God Rest Ye Merry Gentlefolk

To the tune of God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.*

(* Oh go on, sing it! You know it'll be fun!)


God rest ye merry, gentlefolk!
__Let nothing you dismay!
For Mssrs. Roth and 'Difficult
__Are saving Christmas Day!
They're bending rules and breaking laws
__To make sure all's okay
Great tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,
__Great tidings of comfort and joy

It started with a simple note,
__Delivered Christmas Eve
Old Santa's gone, the message said,
__Us elves, we can't believe
There's no-one here to run the show,
__Saint Nick you must retrieve!
Roth, please help us and find the old boy, find the old boy,
__Roth please help us and find the old boy

A task like this was far too big
__For one man to succeed
So Roth called on iDifficult
__And told him of his need
I've just the thing, said 'Difficult,
__To Santa it will lead!
And unveiled a magnificent new toy, to find the old boy,
__Wow, a Santa seeking-missile, what a toy!

They both hopped on and blasted off
__Into the twilight sky
The radar showed no sign of him,
__Both east and west were tried
Then on a hunch, Roth steered them South,
__And then he gave a cry
At the South Pole! That jolly fat old boy! Santa Ahoy!
__In Antarctica, that jolly fat old boy!

They swooped in low, the radar sang,
__And Santa they did spy!
A prisoner of Jack Frost he was,
__With no word of a lie
A cage of ice, with penguin guards,
__A rescue they must try!
Roth just grinned and said that he had a ploy, to save the old boy,
__And hoped 'Difficult had brought all the right toys!

They landed safe just out of sight,
__And rummaged in the hold
A penguin suit, and burlesque clothes,
__A chainsaw and some gold
So Roth got dressed to try the plan,
__In the Antarctic cold
And he knew they would rescue the old boy! With him as decoy!
__Oh, these heroes, they would rescue the old boy!

The penguin guards just gawped at first,
__Could not believe their eyes!
A sexy dancing penguin babe,
__With garters on her thighs!
They rushed at Roth, then fought for dibs
__They wanted the first prize!
Roth just gave them some bump and grind, so coy! What a bad boy!
__As they fought away he tiptoed off, oh boy!

Behind the fray, young 'Difficult
__Freed Santa from the ice
The chainsaw made it easy work,
__He leapt free in a trice!
The penguins had forgotten Roth
__And how he'd looked so nice
So they legged it for 'Difficult's cool toy! Boosters deploy!
__And the trio blasted north upon that toy!

Jack Frost sent off a storm of snow
__And hoped that they'd get stuck
But Santa had some magic left,
__They had no need for luck
I'll get you next year! Frost did scowl,
__And Santa cried, You Schmuck!
And they flew to the North and certain joy! North pole ahoy!
__Roth and Difficult has rescued the old boy!

Their rescue done, they touched right down,
__The elves sent up a cheer!
Forget the milk and cookies lads,
__Said Santa, Who's for beer?
They toasted Life and Love and Friends,
__And Hope for the New Year!
And then Santa delivered worldwide joy! To all girls and boys!
__And great tidings of comfort and joy!


MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!


With love,

Indigo, King, Yavin, Hoth, Sollust, Bear, Clarice, and Abbey x

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2010

Or At Least A Christmas Card

It's not been the best of weeks.

I'm tired. Work has been insane. Long hours, too many days. Sleep has been a luxury.

I'm adrift on blog entries, one of my great pleasures. Forgive me, Father, it's been nine days since my last entry.

I'm broke, though there's nothing new there. Working in Her Majesty's Secret Service is not the life of Riley that you might imagine. I must drop her a note sometime, or at the very least a Christmas card.

I'm behind on a creative project for a friend. I'm really enjoying it, and it's going well, but it needs some time and a clear head to get it finished. A bit of inspiration would go amiss, too.

I'm ignoring everything else. Blogs have gone unread, mails unanswered, movies unwatched, and I've not fed the cat. Luckily, I don't have one.

And I'm sensing the imminent arrival of Christmas, though to be fair I've had that since the Summer. I suspect I'm not alone.

All in all, I'm feeling pretty burned out.

But hey, I've had worse. And I'm a Roth, dammit! It'll pass.

Until then, the only other thing I need to deal with is the anonymous person who's been dumping zebras in my recycling bin*. The bin men won't touch them!

[* I have a pretty good idea who it might be. ]

I'll keep grinding away. I'll be victorious.

For everyone else who feels the same, stick with it.

You're amazing, and never let them tell you different.


Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2010
Photo borrowed from vi.sualize.us, with thanks!

With A Skip In My Mental Gait

I don't believe in signs.

You know, Omens. Portents.

It's too easy to want something so badly that you tease meaning out of chaos and call it a harbinger of its fulfilment.

Tripe. Clearly.

The sound of a letter hitting the doormat is a rarely heard in my house; I deal with everything electronically these days. Oh sure, I get junk mail, but that sounds different.

This has a more satisfying thud.

I put down my tea and shuffle down the hallway towards the front door. As I glance at the letter, I immediately know what it is.

Three weeks ago, I'm choosing one of my blog entries to submit for an anthology that's being published later this year. I find the choice difficult for two reasons. Firstly, I'm rather proud of them all, but second - and more important - I haven't go the faintest clue what will go down well with a publisher.

Eventually, I decide to submit a tidy and typically offbeat entry called A Disconcerting Little Tune which I published back in June*. And, with an excited little skip in my mental gait, off it goes via email.

[* You can click the link if you don't recall it.]

Two weeks ago, I receive an upbeat and rather congratulatory mail. They've accepted my blog entry for publication! It's going to be in a nice paperback book in December. I'll see no money for it, of course, but still. I'm being published.

I feel rather giddy as I fill out a pair of contracts. But I notice with some irritation that Wicked East Press are Publishers of Fine Fiction.

Hey, it's a fictional anthology!

Good grief, I know my life is unconventional, but anyone would think that I make this stuff up!

It makes no odds, though; I'm proud that I'll have a tale in the Cup Of Joe - Coffee House Flash Fiction anthology.

I sign and date the contracts and despatch them off to South Carolina.

Back in the now, I examine the envelope on the doormat with an degree of disbelief. I almost invent the word bewildishment to describe my thoughts adequately.

The lovely handwritten address draws the eye, and the bulge of my folded contract inside urges my spirit do a touchdown shuffle.

But it's the stamps that make my heart pound.

The stamps are made for me. They are me!

The first thing that goes through my head?

It's a sign! A good omen! A portent of future success!

But I don't believe in signs. Right?

It's a sign!

I'm demanding the resignation of my subconscious.


Indigo

This blog entry is protected by copyright © Indigo Roth, 2010