I bumped into the fact that children’s books have about 500 words, yesterday. There was probably some sort of distinction between what kind of children and what kind of books, but 500 words. I can do that.

I can not do that.

In the first place, what I wrote is about twice that. Probably more, when I get it all polished and shiny. It’s still short for an adults’ story, but it’s not any 500 words.

And… in the second place…

As if there needed to be a second place…

It’s about the monster who eats Santa Claus.

Well, he sees some old guy sneaking around a little girl’s bedroom at night and figures that’s someone who needs to be eaten.

So, the rest of the story is about what they do, while they are waiting for the monster to shit… I mean, poop… Santa back out.

I actually like the idea of a monster delivering presents. I’m kinda betting that a monster doesn’t have a lot of preference between the naughty kids and the nice kids, so everybody wins.

And yes, I’m aware that something horrible happens to Santa Claus every time I pick up a pen. I never liked him, anyway.