Santa (this dude on the left, if you're unfamiliar) recently asked me to help him with a Christmas project for my sister, Rachel. He plans to hide her main present in a certain room of my house, and asked me to create a scavenger hunt in different rooms of the house, ending with her gift. Today I wrote up five clues to be attached to Candy Canes, the first of which she'll find in her stocking, the last of which will lead her to her new bike.
The second candy cane she finds will have this note attached:
Congratulations! You're well on your way,
I want you to work for this gift I brought on my sleigh,
Here's another clue to help in your looking
You'll find it in the room where your Mom does the cooking.
The scavenger hunt continues, and even includes a fake-out, in which Rachel will receive one clue that says her gift is in the basement, but then will arrive in the basement to find a note:
Ha! I got you… you thought your gift was down here!
Santa has a sense of humor, my dear
Eventually, Rachel will get to her bike. I decided there needed to be a final note on the bike - to bring closure to the scavenger hunt. My writer's block kicked in after the first five verses, and I struggled to find appropriate rhymes for the last one.
Hoping for some helpful feedback from my friend Amanda, I sent her this:
I hope you're excited, you've found it at last!
Be careful not to drive it too fast,
Always wear a helmet - safety first
Merry Christmas dear Rachel, I hope it's not cursed!
I then proceeded to laugh about the word "cursed" (which I obviously did not intend to use in the real poem, but I had to entertain myself through my writer's block) for several minutes. I tried to find alternatives, interjecting the word fun into my poem, but my useless rhyming dictionary only suggested that I rhyme "fun" with "Satan."
In fact, I frequently use Satan in my methods of achieving fun: my mom has decorative letters she puts out every Christmas that spell out Santa, and I tend to make a game of re-arranging them to spell "Satan" and waiting to see how long it takes her to notice. She gets really mad.
When I told Amanda how hilarious I found my "cursed" poem, she suggested that perhaps I need more sleep. I pointed out that between 12pm yesterday and 12pm today, I slept for 18 hours (don't judge me for my gluttonous sleep habits, blame the surgery and the meds).
In my well-rested state and with a clear mind, I've decided to become a writer of children's books.
First titles to include "Fun with Satan," and "Behave, or Santa Will Curse You."
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