Afternoon, Thursday, December 26, 2024, Miami, Florida
‘Twas the day after Christmas, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The manuscript lay still, with no progress in sight,
For the writer was weary, after a long, restless night.
The morning had come with the sun’s early rise,
Yet slumber eluded, much to their surprise.
The brain was too tired to craft tales anew,
So Chapter 23 simply wouldn’t ensue.
The thought of the novel brought forth a deep sigh,
For finishing soon no longer seemed nigh.
Thus, in “holiday mode” he chose to remain,
And extend his vacation, to rest and regain.
A Certain Point of View, Too 
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