Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Um, a Santa letter, yes, yeah. So.

Dear Santa,
how are you this year? Your allergies aren't giving you too much trouble, I trust. Ah, I must thank you yet again for the delightful present you left me this last year. It hangs on my living room wall, a beautiful reminder of the world that seems to me is now almost lost. Chivalry, and morality, and even faith itself, seem so far removed from this newest generation. But I did not write merely to rant. You know I hate to ask for much, and you always give me so much better than I deserve. You spoil me, dear Santa, but I'm not complaining. Well, this year please, I just would dearly love some company, any sort of a comfort in my lonely hours. Not that I do not enjoy my correspondence with you, or ever feel really alone, even now. You know I am a devout Christian. But something or someone to talk to would do wonders for my soul, especially now that Justin and Monica and sweet little Corey have moved so far away. You know, Santa, I find that I feel I have never thanked you sufficiently for still reading and fulfilling the whims of such an old lady, 93, can you believe it? But I guess you've still got a few years on this old dinosaur, eh? Ah, how glad I am, truly, to still have my belief in you. I'll leave you sugar and cinnamon cookies this year.
My love,
Lenore

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