The Nightmare Before Christmas...

...is going out in the cold.

I decided to go ahead with the storywriting; I'm going to try to put together an idea I had back in like 1997. I was going to write a novel called Chick 9 about a girl who gets recruited to balance the equation between good and evil. I know, it's campy. But I was 16. But that's about how old I was when WS came to life, and look where that's taken me. Anyway, I wrote an intro post; it's up at www.chick9.blogspot.com. I'll write chapter 1 when I get around to working out a few plot details- I don't think I'm gonna get an entire storyline worked out quite yet...I just want to start writing and see where it takes me. It's like this- when you read a book, you know where the story is going a few paragraphs down, and perhaps for the rest of a chapter. But you don't really know what's going to happen down the road. That's how I wrote my first novelette, "Hunting the Predator" (an unlikely sequel to Jurassic Park and The Lost World) when I was 15, and that's kinda how I want to deal with this. It's just to get my gears spinning and the creativity portion of my brain to exhale a bit anyway. I was watching a bunch of The Neverending Story at Hollywood today; that's what encouraged me to get started on Chick 9. Well, I started scribbling notes about possible stories, which is when I remembered this crazy idea I cooked up in high school. Enough.

"'Twas Three Days Before Christmas"
'Twas three days before Christmas and all through the 'Budge
Not a patron was stirring- no brownies, no fudge.
The name tage were stuck on the wall without care,
Which explains just why losing one isn't so rare.
"It could be worse out," he had been told;
But Tim sat there bored, afraid of the cold.
All alone in the office he stared at the screen,
Hoping that vending would all be found clean.
When out of the chair he jumped with a start,
Blood pumping faster away from his heart.
Away from the office he ran with the cash-
On toward the bank, as fast as a flash.
When what to his much pissed off skin should he feel,
But below-freezing temperatures; his face had turned teal.
Would even his car make it? (Hey,it's a stick)
But toward it he ran, his blood running thick.
More angry than normal he ran looking lame,
He growled and called to his car by her name:
"Hey Katie, I'm freezing, I want to go home!
This isn't the time to meander or rome!
To the street, to the bank, and then on to my house!
I don't care if you're quiet or loud as a mouse!"
So in her he scrambled, and started her up,
His hands 'round his mouth in the shape of a cup.
And then in a frenzy he raced to the road,
The gears barely work, as if pulling a load.
He made a wrong turn and was turning around,
Pressing the gas, taking off in a bound.
He shivered like mad from his head to his foot,
His hands on the heaters as if taking root.
A bundle of pressure he put on the gas;
He looked like a drunk to the cars that he passed.
His eyes how they squinted, he wasn't that merry,
His cheeks were like ice blocks, his nose like a cherry.
The lips on his face were all pursed like a knot,
And the bones in his fingers were not getting hot.
When he breathed all the vapor blew out of his mouth,
And it frosted the window like wind from the South.
He slowed by a stop sign but not did he stop;
Refusing to, even if there was a cop.
This wasn't no picnic, not jolly was he;
And he sneered at the people who said he would be.
He hated Wisconsin, and just shook his head-
He wanted to be home all warm in his bed.
He spoke not a word but went home from his work,
Got out of his all warmed-up car with a jerk,
Walked up to the frame of the door to his stead,
Thinking only of being all snug in his bed.
He sprang to his room and slept fast with a whistle,
And to dreamland he flew like the down of a thistle.
But first he exclaimed as he snuggled up tight,
"The cold really sucks, but I'm in for the night!"
THE END

And now, to make this story come true...Keep it.