With apologies to Clement Moore
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not an editor was clicking, not even her mouse.
The edits were finished and attached with care
To a word document sent through the air.
The authors were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of six-figure advances danced in their heads.
And Barbara in her cubicle and Tammy in her own
Had just settled their brains for a talk on the phone.
When out in the bookstores there arose such a clatter
Susan Salley went dashing to see what was the matter
Away to the store she road with Mark and Renee
For Santa had bought all our books on his way.
The authors were cheering as they reported that earnings
had gone through the roof. "Get the presses turning,"
Tammy said in the phone. And Meagan called Barbara
"It's better than Tiger Woods. It's better than Oprah."
The moon on the breast of the new risen numbers
Woke the writers from their snorey midlist slumbers
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a 98 Toyota with eight happy autheers.
With a gleeful driver so happy and smart
I knew in a moment it must be Barb Scott
More rapid than eagles her authors they came
She whistled and shouted and called them by name
Now Judy! Now Jennifer
Now Richard and Ariel
On Christa and Sandie
On Cynthia and Rita
To the top of the charts
To the top of the shelves
Now write away! Write away
Write away all!
As dry pages that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky
So up the best-seller list the authors they flew
With hearts full of stories and synopsis too.
And then in an email I saw the reviews,
Of each of the titles, my heart was amused
We all did so well, so good and so happy
This Christmas our books we'll all be wrapping
Barbara sprang to her keyboard, to her team gave a call
And near they all gathered like glitter on a disco ball
And I heard her exclaim as she left for vacation
"Good reviews to all, and to all a nice royalty statement."