Twas the Night Before Story

Twas the night before Story, when all through my head
Not a character was stirring, not even a Fred.
The worldbuilding and rules I had already begun,
In the hopes that my character would soon to me come.
The photos were nestled all snug on my board,
While I knew how he looked, he still made me bored.
No hero to journey, and me without plot,
My Story was doomed to molder and rot.
When in my head there arose such a clatter
I sprang to my keyboard to record the sudden chatter.
In my scrapbook bible I wrote in a flash,
A few mannerisms I kept in my stash.
Like tugging his hair when lost deep in thought,
Or his palm rolling to and fro an ivory rahke.
When, what in my wondering mind should appear,
But shades of people, real people, my dear!
Key phrases only he would ever say,
A silver ring he wears night and day. 
A dark, dark secret held close to his heart,
The ratty blue shirt from which he refused to part.
With quirks and flaws, so interesting to see
How such little things were obviously the key.
More lively than cardboard, my character breathed,
Rounded and rich, I swore he would bleed.
And then in a twinkling, I heard a new voice,
His clear words to listen I simply had no choice.
Defining moments from my hero’s past,
Darkest secrets he shared with me at last.
Friends and family, and his enemies, too,
All his troubles and fears were mine to review.
How many times he had fallen in love,
What gods he honored in the heavens above.
His hopes–how they shone! His fears, how dread!
His secrets were like ghosts from which he fled!
His heart lay shattered like fragile spun glass.
No matter his goals, his past ne’er surpassed.
And now I knew the path I should set,
How best my hero to torment and fret.
His arc I saw like a gleaming thread,
A steep, dark ravine I would send him to tread.
The darkest moment, his innermost fears to face.
The elixir to lure him through this dangerous race.
His character scrapbook and his hero’s journey,
Soon gave me the framework for his grand story.
I spoke not a word but went straight to work,
And began plotting without a single shirk,
And laying the journey over ten even blocks,
And at my hero I threw bigger rocks.
I opened up Word, to my scrapbook a look,
And away my Story flew like all really good books.
But I exclaimed, ere I typed chapter one,
“Remember character is plot, and well you’ve begun.”