Dear Santa From Edd

From:    Edd Sowder

Land of Confusion, US


To:          Santa Claus,

1 Elven Way

North Pole, Artic Circle



Dear Santa,

It’s me again. Your less than favorite writer sending you yet another letter. Yes, in the past I have been somewhat less than nice to you for the lack of care that you have seemed to show for me in my—looks at imaginary watch—over forty-six years of existence. I mean, you didn’t give me much growing up and it has been a pretty terrible adulthood regarding gifts. But—and I do say this with a heavy heart—it’s not your fault.

You heard it here first and read it in black and white.

This year, I am not blaming you for the lack of attention to what I asked for in my Christmas letters. Does that mean that I will try to be a nicer dude toward you? Don’t push your luck, chubby.  To the contrary, I still don’t really care for this holiday. I still suffer from some form or another of Seasonal Depression, and I still wish Christmas was less about the gift giving and more about time with friends and family and cherishing the time we had with them in the past year.

Will that happen, not likely. For some reason, families can’t seem to get through one single, solitary holiday without some form of family driven drama. Even Thanksgiving was filled with some kind of it from the in-laws but all in all, it turned out pretty decent. So, I am not complaining.

Well, enough of this stuff. Let’s get on to my wish list, shall we?

This past year has been a tough one for me and my own. As you already know, I closed—or I should say Kindra and I—closed our company in August and with that closure, I took some dreams away from aspiring authors. It was a hard decision to close and it still is hard every day, but it is getting easier. So, my first on my list of what I would like you to do it make certain all of them find new homes for their works.

Second on my list—and there will only be a few… I promise—is to make certain my friends in Arkansas all have a great Christmas. I cannot say enough about Richard—who by the way should be like your head elf or some shit—Ashlee, Sharon, Jesse, and all the rest out there. Who knew that just a few minutes of talking with them at a convention would lead to a friendship that grew so much? I am very grateful for that gift, which if you had anything to do with it, well… thank you. The same idea goes for the family that I still talk to and am close to. They all need it from what I can tell on our social media feeds.

Third, let’s let all my friends who stuck by me when I was a total ass to them over stupid shit get what they ask for this year. I know there are only three or four friends on that list as many gave up on me years ago. That’s okay. I understand that decision.

Finally, for my wife—who knows exactly what we are facing in the coming year—I want nothing but happiness for her. She deserves it, big guy—notice I didn’t call you something derogatory? Yeah, that one means the most. Kindra has been the shore and lighthouse for me when I am trying desperately not to drown in the sea of my life and can’t find home. I need her to know that regardless of what happens with us in the future this coming year, I will never stop loving her.

That’s it. Nothing truly for me. I never asked for much for me in the past anyway so I hope you can work whatever magic you supposedly have and grant these few things. If not, okay. Realistically, I hope that you can do at least a few. It would help renew my loss of the magic of what Christmas once was.

Be safe, be warm and stay away from the cookies… Mrs. Claus may want you to lose a few pounds before you have a heart attack or something. And piece of unsolicited advice, stop looking at children that don’t belong to you while they sleep… it’s just a bit creepy. They make movies and stuff about this stuff and you see it all over the news. Not cool, man. Not cool at all.

Until next year,


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Edd Sowder

Most people know Edd as the overactive and imaginative husband of novelist Kindra Sowder, or as the person the boss at TBK brings on the show that cusses a shit ton. He is a self-admitted asshole most of the time. Little is known of his writing prowess as he keeps it quietly to himself most of the time by helping other, far better authors with his editing skills on their novels… that being said, nothing read in the posts TBK allows him to have are edited professionally. Edd is not an idiot by any means but he has stayed in Holiday Inn Expresses at times. He prefers the country life and escapes to his family farm from time to time in Tennessee where he admits to having little to no cell phone coverage and loving it. He lives in South Carolina where he is chained to his desk most days and into the wee hours of the morning. Every now and again, he is able to fidget the lock enough to break loose and run amok amongst the common folk.
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