Read the story
Read "Oliver and the Christmas Workshop", a Christmas sample storybook: a fictional example of a personalized book.
On Christmas Eve, Oliver opened the last little door in his wooden calendar. Behind it was a hallway. A very long hallway. ‘Mom? Dad? Come and look!’
The doorway stretched. The hallway sparkled. Mom took one of Oliver’s hands, and Dad took the other. Together, they stepped into the Christmas Workshop.
There were rocking horses taller than Dad and drums as round as tables. Oliver spotted a tiny wooden fox beneath a bench. ‘Hello. What are you doing down there?’
He gave the fox a gentle push. Wibble. Wobble. Stop. One wheel was much too big. ‘You won’t get far like that,’ Oliver said.
‘Shall we help?’ asked Mom. Oliver nodded. Dad set the fox on a low workbench. ‘First,’ he said, ‘let’s find out what it needs.’
Beyond an archway, wheels filled every shelf. Tiny wheels. Tall wheels. Wheels with spots! Oliver held up a red one. ‘This looks right.’
The new wheel fitted—but the fox leaned sideways. Oliver’s smile slipped. ‘Not quite,’ said Mom. ‘We can try another way.’
Oliver looked at the fox’s other wheels. He traced one with his finger. ‘We need one like these!’ Dad brought the little wheel basket closer.
This time, all four wheels matched. Dad secured the last one. Oliver pushed. The fox rolled straight into Mom’s waiting hands. ‘There you go!’
‘It needs a ribbon,’ Oliver decided. He tugged a loose end from a giant spool. The spool turned once. Then twice. Then—whooooosh!
Ribbon rippled across the floor like a red river. Dad lifted his feet. Mom caught the end. Oliver blinked. Then all three began to laugh.
‘I have an idea,’ Oliver said. ‘You hold it. I’ll wind.’ Mom guided the ribbon, Dad steadied the spool, and Oliver turned its big wooden handle.
Soon the floor was clear. Mom cut one short piece and put the scissors away. Oliver chose where it should go. Together, they tied a bow on the fox.
The fox stood beside the finished toys, bright and steady. ‘We made something work,’ Oliver said. ‘You noticed what it needed,’ said Dad.
A small drawer slid open beneath the bench. Inside lay three wooden stars. Oliver picked them up. ‘One for each of us.’
Mom drew a swirl. Dad drew a very wonky heart. Oliver drew four round wheels. ‘So we’ll remember,’ he said. They threaded a loop through each star.
A warm light shone through the red doorway. Home was waiting. Oliver waved to the little fox. ‘Happy Christmas, everyone!’
The calendar was small again. The room smelled of the cookies they had baked that morning. Dad lifted Oliver just high enough to hang his star.
Mom’s swirl, Dad’s heart, Oliver’s wheels. Three little stars, side by side. ‘My favorite part,’ said Oliver, ‘was doing it with you.’
They curled up under one soft blanket. Outside, snow drifted past the window. ‘Tomorrow,’ Oliver whispered, ‘could we make something else together?’ Mom and Dad smiled. ‘We’d love to.’