We are counting down fast to the big day and there is no better way to get into the spirit than a sprint of writing. If you’ve wrapped NaNoWriMo you probably need to let that manuscript cool a bit while you experiment with some other genres or perspectives. These could be shorts, flash fiction or a novella you’re willing to knock out. So, without further ado, here are twelve prompts to get you going.

Mistletoe is made for lovers, or at least it used to be. Something is very strange is happening every time two people walk under it.

Everyone in town is gathering for the annual Christmas parade, but when Santa tumbles from his perch atop the float, the elves spring into action.

“I’m not giving gifts this year! Instead, everyone I know is getting a hot, steaming pile of…”

Sarah swallowed hard and straightened her dress. She didn’t think he’d answer the letter, let alone show up for Christmas Eve dinner, but there he was. Her mother was right, even at first glance, she could tell the man was her father.

Every year the elementary elves did their Christmas dance before the real dancers from the high school came on, and every year it was Bakari’s job to clean up the inevitable pool of nervous pee from the stage, but this year was different. This year, he’d take a stand.

Aaliyah had avoided Jeremy all week. She knew they’d been dating a while and he was going to invite her to some Christmas party or even dinner and she didn’t know how to tell him there was no way her devout Muslim parents were going to allow her. Worse, she didn’t want to go either, no matter how much she liked him.

It hadn’t happened in two hundred years, but it had to happen this year. The one year that Jocelyn was to understudy Santa was the one year he got food poisoning. She knew those gingerbread men were undercooked.

“You told me to get you a DJ gig and I got you one,” he said. “But how am I supposed to rock a party with just Christmas jingles?”

“Just act natural, like…like a real boyfriend,” she pleaded. He scowled, “But I hate you.” “You don’t hate me, and if you want to get paid, you’ll play along.”

Jamal had spent every dollar of his Summer job money on renting the largest SUV they had on the lot, buying the slickest Jordans he could find and then paired it with a vintage BBC sweater he stayed up till dawn bidding on on Ebay.  He was ready. Shelby hadn’t seen him since last year and he knew they didn’t check tickets at the Christmas dance.

When she woke up, her ears were still ringing from the explosion. Snow had gathered on her clothes and the Christmas lights were, oddly enough, still blinking.

Everyone filed into the church in their Sunday best, except for Aunt May, who wore a skin-tight, leopard print tube dress, clear heels and a cropped fur coat in desperate need of a cleaning.

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