they are waiting to toast the occasion.”

“Then we should not keep them waiting,” Lydia said, letting him assist her up.

He paused before they reached the door, however, and pulled her into his arms as if unable to stop himself. “I never dreamed you would accept,” he murmured in her ear. [then why did he ask?] “You have made me incredibly happy, my darling. Happy Christmas,” he said in a soft whisper, pulling back to slip a delicate gold ring on her finger. [No ring.]

Lydia gazed at it in wonder before raising her face to meet his lips in their first kiss. She only wished her parents could have seen this day...the day her Christmas wish had come true.

You've got some run-on sentences and a few other technical mistakes. Don't use ellipses. Don't use *** to change scenes. Find the right words to do it for you.

The romance moves much too quickly. Even in the time period you've chosen, I do not believe he would ask her to marry him so soon. There needs to be some struggle, some possibility of it not working out to create the needed tension. Take it slowly, give us more depth. Perhaps have him ask if he may call on her.


What I liked best: your descriptions of Lydia, her surroundings, her thoughts and feelings, dialog that I assume is appropriate for the time period. You create a good sense of time and place. Good first paragraph for the genre.

Magazine ready? No. This is really not a short story. You have too much happening in too short a time period. Consider developing this into a novel, where you can take the time to develop the characters and their relationship.

Christmas 23: Christmas Once Again

The season is here,
I can’t wait to be free
From this stuffed cardboard box
Where she always stores me

Along with all the others [awkward]
Who can’t wait to get out
To decorate this home
Before the next Christmas sprouts [punctuation]

The ornaments are chatting
About where they’ll be on the tree [punctuation]
The star is bragging,
He’ll be on top, you see [punctuation]

That snowman she puts
On the same windowsill,
He complains all the time
About the persistent chill [punctuation]

And that ‘Santa in a Sleigh’
Who’s always happy and gay,
Is getting on everyone’s nerves
With his singing today [good image]

But like every other year
The time has finally come [for what?] [punctuation]
As soon as the children are in,
The excitement, the fun [punctuation]

We’ll scatter the home
Colours of green white and red [awkward] [punctuation]
The tree will be decorated
By tonight, it is said [punctuation]

I hear her footsteps
As she approaches the closet [punctuation]
My heart is pounding
And we all have gone quiet [punctuation]

When she opens the box
I take a deep breath [punctuation]
I couldn’t be more ecstatic
Yet I’m scared to death [punctuation]

I’m at the bottom of the box
So it’ll take a while [punctuation]
Those pretty snowflakes are first [punctuation]
Their sparkles make her smile [punctuation]

She’ll decide where to put us
Giving us all great fear [awkward]
But we end up in the same spot
Year after year [punctuation]

When it comes my turn
I’m ready to be hung [punctuation]
There’s a special hook for me [punctuation]
It’s always the same one [punctuation]

Next to the kitchen,
Close enough to the tree,
I have the most magical spot
In the whole house, you see [punctuation]

I smell the cookies being baked [punctuation]
I can watch the TV,
Best of all, people kiss
When they pass under me [punctuation]

My pretty gold ribbon
And lush green leaves,
Plenty white berries
And attractive prestige [what about them?]

Those two little reindeer
Are next in line [punctuation]
Near the fire place they sit
Their red noses do shine [punctuation]

The young ones are talking [punctuation]
School is out for a week [punctuation]
They’ll go play outside
While she fixes them a treat [punctuation]

I see through the window,
The snow falling down
Silently, perfectly
Onto the barren white ground [punctuation]

I admire each snowflake
Perfect and unique [punctuation]
The icicles fall from the rooftop
Like a tiger’s angry teeth [good image] [punctuation]

While the children play
Their warm snowsuits on
Carols are heard in the kitchen
As she sings along [who is she?] [punctuation]

Finally Dad comes home [punctuation]
They run to say hi
They all come in together
For hot chocolate and pie [punctuation]

He brought home a tree
And some candy canes [punctuation]
The kids dance with excitement
Around the choo-choo train [punctuation]

Suppertime has come
Darkness takes over the sky [punctuation]
They thank God for the food
And a great holiday time [punctuation]

I watch as they all
Decorate the tree [punctuation]
Bright lights and balls
Strings of popcorn and cranberry [punctuation]

The smiles on their faces
Make me feel content
To be a part of Christmas,
A time so joyfully spent.

The tree stands up tall
Its radiance makes me high [punctuation]
They gaze at its beauty,
It’s so elegant, they just sigh [punctuation]

The kid’s eyes open wide
To a plate of shortbread cookies
Lightly coated with icing,
Green sprinkles and cherries [punctuation]

They fall asleep [who is they?]
Beside the warm blazing fire
Above which the stockings hang [punctuation]
Oh! they must be so tired

It’s now time for bed [I thought they were already asleep] [punctuation]
Dad reads them a story
About Jesus and the Angels
And Christmas Day’s glory [punctuation]

Soon tucked into bed
They dream about Christmas [punctuation]
Three carolers come,
Mom and Dad watch with bliss [punctuation]

Once the carolers have gone
They’re now all alone [punctuation]
Only a few candles burn
In the stillness of the home [punctuation]

They’ll go to bed too [punctuation]
Tomorrow will be another long day
But of course they stop
Under me along the way [punctuation]

When their lips meet
I feel such glee [punctuation]
A simple sweet kiss
Can bring such ecstasy [punctuation]

Now I hang here majestic
Waiting for another enchanted day [punctuation]
Christmas is the best time of year
And that is all I can say [punctuation]


It's very, very difficult to write in rhyme. Your sentence structure, rhyme pattern, and meter is often forced, awkward and stiff. In verse format, it's much harder to follow your story. I'm guessing this is mistletoe talking. You also need to put in some punctuation. It seems a few things are out of order. First you speak of some decorations that are already out of the box and in place. Then in the middle, you have the mother pulling the box of decorations out of the closet to be put up. Also, you have the children asleep before they're put to bed. You have some sweet scenes, but I'd like to see this done in standard story format, not poem, and have those scenes developed a little more. I would also give it a different title.

What I liked best: The concept of a story told from the point of view of the Christmas decorations. That is pretty unique and intriguing.

Magazine ready? No. It would need rewriting.

Christmas 22: The Little Mouse that Almost Ruined Christmas

This is a story about a little mouse [punctuation]
Oh, not an ordinary mouse,
That finds his shield [huh?]
in the woods or the field [punctuation]
Or maybe even in your house [punctuation]

Tom, Tom didn't just live anywhere, [don't repeat the name]
He chose his hiding place with much care [punctuation]
The Grand Central Restaurant,
Is the best any mouse could want,
And Tom sure liked living there.

Each and every eve,
Just after the cook took his leave,
Tom would come out
Eat cheese, potatous, [sp] trout
And just a little beef [punctuation; forced rhyme, doesn't work]

But Christmas, Tom held most dear, [punctuation]
There was a party every year, [punctuation]
The cook cooked his very best,
The waitress wore a flower on her chest,
And all of it happened right here [punctuation]

When Christmas was still a week, [huh?]
Tom was hungry, and food he wanted to seek [punctuation; awkward]
But the cook was still cooking
And the waitress could be looking, [punctuation]
If she saw him, she would surely shriek [punctuation]

The hunger he just couldn't stand
And food was oh so close at hand [punctuation]
Over the shelf, behind the dishes,
Down onto the table with the fishes
He followed his route as planned [punctuation]

Just when he was nibbling something off the plate
That thing happened, of which he was most afraid [forced; awkward; punctuation]
Tom, hungry as he had been,
Didn't see the waitress come in.
But she'd seen him and her reaction didn't wait [punctuation]

"MOUSE, MOUSE!" she screamed very loud [punctuation; does not rhyme with shout and out]
The guests in the restaurant heard her shout [punctuation]
Women climbing chairs, yelling terrified [punctuation]
Men picking up their knifes, looking petrified [punctuation]
Others were just running out.

"If only I had seen that mouse," the cook began. [punctuation]
"I would have chopped off his head and fried him in a pan."
"If only I had seen that mouse," said the head waiter. [punctuation]
"I would have taken my tray and smashed him little later."
But only the waitress had seen him before he ran.

Tom had gone back into his hiding hole, [doesn't rhyme]
Behind the fridge, in the wall
But the damage had been done.
After most of the panic was gone
The restaurant manager called them all [punctuation]

"This is very serious," the manager began.
"I know," grumped the cook with his frying pan [punctuation]
"I know," said the head waiter, with a dignified nod [punctuation]
"I know," peeped the waitress, still shaking on the spot [punctuation; doesn't rhyme]
"We can't stay open, there is no way we can." [good stanza]

Hearing this, Tom turned suddenly very cold, [punctuation]
No Christmas this year, and all his fault [punctuation; doesn't rhyme]
He would have to try his best,
To save Chrismas for every guest
And wat he did next was very bold [punctuation]

He stepped onto the middle of the table
And just before the cook was able
To smash him with his frying pan
As only very good cooks can
The manager screamed STOP, quite formidable [punctuation; doesn't rhyme]

Tom was still shaking slight, [punctuation]
The managers yell had given him quite a fright.
He thought of what best to do,
now that he wasn't smashed in two, [clever]
And found the following would be right.

Tom said: "I wonder why,
I cannot be your ally."
"That is a great idea,
It should have been made by me,"
The manager said in reply

So they started of with this idea
And you can take it from me
That there are only very few
That know more about food than Tom knew
What a Christmas this should be.

They put a Christmas tree in the hall,
And tinsels up on the wall,
They served the most delicious food
The guests couldn't remember it ever being this good
And Christmas at the restaurant was saved after all.


A simple rhyming Christmas story is very difficult; the rhyme structure and meter you've attempted here is not simple. In several places you force the rhyme or the meter and the continuity of the story suffers. It gets a little confusing toward the middle. I'm not sure why the manager is suddenly wanting the mouse to help. We need more motivation. Why do the people need the mouse to help them to decorate for Christmas? Also, it seems the few decorations would not be enough to get the customers to come back.

What I liked best: The mouse. You've got an okay story line—a mouse is hungry, scares the staff and customers, then saves Christmas.

Magazine ready? No. It needs quite a bit of work, but with time and effort I could see this idea being developed into a picture book.

Christmas 19: Believe, Mr. Thomas

Across the desk sat an older, well dressed man, and he was getting on my nerves. Our meeting had been arranged by my Board of Directors, and I silently cursed them when the man asked if I would run his brand new, as yet unnamed Christmas non-profit.

I shook my head in disbelief. "You see, the thing is, um, Mr...."

"Nicholas," he said.

"Nicholas, right. You see, Mr. Nicholas, the thing is I already have a job - a very good one, in fact." I adjusted the nameplate on my desk which read 'Reginald Thomas - Chief Executive'. [good detail]

"Yes, you do have a good job," he said, smiling through his trimmed white beard. "For now." I wondered what he meant by that, but decided not to ask - it would only delay the meeting's conclusion. "Nevertheless, I would suggest you seriously consider my offer, Mr. Thomas."

I was seriously considering a call to security instead. He continued, "Ordinarily I wouldn't bother you with this, but I'm here as a favor to my dear friend Holly Garland." [grandmother's name a little too obvious]

I stopped, and he smiled at me again. "Yes, that Holly Garland. Your grandmother."

"Mr. Nicholas," I said icily, "had you done your homework, you would know that my grandmother died over thirty years ago." The only thing worse than a shameless name dropper was a clueless one. [good]

"Oh, yes. I'm well aware of that Mr. Thomas," he said, "Nevertheless, she's very worried about you."

"She is, is she?" I was beyond annoyed at this point.

"Yes, and she asked me to help you," he answered.

"I see." I couldn't decide if the man was a crazy or a con. Either way, I wanted evidence. Casually reaching into my suit pocket, I started the recorder kept there for just such an occasion. "Mr. Nicholas, do you often speak with the dead?"

"Oh, no," he said, adding with a smile "Only when necessary in my official capacity."

"And just what is that official capacity?"

He leaned forward and said quietly "The Guardian of Christmas."

I gave the man a piteous look and said "Mr. Nicholas..." I stopped, smiling with sudden realization. "Oh, I get it. 'Nicholas' - as in 'Saint Nicholas?'"

"You're very quick, Mr. Thomas."

"Not the St. Nicholas!" I said sarcastically.

"The St. Nicholas," he answered, unfazed.

"Wow," I said, in mock amazement. "Imagine that! Santa Claus, here in my office. I almost didn't recognize you without your red suit and bag of toys." If I was getting to him, he didn't show it. So I kept going. "And you know, you're much skinnier than when I saw you at the mall. I bet the reindeer like that, though. Must be easier to pull the sleigh without all that extra weight." I forced a smile and waited for him to respond.

"There are no reindeer, Mr. Thomas," he said after a moment, with barely a hint of irritation in his voice.

"No reindeer?" I asked, feigning concern. "Well, what about elves? Surely you have elves working in your toy factory there at the North Pole?"

He gave me a look that was more resignation than anger. "The modern Santa myth is a creation of man, and it is unfortunately full of inaccuracies and lies, Mr. Thomas."

"Is that so? Well, you know, since you really are Santa Claus, maybe you should use your Christmas Magic and set things right. You do have magical powers, don't you?" I added slyly.

"I have sufficient 'powers' for what I need to do. But the myth is a creation of man, and man has his agency. I don't presume to take that away."

"I see; I see. So, Nick, with no reindeer or elves or Christmas Magic, what is it exactly that you do?"

"Don't you know?" he asked patronizingly. "Why, I deliver presents to children, Mr. Thomas."

"Really?" I asked. "Is that so?" His head gave a quick nod. "That is very interesting. You see, Santa, I happen to have children. And while every Christmas there are a ton of presents under the tree, I don't remember ever seeing anything from you."

"Mr. Thomas," he said, "I have no issue with wealthy parents who over indulge their children at Christmas," the irritation in his voice hinting this wasn't entirely true. "My concern has always been for children who would otherwise receive nothing."

"Is that so?" I asked. He had hit nerve, and I let him have it. "Well, Mr. Santa Claus, you sure don't do a very good job."

"No?" he said, raising his eyebrows.

"No," I answered contemptuously. "You see, it wasn't so long ago that I was a child who went without at Christmas."

"Yes, I know," he said, the tenderness in his voice only increasing my dislike for the man. "Times were tough after your father's accident, I won't argue that. But if I remember correctly you didn't really go without, now did you?"

I lashed out at the old man. "Of course I did. For years after my dad died, there were never any presents Christmas morning. Ever."

"That's true, of course. But you were still taken care of, weren't you, Mr. Thomas?" He paused, but I didn't respond. "G. I. Joe - 1976; Electronic Football - 1977; X-Wing Fighter - 1978;"

'How did he know about those things,' I wondered. The man had some impressive sources, but I hid my surprise and answered coolly. "Those didn't come from Santa Claus. They were given to me by the cops."

"Yes, of course." He smiled at me. "'Blue Santa' has always been a very fine program. I've truly enjoyed working with the officers through the years. They're some of the best partners I have. Mr. Thomas, as much as I would like to, there is simply no way I could deliver all of the presents personally." Somehow, this idiot was trying to take credit for giving me those gifts. I started to protest, but he continued. "What I can do is use my influence to encourage generosity and giving in others." He leaned forward and looked me in the eye. "Others like you."

The old man had me off balance, but I managed to give him a derisive little laugh. "Like me?" I asked.

"Yes, like you." He leaned back in his chair. "Mr. Thomas, let's get to the point. I'm asking you, not only to be the chairman of this new Christmas charity, but to be it's founder and primary sponsor. I think two million dollars would give it the best start, although I believe you could do a decent job for one and a half."

His words hung in the air, confirming the thoughts that had nagged me all along. He was after my money. His ploy had been good - the best so far. But in the end he was just another money-grubbing beggar, and I knew how to handle beggars.

Before I could act, however, he had yet another surprise for me. "You have made a lot of enemies in your climb to the top, Mr. Thomas. It won't surprise you to learn that one such enemy is now on your Board of Directors. I have it on good authority that this person will be pressing for your replacement at the board meeting in February. They intend to assassinate you with your own reputation, and I believe they will make a very compelling case. I am offering you an opportunity to create a new legacy for yourself. If you start immediately, this charity will rebuild your good name in time to save your job."

I stared at him, dumbfounded. He was not just asking me for money, he was trying to blackmail me for it. I was incensed! "Now, listen here, you old..."

But at that point he stood quickly, stopping me with a look. "Think it over, Mr. Thomas. I'm confident you will do what is right." And with that he turned and left the room.

I started blankly at the door for a long time after it closed. A crazy old man claiming to be Santa Claus had just tried to blackmail me and extort a large sum of money, ostensibly to create a Christmas charity. I could hardly believe.

But I knew I could make a jury believe it. I had what I needed to put the old man in jail for many Christmases yet to come. I quickly took the recorder from my pocket, skipped to the beginning, and pressed 'play.'

Instead of the muffled sound of my own voice as I expected, I heard Mr. Nicholas' deep baritone leap clearly from the little speaker. He was singing.

"He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake."

My mouth hung open. "I don't believe it," I muttered to myself.

"Believe, Mr. Thomas," said the voice on the recorder. "And have a Merry Christmas."


Except for a few typos, I can't find much to fix in this story. It gets a little long when Mr. Nicholas is explaining about the Santa myth. You could shorten that and still get the message across. You do very well with the dialog, both between Mr. Thomas and Mr. Nicholas, and with Mr. Thomas' narrative. It's fun. It's clever. It's touching. Very well done.


What I liked best: The "voice" of the man. It's great.

Magazine ready? Absolutely!

Christmas 14: A Dark and Cold Miracle

Elder Jensen was not a good missionary. He knew and I knew it. He wasn't terrible, he just wasn't very good. He kept most of the rules most of the time, and never did anything which was out and out sinful. He just didn't want to be in Finland. That, in and of itself, didn't make him a bad missionary. Not many people voluntarily go to Finland in the middle of winter. Where we were, just south of the Arctic Circle, the sun rose at 11:00 a.m. and set at 2:00 p.m. The language was hard and the people weren't interested in religion. They were interested in cross-country skiing, ski-jumping and vodka, and not in that order.

So when I say this was a Christmas miracle, I don't mean the kind of miracle where Jenny, the orphan girl gets a new pair of shoes, or where a mysterious stranger appears out of nowhere to change your tire, so you can make it to Christmas dinner. This was something else. This was a true Christmas miracle, the type of miracle where someone's life was irrevocably changed as they were literally transformed before me.

We were going through the motions. Elder Jensen had been out of the MTC for about a year, while I had been out for six months. I made sure that we went out every day and knocked on doors and started conversations with strangers on the street. But his heart wasn't in it. His heart was back in Utah, in some cow town I could never remember the name of. I don't remember her name either. Something like Mary Kate or Mary Beth. What I do remember is that he was very tall, about six foot five, and she was very short, about five foot nothing.

He talked about two things only: Mary What's-Her-Name, and basketball. Apparently, Mary was the most wonderful girl in the world. She was beautiful, funny, spiritual, creative, a good cook and a good kisser. Her only flaw was that she was small, and therefore, the five sons they were planning to have would not be tall enough to get to the NBA. He was willing to overlook this flaw, because, you see, he was in love.

He showed me her picture. She was cute, but not Helen of Troy cute. He would read passages of her letters to me. She came across as who she was, a young, naïve girl. She wrote page after page of her undying love for her missionary, and speculated on the wonderful life they would live together. It was as syrupy as you can imagine.

Of course, she didn't realize that she was killing any chance of him becoming a good missionary. He didn't have any time to work. His life revolved around getting the mail and talking about getting the mail.

Also, we played a lot of basketball. I can't deny that it was kind of fun to be with Elder Jensen. He was the senior companion, so I didn't feel too guilty. I read my scriptures and studied the language. But really, we were just killing time.

Christmas was coming and it was getting darker and colder. Elder Jensen had just passed the half-way point of his mission, the "Hump Day." He constantly reminded me that next Christmas he would be with Mary. This began to get old.

The miracle started, as miracles often do, with a traumatic event. Think back on some of the more memorable miracles and how they started: Lazarus dying, a terrible storm on the Sea of Galilee. This was worse than that. You see, suddenly, Mary's letters stopped.

At first, it was not a problem. A day or two was fine. She had missed days before. Sometimes the mail came in bunches. But a day turned into a week, then two, and then three. Elder Jensen was going out of his mind. We stopped working altogether. I think we even stopped playing basketball. We went to the mailbox at least five times a day. All he did was write letters to her and ask me what I thought was happening.

This was not a mystery. It is the oldest tale in the mission field. I knew what had happened. After two weeks, I told him what I thought had happened. She met someone else. Of course he got angry at me. She was not "like that." So I kept my mouth shut and we did nothing. Christmas was getting closer and I started to get depressed. I got him out of the apartment a few times to knock on some doors, but I was hoping for a transfer.

Then it came. The letter. The unthinkable had happened. Mary What's-Her-Name had met someone else, a returned missionary. She wrote that although she had feelings for Elder Jensen, these feelings were mere infatuation and puppy love. She now knew what true love was. She was sorry, but knew it was for the best.

Elder Jensen was devastated. Some days he was angry and depressed. Other days he switched it up and was depressed and angry. One day he had the epiphany that all girls are evil and could not be trusted. He had turned into a walking cliché.

I tried to keep his spirits up. We even had a "funeral" for his love. We burned her picture and flushed the ashes down the toilet. It didn't help. Christmas was only a few days away. I hadn't received any gifts, likely because packages took a long time to get to us. I was anticipating the darkest, coldest, most depressing Christmas of my life.

You can't predict miracles, and I sure didn't see this one coming. Three or four days before Christmas we spoke to a woman on the street who agreed that we could come by her home and give her a Christmas message. The next day we knocked on her door and were invited inside. To be honest, I don't remember much about her. She was young, single, and was probably more interested in American boys than the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I started to talk about Christmas and the true meaning behind the season. I wasn't even sure if Elder Jensen was paying attention. I looked over at him and he had his bible opened to Luke. He asked if he could read some passages to her. He read her the story of the first Christmas. It was a story we had all heard a hundred times before: Mary, the inn, the manger, and the shepherds. But something was different this time.

As I watched Elder Jensen read it, I could tell that it was really affecting him. His voice started to shake and he started to tear up. He finished reading and closed the book. He looked at the young woman and bore his testimony. He talked about a Father in heaven who loved him and the fact that he sent his perfect son into an imperfect world. He talked about the Savior's lowly birth, glorious life and his incredible sacrifice. He spoke of his gratitude for the atonement and the gift of eternal life.

People talk about having Christ in their countenance. Before that day, I never really knew what that meant. But as Elder Jensen continued speaking, his face changed. His eyes came alive and his skin glowed. Although he looked like the same person, he also looked like a different person. Even now, twenty years later, it is difficult to find the words to explain what happened. Saying that his face was "literally shining" sounds wrong, except it was true.

From that day forward, he was on fire, a changed man. Something in those scriptures had touched him to his soul. He was a disciple of Christ on a mission to share the good news. We worked hard, knocking on doors, preaching in the street and bearing our testimonies. It was energizing to be around him.

Don't get me wrong, he was still the same person. We had fun. He still loved basketball and he still missed his girlfriend. But even though he was the same person, he was a totally different person, if that makes any sense. His priorities had shifted and he knew what was really important.

I'd like to say that we went on to baptize hundreds of people. We didn't. We were together for another month until transfers split us apart. I heard through the mission grapevine that he was able to baptize a few families. I had some modest success as well.

I saw him the next fall, when he had a month or two left in the mission field. I was pleased to say that his face had not changed. He still shone with the gospel of Jesus Christ. He radiated joy, hope and good will. And if that isn't a Christmas miracle, I don't know what is.

You don't need these last two paragraphs, but I do like the last sentence.


What I liked best: That it's the Christmas story from the Bible that creates the Christmas miracle. I also like your clever, conversational style of narrative, and that it's not your usual Christmas miracle.

Magazine ready? Yes.

Christmas 13: Reggie's Special Xmas

It was two days before Christmas and little did Reggie [this makes him sound like he's 5] know that this would probably be his most memorable Christmas ever. ["little did he know" never works in a story; too cliché] Just two hours earlier, sitting in his favorite chair in the family room, he had candidly stated that Santa was indeed real and that he fully anticipated hearing from him on Christmas day. Our family had been talking about the upcoming day and the kids were relating what kind of gifts Santa would bring them. Rena, being all of 12 and thinking she was much older than that, had made a snide remark about the true existence of Santa. Reggie, being just a year younger, had suddenly piped up and declared that Santa was indeed real and she shouldn’t be talking like that. He further added that we needed to arrange the coffee table and chairs in such a way that Santa would have a difficult time getting through to get to the cookies and milk we would be leaving him. Anything disturbed would be conclusive proof that he indeed existed. Marty our youngest, always known for his skeptical nature, seemed to side with his brother, probably won over by his enthusiasm. [don't tell us about this conversation. Let us hear it. Give us the dialog.] My wife and I exchanged a quick glance only to catch Rena’s intersecting our gaze. It’s as if in a telekinetic way we all wanted to say, “Reggie still believes!” I was personally pleased because throughout their whole childhood we had always tried to let them imagine that the world would always be full of wonders and magic. Yet Reggie wasn’t done yet. It was his turn to state what he wanted for Christmas. He totally surprised us when he said he had always wanted a signet ring, the kind that has an initial on the face. [this is hard to believe] At that moment I resolved to make this Christmas a very special one for Reggie. I was determined to keep this magic going as long as I could.

The next day, the 24^th of December, I rushed out to our local jeweler, Fort Richmond Jewelers. I explained to the owner what had happened and what I needed. He stood there for a few moments, his mind quickly doing an inventory of his jewellery stock and he then ambled off into the backroom. He returned clutching a little brown velvet box in his hand. He slowly opened it to reveal a sparkling silver ring with a blank face. He explained he had the engraving tools to make an initial but he needed to state that this was an extremely busy day being the day before Christmas. However he would try to get it done before the end of the day. I thanked him gratefully and left. [Again, give us the dialog.] I was now on to phase II of a plan I had hatched the night before. I stopped at my neighbor’s place to see if I could borrow his huge winter boots. Lindsay was a police sergeant, an imposing figure of a man with a shoe size to match. After hearing my story, he quickly obliged. I then fetched the ladder and pulled out an 8-foot 2x4 board from under the deck. I placed everything on the hidden side of the garage out of view. I went in the house and whispered my plan to Bonnie, my wife, as I ate lunch. No sooner had I finished lunch that the phone rang. The signet ring was ready! I hurried to the store and there waiting on the counter was the silver ring sitting beside a small beautifully decorated box. I paid him and thanked him for all his help. As I stepped outside I noticed the sun’s rays were already slipping down into the horizon, reminding me of the short days that the winter months bring us. Once again home with the little box tucked away in a fold deep in my winter jacket, I winked at my wife acknowledging that everything was advancing as planned. That night, as soon as the kids were tucked in, I slipped out of the house. I gently placed the ladder on the eaves troughs and started climbing it with the 2x4 in my other hand. [Is he nuts? Climbing onto the roof in the snow and the dark?] Once on the roof, I methodically tiptoed on the bare spots on the roof to reach a wide 20cm high snowdrift. I reached out as far as I could and slid the 2x4 board in a straight line leading up to the ridge cap. I mentally measured what distance would be between Santa’s sled’s skis and made another impression in the snowdrift. I then looked around for a place to hide the small box. I located a perfect spot near the chimney pipe and tucked it in a way that it remained visible only when you were standing on the actual roof. Pleased with my work and feeling content about the whole day, I climbed down and went to bed.

We woke up the next morning to the shuffling of feet and the sounds of gifts being weighed and shaken. The Christmas rules were that everyone had to be present to open the gifts so the kids were quite excited to see us coming down the stairs. Once the gifts were open, a traditional Christmas breakfast followed. [what?] After breakfast, Reggie and Marty decided to phone their neighborhood buddies for a street hockey game. During the winter months on our street, this was a daily occurrence. In no time at all, a team of Thompson’s, Hancock’s, Kocay’s, D’Heilly’s and Bilodeau’s was assembled and playing a spirited game of street hockey. All of a sudden Stu, one of the boys’ friends, happened to look up and noticed some strange markings on our roof. The whole game came to a sudden halt. It was quite a scene to see all of them gazing up at the roof with a puzzled look on their faces. One of them mentioned that it sure looked like the tracks of Santa’s sleigh. Reggie immediately wanted to check it out. I mentioned that it was risky to go on a roof in the winter but also agreed it needed to be checked out. I told him I’d hold the ladder while he climbed up. Reggie was quite accustomed to this activity as the boys helped me out during the summer months replacing roofs. Once on the roof, I yelled out to him asking him what he was seeing. He yelled back that it definitely looked like Santa’s sleigh. He also wondered if I had done them but then shouted out that the boot prints in the snow were absolutely huge. [give us the dialog] I then heard a loud gasp. I asked him what was going on. He had spotted the gift box. I told him to go get it, which he did. In no time at all, he was down the ladder in the center of a group of amazed friends. They urged him to open it. Reggie unwrapped the box and gently unfolded the colored paper inside to reveal the silver signet ring. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He showed it to everyone, looked at me with wonder in his eyes and then bolted inside the house to show his mom and sister. The next hour was filled with much excitement. After this special day, Reggie’s firm belief in Santa Clause wasn’t about to be swayed for quite some time.
Technically, watch out for sentence structure, grammar, flow. You need to create multiple paragraph breaks. The title "Xmas" is going to be offensive to some readers. I'd like more sensory detail, some dialog, and a little more depth to the characters. I don't really believe that an 11 year old would want a signet ring; nor that the father would buy it on what is essentially a whim; nor that he would hide a little box up on the roof and let his boy climb up there in the snow to look for it. A toy of some type dropped behind the Christmas tree is more believable.

What I liked best: The idea of the dad wanting to extend his child's belief in Santa and going to great lengths to do so.

Magazine ready? No. With some depth and rewriting, this would make a good short story.

Christmas 11: Walking in a Weevil Wonderland

I love my job. There’s something incredibly satisfying about hunting down werecreatures and blasting them into oblivion. Of course, since I’m on call as soon as the moon rises, it plays havoc with my social life, and a lot of guys get turned off when you say that you’re basically an exterminator. But that’s the price you pay for keeping the world safe, or so I tell myself whenever I’m feeling lonely.

Like every December, we were battling wereweevils. [My dictionary doesn't contain this word, but I'm thinking it would read easier if it were hyphenated: were-weevil.] True wereweevils take advantage of the full moon to open a transdimensional gate from the Wereworld and cross over to ours, to destroy Christmas and the entire Christmas spirit. They chew anything that looks or smells or sounds like Christmas, and bite anyone who tries to stop them. You can guess by the word “were-” what happens to those who are bitten. Within two heartbeats, humans turn into six-legged creatures with long snouts and teeth capable of biting through almost anything. And if they can’t chew it – Christmas lights, for example – they drool on it, so that the acid in their saliva burns through and destroys it just the same.

Transformed wereweevils chew until the sun came up and they turn back into humans, at least until the next holiday season. True wereweevils, on the other hand, chew until they’ve absorbed enough Christmas spirit that they can sprout wings. Not only can they then fly to any other source of Christmas spirit that they fancy, they‘re also capable of breeding, they can move independently of the moon phases, and worst of all, they’re almost impossible to catch. We make sure they don’t get to that point.

To-night’s wereweevil had been detected less than an hour ago, but Pest-Ex had worked fast. The barricades were already in place to keep the citizens of Thornton from leaving their village, and now the soldiers were rounding up everybody who’d been bitten and forcing them into decontamination. Human wereweevils are notoriously easy to catch. All you have to do is put a Christmas tree or a brightly lit Nativity set in a cage and they’ll run straight into the trap, so intent on destroying everything Christmas that they never notice the door lock shut behind them. True wereweevils are a bit more difficult.

The Pest-Ex helicopter set me down outside the village, where I had a good view of the decontamination center, where the wereweevils are sprayed with GFaM. This mixture of gold, frankincense and myrrh kills true wereweevils and forces the others to return permanently to their human form. I carried a cannister of it in my pack.

“Merry Christmas, Haley,” the ground commander boomed, opening the door of the helicopter for me. “Bruce isn’t here yet.”

“Merry Christmas,” I replied, settling my helmet and pulling my pack on as we walked to the command post. “I’m getting a new partner to-day, from Armitage. Bruce retired and went to Australia.”

“Australia?”

“Yeah, he said he wanted to get used to hot places because he didn’t know how much time he had left on Earth.”

The commander stared at me, obviously not amused, until the moment was interrupted by the sound of a second helicopter landing. A young man wearing the same issue of helmet got out, then heaved a familiar-looking pack onto his back and strolled towards us.

“Walker,” he said. “Luke Walker. And no Star Wars jokes, I’ve heard them all.”

“Moss,” I said. “Haley Moss. And no hailing frequency or rolling stone jokes, I’ve heard them all, too.”

Luke nodded. “Right. No rest for the weevil. Let’s go!”

Once we were inside the barricades, I led Luke west, to Zeppelin Square. This was where the temple zeppelin docked every eight weeks on its eternal round through the different stakes in our district. In between the huge hangar and the smaller stake center, there was a miniature version of Temple Square, right down to the lights, chock full of Christmas spirit. Scanning the area with my binoculars, I marked the lines of dead lights and the pile of chewed rubble that had once been a full size Nativity set. Finally, however, I spotted the small, dark wereweevil working his way up one corner of the hangar.

“If that weevil gets to the temple inside, he’ll have enough Christmas spirit to clone himself twice, wings and all,” Luke breathed. We both dropped our binoculars simultaneously and sprinted towards the gate.

I wanted to explain that we wouldn’t need to climb over the tall fence that separated the hangar from the gardens because I had a card that would let us in. Before I could, however, Luke pulled something from his own pocket and swiped it. The gate clicked open.

“You’re a member!” I exclaimed.

Luke looked down at the identical card in my hand and laughed. Then he said, “Guess what? I’m single, too!”

“What a coincidence.” I showed him my unadorned fingers.

Grinning, we shut the gate behind us and approached the hangar. The wereweevil had reached the roof now, which was used as a parking lot for temple patrons, and as I looked up, a section of the lights that ran around the top edge went dark.

“I’ll take the outside stairs, you take the ramp, and we’ll meet on top,” Luke decided. “You distract, I’ll attack.”

He started up the stairs before I could protest that I wanted to do the attacking. Oh, well, I could straighten him out later. I jogged up the ramp, slowing down as I got closer to the top, and peered around the corner. The wereweevil was walking along the waist-high wall that ran around the roof of the hangar, drooling over the next string of lights. Luke was closer to him than I was, but he had hidden himself from the wereweevil’s sight behind the little building that housed the inside stairs.

I reached behind me and fumbled for the smaller cannister in my pack, pulled it free, flipped the face-plate of my helmet down, and began to advance. When I was about halfway across the roof, I pointed the nozzle of the cannister at my own chest and sprayed, trying not to gag on the scent of wereweevil musk, then clicked it back into place. The wind wasn’t blowing the right way, so I pulled a tiny fan from my belt and held it to my chest as well, pointing it towards the wereweevil and switching it on. It took ages for the scent to waft over and alert the wereweevil to a rival, but then he jumped, intent on eliminating any threat to his authority. When it comes to hunting grounds, there can be only one true wereweevil.

I dropped to my knee to brace for the attack and grabbed the hose of my GFaM tank. The wereweevil hit my shoulders with its front legs, its snout open to bite my head off, but finding only my titanium helmet instead. The force of its jump knocked me backwards, but my nozzle was already in place and I sprayed automatically as I fell. At the same time, Luke leaped out from behind the building, pointing his own nozzle with deadly aim. The wereweevil’s jaws sagged and fell away from my helmet, and its body relaxed into dead weight on top of me.

Alive with adrenaline and satisfaction, I sat up, pushing the wereweevil to one side. Luke reached down, grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet, then inhaled deeply. “I love the smell of dead weevil in the morning.”

I stared proudly down at the dark body, now sporting golden streaks from the particles in the spray, and exhaled a heartfelt, “Yeah!”

Luke heaved the corpse over his shoulders and we walked back to the command post to hand it over before being flown to our next assignment. Halfway there, Luke asked, “So, what are you doing on Christmas Eve? It’s new moon, and nothing will be stirring, not even a weremouse.”

“Watching action films, or maybe science fiction,” I replied. “Want to come?”

“Action and science fiction?” Luke asked. “I’ll be there.”

We walked in companionable silence for a moment, and then Luke said, “Tell me, Haley, when you see humans transforming into wereweevils, do you ever think of missionaries?”

“No,” I said. “Why?”

“Because humans only have two legs, and wereweevils have six?” he prompted.

I waited patiently for the explanation, and Luke started to sing. “I hope they call me on a mission, when I have grown a foot or two ...”

Suddenly, I knew there was no point in making a list and checking it twice. Christmas had come early, and I’d gotten exactly what I’d wanted. He was a member, and single, he’d have no problems with my career or with the fact that I might come home reeking of wereweevil musk, and he had the same sense of humour that I did! I began to hum to myself. Walking in a weevil wonderland …

This is great. Except for a few typos and a bit too much of an info dump at the beginning, this is a good story.


What I liked best: I can't decide. I like the non-traditional take on a Christmas story. I like the mix of LDS culture—it rarely works to do that, but I like it here. It's clever. I enjoyed the puns. I can't think of anything I didn't like about it.

Magazine ready? Definitely!

Christmas 09: Christmas Alive

A long time ago when I was a boy Christmas was a time of candies and toys.

Then came the Christmas when all things would change, right then and there I knew I would never be the same.

It was cold, it was blowing, as the snow piled up outside, my father winked and said lets go for a ride. [Just noticed the rhyme. It's a little distracting.]

My brothers and I knew not the destination, but grabbed our coats and gloves without hesitation. [The rhyme is forcing you into really awkward sentence structures.]

As we climbed in the car vying for our positions my father was smiling with sweet disposition, kids we are going to spread Christmas cheer, to those where loneliness is felt most the year.

We are heading to a home where Grampa had stayed, where there are others who are also dismayed, we will learn what’s most important about living, for kids you will see, time is a present, and therefore, for giving. [Watch your punctuation.]

My brother yelled out I don’t want to go, I don’t want to show up just to put on a show. I don’t know these people and they don’t know me, what benefit can this trip possibly be. As we all piped up about not wanting to go, I noticed something my father would not like to show, it was tear in his eye as he stared at the snow. I touched his shoulder, and said, we are happy to go.

My father spoke up and said, boys, with a smile, we wont stay for long, but a short while. I brought and wrapped these presents for you to give away, so pay close attention to the smiles today.

Ohhh we still wanted to go home and play with our toy’s, doesn’t seem like Christmas for us three misfortunate boys. My father had turned said ok, that’s enough, we are almost there, this isn’t that hard for you three boys to bear.

As the car pulled to the one story building with a smiling father and three uncooperative children. I looked at my brothers in complete disbelief all of the ribbons, lights and the wreaths. We never saw this place [What place? Tell us.] in such a festive manner with Merry Christmas above the door in a red banner. Our feelings softened as my father told us of fables of many great people who share no families table, these are good people and some are very alone, but with your help maybe it will feel more like a home.

We walked in the door with so many people around, so many kind faces made it impossible to frown. My father said boys your now on your own You each find someone that you feel is down and give them a present and lend them your ear, tell them what you have been doing all this past year. Give them a smile, and a hug if so heeded, listen and let them know they are needed. For all of these people were once your age. They have Christmas in their hearts, and were all on the same page.

As we trotted around saying, hi how are you, something inside our young hearts told us just what to do. As my youngest brother was sitting playing cards with a small group of folks, my older was in the corner telling his jokes. I felt alone, but just for a bit when I had noticed a man with a limp and a stick. It seemed he so tall standing straight up, and, standing out from them all, I stared as he stood by the door, as if he was looking for something more. Being so nervous to walk over and say hi, my father just whispered, go on give it a try.

So I walked over and tugged on his coat, with a nervous smile and a lump in my throat. Would you like to play cards or hear one of jokes?

He just turned and leaned on his stick. That’s ok son, my boy will be here quite quick, he told me he would able to make it this year. With the roads being so icy, he is late it appears. I cannot miss him its been more than a year. So I simply nodded and went on my way, and down to room, which was crowded, looking for others to play.

I walked around chatting, With what it seemed like a hundred people in that short time. but I couldn’t get that man off my mind. So I walked back down that long corridor, to see this man still staring, out that frosty door. In that moment I realized just what to do, I walked up to him, and asked how do you do? I like playing games but there is no way I will until I know your name. He just smiled and stated, my name is Alfred, and how are you, I said I am fine, but I am going to be here for such a short time. He said lets sit down and chat or play a game, but son he stated, not until you tell me your name. My name is Bruce, I said with a smile, have you lived here for quite awhile? I have lived here for many a years, since I first felt ill, I decided to come here at my own will.

Is your son not showing up I asked, then I felt sad. It appears that the roads must be too bad. My son is very busy this time of season, but deep in my heart I knew that wasn’t the reason. I felt so bad like never before its like loneliness had opened a door, and taken things from this kind man, the things that mean so much more. So there’s something I would like to be done, I call you grampa and pretend I’m your grandson. I told him my grandfather once lived here but he has been gone for almost five years. I really miss him this time of year, then down his cheek ran big tear. He said son, he’s not really gone, he is up there, watching, and caring he is always near. See all people must go at sometime or another but what you do, when you’re here, for yourself and for others is truly what matters. Christmas is a time of sharing and caring for those time to time, who have lost their bearings. Its like being on a ship, deep at rough seas, without a course plotted, where would you be. So follow the teachings and plot yourself a great course, and always live life without any remorse. Help while you can, try if you should, and keep Christmas alive, in your heart, for always, for good.

We talked for so long as hours passed by, he told me of days when men could not fly. He told me of hardships and of great times, he was interesting, funny and passionately kind, I looked at the clock and I was dreading the time. I knew my father would come for me soon, but I didn’t want to go, I loved being with Al in that big room. And at this time when my dad had found me, he said its time to go, I shrugged my shoulders, and told Al, I would miss him so. He gave me smile a hug and a kiss, then smiled and said Bruce do you know what I wish? You would come to see me when you have some time, I looked to my father, grinning with pride. Absolutely I will see you again, and you can finish your story of the wise men.

As we walked to the door, a man stepped through. He hugged Alfred, at that time I knew, this young man was his son, who told him he missed him, and he had brought everyone. I said with great cheer, Alfred, Alfred, Christmas is here!!! And for the second time, I saw his eyes swell with tears. With a smile I remember all through the years. My dad said lets go, and I grabbed my gloves knowing I had been touched by Christmas love. Alfred became a great friend to me…I suppose you already know….we shared so many stories for a decade or so. I can never forget the laughter we shared, all from a stranger who truly cared. On every Christmas. I can feel his caring touch, from a great man who taught me so much. So on this day let us all do what we can, to help and to comfort our fellow man. For Christmas isn’t boxes and gifts, its sharing and caring........And we all can grant that wish.


This story does not lend itself to the internal rhyme you've attempted. It's a touching and serious story and the rhyme makes it seem sing-song and trivial. Drop the rhyme. There are quite a few technical mistakes, especially with punctuation and sentence structure. I also don't think the title is a good one for this story.

What I liked best: The concept. Dad takes boys to nursing home(?) to teach them the spirit of Christmas and giving.

Magazine ready? It would take some work, but if you did more showing of the events, rather than a straight telling of the story, gave us more description and detail, this could make a nice Christmas story.

Christmas 08: The Story

It was Christmas Eve. Last minute travelers lounged in plastic chairs, waiting for the weather to clear. Flights were either cancelled or late.

A young girl approaching puberty [say teen, or give an exact age] sat beside an old woman with a furrowed brow.

“Are you excited about Christmas?” she asked.

“I hate the holidays. “Crowds, long lines– this," the old woman said, pointing to the fog. [if they're inside, could she point to the fog? If they're looking out windows, we need to know that.]

“I love Christmas!” The girl’s smile, ordinarily infectious, had no effect on the woman’s mood.

“What’s so good about it?” she asked. “I could be home with my feet up right now, if it wasn’t for this stupid holiday.”

“Are you visiting someone special?

“Humph, not exactly what I would call a visit."

“Why don’t you like Christmas?” the girl persisted.

“It’s a lot of hoopla over nothing.”

“What do you mean nothing?”

“It’s a lie," she said tersely. "There was no miraculous birth,”

“For arguments sake, I would say that even if it wasn’t a virgin birth, it was still a miracle,” the girl replied. [vocab is too mature; sounds like two adults talking]

“How could it be a miracle if it wasn’t an immaculate conception?” [Who is your target reader? If your going for children, this won't work.]

“I think it’s a miracle that people traveled from far and wide, just to honor the baby, Jesus.”

“To me there is nothing so miraculous about traveling,” the old woman mumbled under her breath.

“How did they know when the baby would be born? How did they know where to go? It’s not like Joseph and Mary had access to the Internet,” the girl chuckled.

“That’s the way the story goes, it doesn’t mean it’s true,” the old woman’s tone laced with sarcasm.

“So what you’re saying is that we celebrate a story?”

“Essentially, yes. That’s okay, kid, we’ve all been fed the same story.”

“That’s very possible.” She gave the woman's comment consideration.

“Sure it is––like Santa Claus, he’s not real." The old woman stared into large eyes, feeling slightly cruel. “Ah, don’t mind an old lady. Christmas is for kids.”

“I agree, Christmas is for kids,” the girl retorted. “And what better way to celebrate than with a story.”

“You have a point.”

“Do you believe in God?” the girl asked.

“What’s God got to do with it?” the woman responded, clearly surprised by the question. [They're talking about Christmas. Why would the woman be surprise by this question?]

“Do you believe in God?” the girl repeated.

“Yes, I suppose I do, but I don’t believe that He would’ve let his son be born in a barn on a cold winter’s night.”

“You have a point there.”

“I know I do, it’s a ridiculous story.”

“Still, don’t you think it’s rather interesting that the greatest story ever told is about a child?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Only that some think Christmas is for children, and the story is about a child.”

“Christmas is for children,” insisted the old woman.

“I feel like a child at Christmas. I love the pretty lights, giving gifts, being with family.”

“Honey, the retailers get rich, they love Christmas too.” [too many ping-pong sentences without speaker ID; their voices aren't different enough and the reader could get lost.]

“The retailers remind us that Christmas is in the air,” the girl spoke in defense.

“More and more people object to celebrating Christmas as a religious holiday you know,” said the old woman. “So much for the story.”

“What if the purpose of the story is so that at this time of year, whether we like it or not, we all think about the child? Not only the Christ child, we have thoughts about all children, including the child within us. We think about the gifts bestowed upon the child to remind us of the gift of life. What if we are reminded to bring peace and goodwill to others by embracing the story about the child?”

“That’s a nice thought, but not everyone thinks like that. Some think it’s a time to be disappointed.”

“In what way?” the girl asked.

“Not everyone has family to share the holiday with.”

“Jesus was visited by strangers.” The girl said emphatically.

“So where does Santa Claus come into the picture?”

“What if God gave us Santa Claus so we could remember the joy of being a child? He’s a jolly old fellow. He makes us laugh. Laughing is ver