By Cindy Carraway Williams

‘Twas the day before a manuscript due, when all through the house,

Mom and kids were stirring, our cat chased a mouse.

I gripped my coffee mug with care,

In hopes that I could settle into that office chair.

My husband warm and cozy snoring in bed,

While I shook out the cobwebs from my still sleepy head.

And me in jammies, I hoped for no mishap,

With kiddos on Christmas break, they’d never take an afternoon nap.

When I turned on my computer there arose such a clatter.

I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.

Cat had knocked over our potted plant,

Given to us by our great, great aunt.

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The phone blared and gave me a fright.

It was my editor, Ms. Frostbite.

Her voice animated, lively, and quick,

I knew in a moment I couldn’t pretend sick.

More rapid than bullets, my excuses they came,

I coughed and sputtered and called them by name.

I’m busy! My kids they’re home!

I had to cook dinner! And clean vomit from the throne!

The relatives arrived! And my printer broke!

By midnight, I’d need a cigarette smoke!

Excuses. Excuses. They’d be my downfall,

My time was short by the clock on the wall.

Help me, God, I wanted to cry,

I banged on my computer, and the words they did fly.

Oh no! A knock at my door.

Who could it be? I didn’t need more.

Ms. Frostbite stood dressed in holiday red,

I got a whiff. I’d just burned the bread.

A bundle or two she held in her hand,

I glanced in the hall mirror, not looking so grand.

She waited for me. Her eyes full of merry,

Cold weather had made her nose like a cherry.

Her mouth wasn’t in a thin line,

Did that give me reason not to whine?

A designer bag she held by her side,

I couldn’t believe she’d made such a long ride.

Thin and fit, she’d make a cute elf,

I laughed and laughed in spite of myself.

She stepped inside pointing me back to my task,

For I knew what she wanted, I didn’t have to ask.

I handed her my work of art,

Not sure our publisher would want any part.

She read and read,

While my mind filled with dread.

After a quick chuckle, she wrinkled her nose.

I’d had it up to here so I rose.

Ms. Frostbite said I carried too much doubt and fear,

God had given me a gift, that was most clear.

No need to worry and procrastinate,

The publisher wanted another, and I’d better not be late.

She took all that I’d written,

And I clutched my throat, I was so smitten.

After she left, I had to pray.

Thanking God I could write again after Christmas day.

Cindy Carraway Williams was born and raised in North Carolina. Growing up, her family’s back door remained unlocked so family and friends could enter into their home away from home. Memories overflowed and stories flourished around the kitchen table especially at dinnertime, Sunday lunches, and holidays. She learned Southern cooking from her mom, can bake a cake from scratch, and to this day, never follows a recipe’s directions exactly as written.

Thinking she’d become a romance writer, Cindy soon realized God had other plans. She writes Southern fiction, nonfiction, and is working on her third book. Her first book, If A Church Pew Could Talk, is written from a church pew’s viewpoint. It won first place in the 2022 BRMCWC Foundations Award in speculative fiction. Her next book, Praying Proverbs Over My Tween Girl will be released in early 2026. Her work in progress, Man in the Lake, won first place in the 2025 BRMCWC Foundations Award in mystery/suspense fiction. On her website, you may find a blog or two written from a Christmas tree or her dog’s perspective.

Cindy enjoys traveling with her husband, visiting their twenty-something daughter in Florida, reading, hiking, and biking. She lives on the North Carolina coast with her husband, and their family dog, Jumanji.

Connect with Cindy on Facebook  Facebook and Instagram, @cindycarrawaywilliams or at www.cindycarrawaywilliams.com.