A Visit from St. Nicholas

(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a keyboard was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hope that e-readers soon would be there;

And the writers were nestled all snug in their beds

Dreaming of royalties and hits on their webs;

And me with my batches of pitches and queries

Searching for agents like sugar plum fairies;

When outside my condo there arose such a clatter

I put down my Ipad to see what was the matter;

When what to my wandering eye should appear

But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer;

‘Twas St. Nick himself, the one and the same

And he whistled and shouted and called them by name:

“Now, Kindle! now, Kobo! now, Itunes and Sony!

on, Smashwords! On, Nook!  Lets’ earn them some money;”

On his back was a sack with organic hemp liner

Chock full of tablets and none made-in-China;

And I heard him exclaim, while stuffing stockings with glee,

“Don’t know what to write?  You can blog about me!”

And he roared as the reindeer soared out of sight –

“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

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