Saturday, December 22, 2012

Stuff my stocking

Merry Christmas!

I'm a dad, which means I was also Santa Claus for a few years while my sons grew from babies and into young men. Now that they're grown up, I no longer feel the need to give them the "big" gift. They can buy that on their own.

This year, I want the Universe or Fate or whoever is calling the cosmic shots to play Santa Claus for the writer in me. I've paid my dues. Trust me. I've got all kinds of scars on my ego. But don't call me a wounded soul; I can still buoy my spirits with enough delusions to raise the Titanic.

What do I want from Santa? Let's get past the obvious: World peace, a cure for all diseases, an end to hunger, yada, yada. Now to my wish list: To start, one of those mega-millions lottery tickets. If I want to write, I'll need a decent pad to park my butt as I scribble my words. A fabulous Manhattan penthouse will do. And one in San Francisco. Maui. Paris. Tuscany. A luxury jet to get around. Fleets of limos. Piles of baubles, houses full of designer duds, hordes of sycophants.

Some of you may try to scold: Mario, money doesn't buy happiness. Don't be so materialistic.
Ha! You haven't met me. I'm so shallow I could drown in a rain puddle. My motives aren't even skin deep. So what if money can't buy happiness. Fine, I'll rent it. The only Christmas spirit I want should be at least 90 proof and come in a crystal bottle.

Once Ole Kris Kringle has ensconced me in the appropriate lifestyle, this is what I want need:

1. The story ideas that spring from my lips to be so juicy that agents scramble after them like terriers after meat balls.
2. My synopses alone to be so good they win Pulitzer Prizes.
3. The words to flow from my fingers and onto the keyboard like money-making honey. Eight thousand per day. Effortless and perfect. Every sentence a literary gem.
4. Book signings so packed that bookstores collapse.
5. My appearances on writer panels to be infamous for my epic bon mots.
6.  Fame that would make J.K. Rowling seem like a wall flower.
7. Sales to make E.L. James burn her books in envy.
8. Movies deals to keep bringing the cash and the lackeys.

Nothing much...really. I'm a simple man with simple needs.
So put in a good word with The Man upstairs. Please. I'll be very grateful.

Happy Holidays.


Daven Anderson said...

Money can't buy happiness, but it can make your misery more fun...

Mario Acevedo said...

Well said, Daven, well said. Happy Holidays.

Irene Bennett Brown said...

I want what you want. Great post.

Irene Bennett Brown said...

I want what you want. Great post.

Mario Acevedo said...

Irene: We'll share! Merry Xmas.

Charlotte Hinger said...

And of course you will pass all your good luck along to the Rocky Mountain Mystery writers.

Mario Acevedo said...

Charlotte: That goes without saying.