Monday Motivations

Last week’s Monday Motivations set you a Christmas theme. So, as the big day is almost upon us, I’ll stick with the seasonal theme. But, as I’m feeling generous, I’ll give you three new themes to choose from:

  • The Gift
  • Magic
  • Snow

I’d love to see what where your creative minds take you, so get writing! Any format is accepted.

Last week’s challenge was to write a story or poem on the theme Christmas Eve.
Here are your delightful offerings:

EDC Writing‘s piece will captivate you:

“He wasn’t there, at least I don’t think so a moment ago?” she half thinks, half speaks.

“Who?” little sister says, answering her own question looking from the ‘pay here’ queue to see what kind of man has got big sister’s attention.

He is there alright, in every sense, lean, just under six foot, curly close cut hair, caressing silk, eyes dancing over candy stripes, somehow not quite him. Little sister does a double take, big sister now walking over to him.

His fingers caress each tie in turn. “A female perspective?” she enquires.

“Yours always” his reply. She takes a subtle blue design, almost on tiptoes leans in to place around his neck. A faint stir, foot to foot his balance shifts, hands unbutton her coat free, both sway, gap between as nothing, little sister’s eyes popping.

The music, no one remembers what or if any, only movement, theirs, timeless, of another world, classic ballroom made sensual, borderline erotic. This world stands still, time gives time for free.

Arm’s length now, tie her hands to his, he bows, escorts her to the line where all completely mesmerised. Little sister’s mouth wide open, seeing yet not believing, big sister dancing in that way, with him.

“Who is he?” she at last gasps …

“No idea,” big sister smiles …“he comes to me this time every year.”

They turn around, blue tie as his eyes nowhere to be seen, present given … and received.


Jason Moody has written a super story:

Christmas Eve

7:37am – I had a really funny dream last night. I was on the moon being chased by three-legged, multi-coloured aliens. I must stop binge-eating Wotsits before bed.

8:02am – Mum’s in the kitchen dancing, rather badly, with Dad, Fran’s sat at the table, glued to her phone. She hasn’t touched her bowl of cereal, and its Sugar Puffs!

8:04am – Fran’s in a mood. I think she might have had an argument with Mark. I say good morning, but she just grunts. She sits and types at great speed. There’s a constant beeping on her phone. It’s well annoying.

8:48am – Mum has spent the last fifteen minutes trying to calm Fran down. I think Mark dumped her by text. He won’t answer her calls. I always thought Mark was a knob anyway.

9:37am – Washed and dressed. I’ve gone for red today. I’m also wearing my Rudolph jumper, complete with bells. I know fashion.

10:02am – Dad’s taking Fran into town. I wish I was, but I can’t. I ask him where he’s going. ‘Wait and see,’ he says. That gets me a little excited.

10:57am – Mum’s funny when’s she trying to park. She’s even funnier when she can’t do it.

11:14am – Doctor Marriard has had a haircut.

11: 15am – I hate chemotherapy.

6:12PM – I’m a bit groggy. Fran is on the sofa – surprise, surprise – on her phone. Mum and Dad are in the kitchen.

6:14pm – Mum fusses me and says that we’re ordering pizza in tonight. For the first time all day, Fran cracks a smile. What could be better? I’ll tell you, Auntie Sharon’s on her way too! She always stays Christmas Eve.

8:06pm – We’re all stuffed. Auntie Sharon and Mum are giggling in the kitchen. I’m feeling a little tired, the Christmas tree lights are blurry and twinkly at the same time. I imagine the next time I open my eyes, it’ll be Christmas.


 Sarah doesn’t often write poetry; I think she should definitely write more:

Christmas Eve Acrostic Poem:

Christmas is the time of year, to bring to men all good cheer.

Humour makes the heart feel glad, Christmas carols are sung so don’t be sad.

Reindeers eat their magic feed, to help out Santa as he has need.

Indulgence lingers everywhere, hidden in mince pies, chocolates and eclairs.

Santa has his sleigh all readily, so he can deliver presents speedily.

Tree is decorated, tall and fine, to warm the hearts of the family that dine.

Mistletoe hung above the front door, Christmas kisses for all who call.

After dinner, the story is read, ’twas the night before Christmas,’ then off to bed.

Sleep is difficult on Christmas eve, but soon it comes and brings sweet dreams.

Early in the morning, the whole household awake, opening bundles of presents with a shiver and a shake.

Very cold this Christmas day, snuggle down by the fire and play.

Early evening – time for Christmas TV, laughing and joking, oh what glee.



Simon Farnell brings you a ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’ tale with a difference!:


And here’s Rajiv Chopra with his festive instalment in the Mary Jane series:

A month passed, and the girls were nowhere to be found. Frodo was now the prisoner, and Spidey had had him bound in a tight web. Sam would come by everyday, smirk, and spit in his face.

“You thought you were so clever, do you?” he would say, while gloating. “You will never get her. Neither will that damned, stupid, arrogant, Spider-Man. She is mine, mine, mine. All mine, my Precious….” His face would cloud over, and then he would simply laugh and walk away. He did not realize that he was becoming more and more like one poor creature who had perished many, many ages back. He was only aware of his hate for Frodo. All the pent-up resentment of the past came back, along with memories of how he had carried Frodo up the mountain, and received scant recognition for it. Why? He had played an equally important part in that tale. Is it because he was just a gardener? “Pah! We shall see about that now, won’ts we?” he would mutter to himself.

The days passed, became shorter, and the wind colder. Winter was well set, and the snow would fall on the grass, making the green sparkle in the cold mornings. The three men had no time or interest in watching the grass grow. All that they were conscious of, was their rage, and the cold. They were staying in a cold house, with no heating. They could not afford anything better. The cracks in the windows would let in the cold, whistling wind, and they would sit there, rubbing their hands together to keep warm.

“If this carries on, my webs will crack,” grumbled Spider-Man. “We have to find those damned women, and put them in their place. What do you say, Joker?”

The Joker sat there and shivered. His white face paint seemed to crack in the cold. He was a very far from the same criminal that had so terrorized the city, and he was beginning to wonder when his luck would turn.

Maybe, the New Year would bring about some luck. They were so close to it anyway.
They sat there shivering in the cold, and the city seemed to be celebrating. They could hear celebrations, and then they heard some passing walkers singing carols.

“Damn these morons,” said The Joker. His tongue flicked in and out of his mouth, as his eyes moved shiftily from one side to the next.

“Yeah,” agreed Spider. “They don’t know that all this is a waste of time.”

Sam interjected. “Shall we go out and get some hot toddy?”

“Where’s the money?” asked Spider-Man.

“That’s what these morons are for, aren’t they?” asked Sam with a sly look on his face.

The light flickered on and off. There seemed to be a crackle in the air, and there was a loud clap of thunder.

Darkness enveloped them, and they got up, cursing.

“Someone’s here,” said Spider. “Let’s move out quickly.”

“What, your Spidey senses suddenly woke up?” sneered The Joker.

“Yes,” hissed Spider-Man, “and, if you don’t shut up, there will be hell to pay.”

A greenish mist seemed to fill the room. Despite the dark, they could just about make out a fluorescent green mist filling the air. Acrid, burning mist, and they coughed and spluttered.

Falling to their knees, they were losing consciousness fast.

A deep, hated voice spoke to them through the fog that was rapidly filling their brains.

“It’s Christmas Eve, my friends. I could not let you celebrate alone, now could I?”

“Damn you, Batman,” said The Joker. “I will get you for this.”

A woman’s voice laughed.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.



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39 Responses to Monday Motivations

  1. DrEMiller says:

    Reblogged this on Write of Passage and commented:
    Esther Newton generously provides three themes for today’s Monday Motivations. Enjoy!
    Thank you, Esther!

  2. Simon says:

    Reblogged this on Planet Simon and commented:
    Have a look at Esther Monday motivations post and my contribution this week.

    Thanks to Esther for running this!

    Simon 🙂

  3. Simon says:

    So… you haven’t been good this year! lol

  4. Sarah says:

    Aww, thanks Esther. I will be writing more poetry when I get more free time. 😀

  5. Sarah says:

    I’ve thought up another poem on the theme of The Gift. 😀 Actually, I’m enjoying writing these poems. 🙂 Thank you for inspiring me, Esther. 😀

  6. Sarah says:

    Here’s another poem called: The Gift

    Granny sat in the huge rocking chair,
    Sitting by the fire all cosy and bare.

    Rocking gently, eyes vacant, the warmth on her face,
    Great memories replaying taking her to another place.

    She remembered a Christmas day as a child,
    Her eyes full of wonder, excitement and wild.

    Where thick snow covered the ground outside,
    She saw children skating on the pond, they did glide.

    She pulled on her scarf, coat, mittens, and hat,
    Then ran outdoors, to join them, but skidded and fell flat.

    She ran back indoors and cried to her mom,
    How she wanted to skate but fell on her bum.

    Her mom dried her tears and spoke soothingly,
    Then she opened her presents while her mom brewed some tea.

    Granny smiled, these thoughts were such a wonderful call,
    Then realised, sweet memories are the greatest treasure of all.

    I really liked this one, I hope you do too. 🙂

  7. Helen Jones says:

    Some lovely Christmassy content, Esther! Wishing you and yours a very merry Christmas 🙂 xx

  8. Hi! I ran across your themes while stuck in a busy airport on a delay. It helped! Tho’ I’m not sure of the rules and conventions, here are 343 words on “snow” from the 44th imaginary parallel.

    Let it Snow

    By Mitchell Toews

    THE THREE GATHERED, tall and awkward, beside the street. They stared wide-eyed at the traffic streaming down Richelieu. A daylong drizzle had just begun to turn to fine snow and they stood back from the curb on the grass, partially hidden by a cluster of birch trees.

    Streetlights glowed in the falling snow and the wet pavement seemed to steam.

    The tallest of the three was conveniently the oldest too and she studied the cars as if she might know one of the drivers. She tracked each vehicle as it passed. Eager to lead them on a dash across the street, she waited for a break in the line.

    The street was jammed with shoppers carrying home last minute gifts, food and bottles of wine. Buses, trucks and taxis competed for space. On the road too were churchgoers; their minivans loaded with robed wise men and lowing cattle, cozy in their car seats.

    Everyone had a place to be that evening.

    On slender legs, the three sisters hurried to the far side where Walker’s Creek Park waited in still, dark contrast to the busy rue.

    After crossing – heels hollow on the pavement – they regrouped and carried on along the sidewalk. Red taillights lit the roadway, snaking down the slope to the traffic signal below. A few drivers called to them; others whistled but they were ignored.

    Reaching a broken section of park fence, each in turn stepped through the breach, lifting their legs well above the tangled wire. Close now to their rendezvous they hurried towards the trail in the woods which was obscure in the dim light.

    There they were! Shoulders hunched and stamping the snow they huddled in the overgrown cusp of the woods. Their masculine faces were caught in the flickering glare of headlights from Frontenac Drive as vehicles merged with the moving river of red. Their breath showed in white clouds through the branches.

    Eyes bright, the three young does held their heads up to scent the males and then cantered, forelegs high, across the sleety grass.

    The End

    Copyright Mitchell Toews ©2016

  9. Rajiv says:

    What Mitchell Toews and Sarah wrote is super!

  10. Rajiv says:

    Mary Jane now continues…. Snow, Magic, and The Gift rolled into one!

    Following Christmas, it had started to snow heavily. It was the first time in many years that there had been so much snow, and the city, had become white and quiet. Everyone was indoors in the foul weather until, one day, the sun broke through the cloudy cover that had blanketed the city in the weeks following Christmas, and lit up the sky.
    The sun was out, shining through a blue sky, and the air was cold and pure. Crisp, is the word that most conventional people would use to describe the atmosphere, but even I was moved by the silence and purity in the atmosphere. It was magical. It appeared all traces of dirt had been washed away, and all that was left was pure beauty and silence. Ah, beautiful silence that had not been heard in a long, long time.
    In this pure silence, you could hear the gentle blowing of the breeze, and could almost hear the warbling of the birds. No, I am not wrong. I say you could almost hear the songs of the birds, because in this bitter cold, they had all flown away. However, yes, if you listened well enough, you could hear the echoes of their summer songs coming through the clear air.
    It was indeed a magical realm that had been created by the piled-up snow, the blue sky, the beautiful light and the silence.
    Some would say that it was a gift from God. Yet, I would say that it was a gift from me, Loki. I sat there in my warm attic, looking out at the silent beauty I beheld, and then I decided to open my window, and breathe in the joyous song of Nature in full bloom.
    It was an interlude that I had searched and thirsted for. It was an interlude, ideal for a restless soul to pause and be healed. It was an interlude that allowed every spirit, clean or evil, to reconsider their journey in life. It was an interlude for each and every one to relax and rediscover the simple joys of life.
    That such moments come but rarely is indeed a tragedy, and I Loki, would like to say to all living men and women, boys and girls, that these little magical gifts are to be treasured and remembered with gratitude. I speak to mankind alone, in this matter, because the rest of the natural world already does know how to enjoy such moments.
    A pause is all we need, and if we lose that moment, it is gone forever. If we cherish and accept these moments of joy, then something of the magic lives inside us forever.
    I sat there by the window of my attic, watching the light change, as the sun rose and waned in the sky. I watched the clean blue colour become warm, and then watched the sunrays turn the sky into a medley of red, orange and gold. Then, the day sky was replaced by the twinkling stars in a blur-black sky. They seemed to dance through the night, and all was good with the world.
    The morning sun rose, and with it came a cloud. A black cloud, it was, and the magical moments of the previous day were gathered into the memories of those who had chosen to cherish the gift that was given to them.
    The normal days had returned, and people started to shovel away the snow. Some of them had an extremely grumpy, angry look on their faces. They grumbled about the loss of ‘productive’ days. Ah, my friends, what indeed is ‘productivity’, if you don’t have time for reflection?
    Some of you impatient souls may indeed wonder what happened to The Hobbits, who had started this tale? What of Mary Jane and Harley Quinn? What had Batman and Poison Ivy done to The Joker and Spiderman?
    This interlude, my friends, is drawing to a close.
    The tale now continues and, I Loki, shall now resume my labours of old.

  11. Rajiv says:

    Gosh, it’s long!

  12. Pingback: Esther Newton’s Monday Motivations : The Gift – Word Shamble

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