Blame It On Santa

by Janis Patterson

Or maybe not. The old gent has enough to worry about this time of year.

No, the blame is totally on me. I have been so swamped with Christmas, a dear family member moving across the country, some other family issues, including some health issues, and the everlasting crush of approaching hard deadlines that I just plain pushed this blog to the back of my mind and there it stayed until my second mug of coffee this morning. Ooops.

All I can say is that I’m sorry and apologize profusely. Usually I love sharing things with all of you, but this month life just got away with me and I apologize. And make an early New Years resolution to be better.

I also promise the announcement of something wonderful in January. It’s taken a lot to keep my mouth shut about this, but I’ll tell all as soon as the news is officially released!

Still, I want to take this opportunity to wish you the Merriest of Christmases, the Happiest of Hanukkahs, the best of whatever you celebrate in this wonderful season, and the loveliest and most creative of New Years! Bless you all -

It's Christmas. Again.

by Janis Patterson

Remember when we were children and it seemed that geologic ages crept past between one Christmas and the next? Now it seems that the pine needles from one holiday season are barely swept away before another Christmas is barreling toward us.

This year I’m soft-pedaling the holiday. We have no small ones at home (save for the furbabies, who really don’t care) and all our family get-togethers are at other people’s houses this year. Yea! I don’t have to decorate. Or even dust.

It’s not that I don’t have the Christmas spirit – I’m just tired. A publishing blitz of ten books in four and a half months, four new books written, freelancing and regular blogs, plus the normal things like family, friends, the day to day things of laundry and cooking and the rest… it gets exhausting. Add on Christmas shopping and wrapping and parties and it gets even worse. Plus I’m getting older. (I will have to admit that I have reached the cereal years – every time I move it’s snap! crackle! pop!) Somehow putting up wreaths and crèches and garlands and animated lawn ornaments – though they are beautiful – doesn’t really excite me this year.

The Husband asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I didn’t have a clue. I mean, there are the things we can’t do anything about, like world peace and more sales (lots and lots, please!) of my books (Please, Santa – I would like to earn back at least the costs of publishing) and for Microsoft to quit making us change every few months to new programs that are both unnecessary and overly complicated. Then there are the things I really want but we can’t afford, like a new Herman Miller Aeron office chair (which costs about the same amount as my first car) or an office/workroom built above the garage. We already have everything we need, and a lot of things we want, so this year we have agreed that while there will be a few little trinket packages for Christmas morning, our main presents this year will be our trips. We are planning a lot of trips in the new year – the FRW cruise conference in February, perhaps a trip to Egypt in March, a sometime trip to Vegas we won, NINC in October and Denver in June…

Oh, have I told you about that? The Historical Novel Society is a prestigious international association which is holding its conference in the US this year – in Denver in June, to be exact. And…. (drum roll) I have been invited to appear on a panel on “Egyptology and Elizabeth Peters.” You all know what Egyptomanes The Husband and I are, and Barbara (Mertz, aka Barbara Michaels and Elizabeth Peters) was a friend. That invitation is truly a memorable gift.

While I love Christmas presents and parties and decorations, none of those are the true meaning of Christmas. There are those who can talk with much more eloquence than I about love, and faith, and grace, and all the other real things that Christmas means. Beside such cosmic truths poinsettias and reindeer and all the rest fade into insignificance.

So – this year I am going to try to be a better person, and keep the true meaning of Christmas in the forefront of my thoughts. I will be kinder and try to be a truly better person. I will try to treasure the things that really matter – family, friends, love, beauty and all the rest.

In one thing, however, I will remain the rebel – in gleeful defiance of the cleric Abu Musaab Wajdi Akkari (the one who said that wishing someone Merry Christmas is “worse than fornication, and drinking alcohol, and killing someone”) I will proclaim at the top of my voice “Merry Christmas to all!”

Animals Rights Day

by Kaye George

A lot of writers include animals in many of our our stories. A book without animals is kind of like a house without a pet—feels empty.

International Animal Rights Day was the 10th of this month, did you know that? There are many horrific stories I could tell, of course, to convince you that more work needs to be done for the poor creatures who have no words to express themselves, let along cell phones and access to social media. However, I don’t want to bring you a downer in this holiday season, so save those thoughts for January.

This is the season of Good Will to All. I’m sure Santa treats his reindeer well. How could they make it around the world like that if they weren’t in tip-top condition?

You can track the path of Santa and his deer here if you’d like to.

http://www.noradsanta.org/

When I was little, I worried that our dog, Skipper, who died while still a puppy, wouldn’t get to heaven. I also wanted there to be horses there, since my parents weren’t going to get me one while I was on earth, evidently. (Sure enough, they never did. It was plain that our back yard was plenty big enough for one little horse, but they couldn’t see that.)

Tommy, who lived across the alley and was Catholic (I was Methodist—still am), assured me that dogs and cats and horses would never be in Heaven. They would go, he said, to Limbo. I would also go there since I wasn’t Catholic. I made up my mind right then that I much rather be going to Limbo, not Heaven. It would be full of superior-sounding boys like Tommy.

I wonder if it’s a coincidence that Pope Francis chose this time to tell the little boy, “Paradise is open to all of God’s creatures.” It’s almost enough to make me want to go to Heaven, after all.

All animal photos from morguefiles

Photo of Pope Francis from Wikipedia

A FedEx Christmas

By Captain Mark W. Danielson

’Twas the week before Christmas and all through the hub,
the sorters were sorting, not one single flub.
They stuffed boxes in demis, all loaded with care,
in hopes that their pilots would soon fly them there.
The presents were nestled all snug in their cases,
while loaders slid them to all the right places.
Then my first officer walked with me to his side,
climbed the stairs to prepare for a long winter flight.
When out on the ramp I heard such a clatter,
I sprang from my seat to see what’s the matter.
Away to the door I flew like a flash,
looked out just in time to see the near crash.
The moon on the breast of new-fallen snow,
gave the luster of mid-day to the objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
a pilot from management not wearing flight gear.
With little old eyes, so nervous and quick,
I knew in a moment someone must have been sick.
More rapid than eagles, more pilots came.
But not enough pilots, he called us by name.
Now Dusty, now Scooter, now Gator and Oddie!
On Blazer, on Bear, on Trapper, and Hoggie!
To the top of your stairs, to the flight decks you all,
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
Regardless of obstacles, we took to the sky.
From snow-covered runways, those cargo planes flew,
with cabins full of toys, and St Nicholas, too.
And then with a twinkling, my wheels soon touched down.
A few more minutes and we’ll be on the ground.
Soon a flurry of loaders converged on the plane.
And fuelers and mechanics all doing the same.
While bundles of toys rode their way down,
several safety observers all stood around.
Workers’ cheeks were like roses,
their noses like cherries.
Many in Santa hats, nearly all seemed quite merry.
Some beards were all white and covered in snow,
but no one complained, only hours to go.
One had a broad face and a little round belly,
that shook when she laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
She was chubby and plump, a right jolly old gal,
I smiled when I saw her, in spite of myself.
A wink of her eye and a twist of her hand,
her bus door opened, I had nothing to dread.
She spoke not a word, but took us straight to the door.
As soon as we’re off, she went back to get more.
In three hours we were back in our seats,
the process done over, we’re not done with our feat.
Hundreds of planes soon took to the air,
all sure to deliver their boxes with care.
Through our smart phones, the chief pilot said,
another sort down, now go find your beds.
Merry Christmas from all who deliver your presents.

A Writer's Christmas

‘Tis the season to be jolly,

NaNoWriMo’s gone by golly,

Time to sit by the fire and think,

My writing gene is on the blink.

Mystery plots keep swirling about

Like snow blown from an elephant’s snout,

Grabbing one can really be tough,

You wind up with a bunch of fluff.

Can’t tell the bad guys from the good,

The dames seem mostly made of wood,

Clues supposed to be well hidden

Lie about like who’re you kiddin’?

What to do ere old Santa comes

And finds me with three sets of thumbs?

Grab the keyboard and whack away

Before the roof gets full of sleigh,

Dancer and Prancer, what a sight,

And Rudolph’s nose a big red light.

I’ll pen a draft so fast it streaks

Like stars above the highest peaks,

A Christmas story oh so grim

You won’t believe it’s just a whim,

It’ll give the readers quite a fright,

But still I wish ‘em all GOOD NIGHT!