May the remainder of your 2021 be wondrous, and your New Year bright with possibilities...

I am taking the remainder of the year, as well as January 2022, off from social media and posting in general (for the most part). Like our groundhog, Wiarton Willy, I will emerge again in February, just in time for my birthday and Candlemas Eve!

You know me, right? Well, just in case you don't...Regan W. H. Macaulay is an award-winning author of novels, short stories, children’s literature, and scripts. Writing is her passion, but she’s also a producer and director of theatre, film, and television. She is an animal enthusiast as well, which led her to become a Certified Canine and Feline Massage Therapist. Other picture storybooks include Dog Band, Libby the Lobivia Jajoiana, Beverlee Beaz the Brown Burmese, Tamara Turtle’s Life So Far, Mixter Twizzle’s Breakfast, Sloth the Lazy Dragon, and Merry Myrrh the Christmas Bat. She is also the author of The Trilogy of Horrifically Half-baked Ham, which includes Space Zombies! (based on her film, Space Zombies: 13 Months of Brain-Spinning Mayhem!— available on Amazon Prime and on DVD), They Suck, and Horror at Terror Creek.

GNOEL
by RJ Downes
 
Baylin, the elder Gnome, paused his speech atop the large red and white mushroom to look out at the crowd. The gathering in the dark woods was large that cold December night. Gnomes from all corners of the world had travelled for the summit. As he gazed out in the firelight at the countless round heads adorned with pointed hats of varying colour, he saw many he knew well. The red cheeked, smooth faces of the women and beard covered faces of the men stared back at him, all atop squat, rotund bodies.

He took a deep breath. The firepit that illuminated the gathering crackled in the silence. The crowd of gnomes waited for him to continue speaking.

“My brother and sisters,” he said at last. The blanket of fresh snow helped carry his voice out to the others, “the next item to discuss…is the state of the humans and their belief in Santa Claus.”

Low chatter spread through the crowd.

“We created Santa in order to keep the humans from knowing the truth.” Baylin continued. “We have managed to keep ourselves secret from them for hundreds of years. Santa Claus, has been integral to that. His similarities to us, in shape and attire have kept humans off our trail. But we now have a problem. Images of gnome kind have started showing up in Christmas imagery almost as much as Santa himself.”

This caused another murmur through the crowd.

“If this continues, our secret could be exposed. The humans cannot suspect that we are in fact the ones behind their Christmas presents.”

“Actually, Father,” a female voice to the left of his mushroom suddenly called out to him. “Like it or not, they know we exist. I think it’s time that humans knew the truth.”

Baylin looked down to see Balla, his youngest daughter, separate from the crowd, standing there looking back up at him. He continued to address the crowd.

“My daughter has been studying gnome history. She, of all gnomes, should know why we need to protect ourselves. If the humans knew about us, about magic, about the real reason why we put presents under their trees...it could be a disaster.”

“My father does not believe the humans can accept us,” Balla spoke back up at him. “I, and several others among us tonight, think they can. And we think we should give the humans a chance.”

Baylin eyed his daughter. Her own eyes were partially hidden beneath blonde bangs poking out from her red hat but she stared back. Her mouth held as tightly as her conviction.

“The younger generation believe things need to change,” he continued, still looking down at his daughter. “But I believe humans are not ready.”

Balla looked away from her father to the rest of the crowd.

“The human writer from long ago, Mr. Baum knew the truth. He even did as my father asked and wrote The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus to help us perpetuate the Santa myth.”

“Yes, he was a friend to gnome kind,” said Baylin. “He was one of the few humans who understood why we do what we do. He kept our secret well.”

Several gnomes murmured back and forth.

“The humans have grown, Father,” Balla said. “Each generation has become more empathetic, more understanding. It’s time they know the truth.”

“The humans should be told about us!” someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

“They cannot be told!” Santos yelled back. The crowd of gnomes went silent.

“Why not?” Balla asked up at him.

Without thinking, Baylin replied. “Because that’s the way it has always been!”

“That’s not an answer, Father.” Balla called back.

Baylin took a moment to calm himself before he spoke again.

“Why is it so important to you that they know now?”

“Because we’ve been unfairly deceiving them, just like they have unfairly deceived their children about Santa Claus,” said Balla. “Even if the humans are children compared to us, children should not be lied to. If we want them to believe in us and what we do, we must believe in them.”

Several members of the crowd cheered out at her words.

Baylin looked down at his daughter. Her young spirit frustrated him just as much as it made him proud.
“Alright,” he said finally. “Let it not be said that I am an unbending gnome. As much as I think this is a bad idea…we will put it to a vote.”

Balla smiled up at him.

“Thank you, Father.”

Turning back to the gathering, Baylin could see hope beam back at him from many of their faces.

“All in favour of telling the humans the truth about Santa regardless of the outcome?”

He watched as the gathered gnomes in front of him began to raise their hands.

This year, I bring you something a little bit different...12 Holiday Excerpts and Flash Fiction!

Jen Frankel is back to share another holiday tale...and an illustration by Bailey Meyer (@bymeyerfineart).

Secret Snata
by Jen Frankel

Sonata Claus gave up her “o” when she joined the Castrating Harpies. She played her bass left-handed, and always added a shot of rye to her herbal tea. The other women in the band were tea purists; despite being hardcore punk rockers, they weren’t the world’s hardest drinkers. Sonata was not particularly into the tea, believing that caffeine (and booze) were essential to life.

Actually, she’d traded in her “u” as well, since joining the band. She’d been Snata Claws for so long that it took her a minute to register that the guy at the bar was talking to her. “Are you the Sonata Claus who went to Julliard with Reggie Sansom?” he shouted, for what was probably the third time. Snata was between sets and more interested in getting a beer than dealing with a drunk fan, but Reggie’s name caught her ear.

“What the hell do you have to do with that waste of space?” she barked back. She finally caught the bartender’s eye and gave her a tip of the wrist to order another round for herself. The Harpies were sharing a bottle of peppermint schnapps backstage, but anything minty made her think of candy canes.

The guy raised his hands in defence, and Snata growled at him before stalking off with her beer in hand.

The rest of the band stared when she came into the green room. “What?” Snata snapped.

Giganta Saur, drummer and proponent of Snata’s least favourite herbal tea (ashwagandha mint), darted her heavily-kohled eyes toward the corner of the room by the window. There, in a neat brown blazer with his black hair impeccably curled, stood a too-familiar figure.

“Speak of the actual devil,” Snata spat. “Reggie Sansom. I was just cursing your name a minute ago.”

Sansom smiled wryly. “Nice to see you too, Sonatina.”

She steered him into the grubby kitchenette off the main room. Swearing, she turned both taps on full to cover her words. “Tell him no, I’m not going back. And no one’s called me Sonatina since I was strong enough to punch. Since YOU went to work for him.”

He grunted. “This isn’t about…”

“Satan?”

“Santa,” he corrected. “He knows.”

Snata blanched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The shadow rounds. After he visits folks who… you know. Who prefer punk to pop. Replacing what he left with Doc Martens and electric guitars. He’s fine with it. Heck, he thinks it’s brilliant.”

She reddened. “Yeah?”

“Swear to Santa.”

“I gotta get back to the band,” Snata said, wiping away a sudden wetness in her eyes. “They’re all the family I want.”

Reggie followed as she stomped out through the green room and toward the stage. The averted gazes made it pretty clear they’d heard everything said in the next room as the rest followed her.

He whispered to Giganta who was last to go. “Guess I shouldn’t tell Snata her dad’s in the crowd. He doesn’t want to cramp her style.”

This year, I bring you something a little bit different...12 Holiday Excerpts and Flash Fiction!

Joshua Pantalleresco returns with another Christmas story...

Dear Santa,

I gotta be honest, I don't believe in you. I don't believe in much anymore to tell you the truth, but I need to talk to someone. Why not a fat man who makes toys?
I'm sorry. I'm just in a terrible place. I woke up in this incredibly dark time wondering what the hell I'm doing here. This isn't...this isn't what I imagined it to be. I wanted to be a writer, and have my books in bookstores. I'm on Amazon, without a bookstore in sight, spending Christmas alone, chasing my dreams. This isn't what it's supposed to be you know? I just can't get it together. I can't keep a job, with everything else, I'm stressed out. I have no idea what I'm doing, or where I'm going. I feel so alone right now. That's why I'm talking to you. I got nobody else.
I feel so betrayed. This wasn't what it was supposed to be you know?
I'd like a lot of things right now, but I don't think toys will help me. So, this Christmas, I just want to know it's all good and that it'll all work out.

Thanks


Dear Friend,

I'm sorry to hear about your troubles. Don't worry about not believing in me. I'm used to it. I normally let these go unsaid, there's far too many of these letter this time of year. You sound like you need some help, so I'm here. Here's the bad news: I can't promise this is all going to work out. Life has no guarantees. It just doesn't. I'm just praying on the 24th I don't get stuck in that chimney on 224 Hastings. Yikes. Even I get no guarantees. I can't give any assurance on me breaking the plane on that chimney. I can't give you guarantees either, I'm afraid.
But you're not alone. People care about you. I care about you. It doesn't look like how you imagined it, I know, but there are people that would reach out and help you in a second. Use that. If you're uncomfortable, talk to a counselor, or a preacher, or someone who won't judge you. Most people forget how tough this time of year can be for people. I'm sorry you're going through this.
The good news? This won't last. Everything changes, from situations to belt sizes. You will get through this. You're still here. Only good can come from that. I promise. I know those words may be hollow right this minute, but if nothing else, take this. You're not alone, and people care. I care.

Yours,

Nicholas

This year, I bring you something a little bit different...12 Holiday Excerpts and Flash Fiction!

Lacey L. Bakker's picture book, Panda the Very Bad Cat, Santa Claws is a mischievously fun Christmas romp! Check out the excerpt (illustrations included!) below...

Lacey L. Bakker is internationally published over a dozen times for various publications such as Women’s World Magazine (November 2015, June 2016, October 2016, February 2017, April 2017, July 2017, March 2018, June 2018, July 2018, August 2018, December 2020 )and Chicken Soup for the Soul (Laughter is the Best Medicine, 2020, and Think Positive; Live Happy, 2019), and Best Health Magazine (April 2017).

She has also been featured in The Hamilton Spectator, November 2019, Hamilton author asks readers ‘How far would you go?’ (hamiltonnews.com), the Sachem and Gazette for International Women’s Day, and on Angie’s Diary (blog). https://angiesdiary.com/interviews/interview-with-l-l-colling/ and she's an award-winning author (best local author winner), 2020, The Sachem Reader’s Choice Awards.

My story, Number 7, was featured on the Chicken Soup for the Soul Podcast on June 25th.
My books are available in 14 different countries worldwide, including Canada, the United States, the United Kingdom, Spain, Italy, Germany, France, Japan, Australia, Mexico, Brazil, Sweden, Netherlands, and India. They are available in all 50 states in Barnes and Noble and in Walmart United States. You can find reviews of my books on Good Reads (search LL. Colling) and Amazon (Canada and US) under Lacey L. Bakker and LL Colling.

My book Advice from a Publisher (Insider Secrets to Getting Published) hit number 1 on Amazon in Canada on May 3, 2020, and debuted at number 3 on Amazon in the US on the same day. My children’s book, The Adventures of Milan and Friends, Baseball Bedlam, also hit number 1 on Amazon in Canada on May 22, 2020, and number 3 on Amazon in the United States on the same day. My book, The Magic Pumpkin Farmer, was also on the Amazon Best Sellers List in August 2020. Nominated in 2019 for Best Local Author in Hamilton.
I was awarded Best Commercial Booth by the Binbrook Agricultural Society in 2017. I’ve taught writing workshops at Mohawk College, Grimsby Public Library, Sherwood Library, Terry Berry Library, Turner Park Library and was a guest speaker at Sheridan College for the illustration and design program. I’ve also been a guest speaker at various elementary and secondary schools and was a guest speaker at the Ontario Library Association Super Conference in 2018.

I own 25 copyrights and am the owner of TFP Productions, my film and media company established in 2016. I am a member of the Society of Authors (UK) and a member of the SCBWI (Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators) in Canada. My background is in Marketing and Advertising, Children’s Literature, and Publishing. I have completed continuing education in New York City, Toronto, Boston, and London, England. I have completed Consumer Neuroscience and Neuromarketing with Copenhagen Business School (Denmark) with a final grade of 88%. I’ve completed Viral Marketing & How to Craft Contagious Content at Wharton with a final grade of 95%, and I am currently enrolled in Writing for Science at Stanford.

This year, I bring you something a little bit different...12 Holiday Excerpts and Flash Fiction!

Today, another excerpt from another picture book by Allison McWood, Douglas the Pinecone's Christmas Crunch!

Allison McWood is an acclaimed Canadian author, playwright and lyricist. Specializing in comedy and farce, Allison strives to bring the world together with stories, as per the tag line of her micro-publishing company, Annelid Press. Allison writes novels, plays and children’s books, all featuring her signature quirkiness. Her writing has not only charmed audiences and readers across the country, but her works have also been taught in Universities around the world, from Vancouver to Lucknow, India. Aside from writing and publishing, Allison is also a Shakespearean dramaturge and Marlovian academic. 

Christmas Times, They Are-A-Changing
by RJ Downes

Elf Doyle had been so excited. Forty years in the toy factory and finally this December 25, he was on the sleigh, guiding the reindeer and sitting next to Numero Uno.

It was snowing hard that night. Visibility was low. Taking off from a house, the sleigh runner caught on something.  The front of the sleigh lurched downwards, sending Doyle, Santa, the giant bag of presents and the reindeer crashing into one another and careened violently towards the street below. After that, Doyle had only seen darkness.

When he came to, another elf was standing over him, poking him with a large candy cane and asking if he was okay. He was stunned and a bit dizzy, but otherwise intact. Santa, however, had broken his leg in three places and was being rushed to a private facility at the North Pole. Three reindeer had to be retired.

It was decided by Elf Management that all active-duty elves would divide up the gift list and take over deliveries for the evening. It was tight, but they could still make the Christmas deadline.

Doyle was assigned the neighborhood where the accident had happened. His Christmas Eve training had been strictly sleigh driving, but his years in Santa’s employ were many. He knew the basics. A tug of his ear sent him down the chimney, a finger to the side of his nose sent him back up just as quickly.

The first couple of houses were easy. Enter the house, check the list, place presents under the tree, move on to the next. It was the third house where things got weird.

A small girl in pajamas was waiting for him at the foot of the tree.

“You’re not Santa.” She had a surprisingly stern voice for such a young human.

“Santa had to…go back to the north pole to deal with business. He sent us elves out to make sure you all got your presents.” Doyle lied. He just hoped she hadn’t heard the crash just down the road.

 “All right then,” the girl said with a smile. “Make with the present.”

Doyle was a bit taken back by the abruptness of her tone, but he set down his bag and consulted his list. There was little time to argue.

He was at 5 Landmark Lane. There were gifts in his bag for two adults, Sheryl and Mike Jenkins…but no mention of anyone else.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You don’t seem to be on the list. What’s your name?”

“Sally Jenkins. I asked Santa for a Robo Pal. The new robot that follows your commands and learns on its own.”

Doyle knew the toy well. It was the most asked for toy that year. Children certainly liked high tech gadgets these days. Not like in the days when he’d started in Santa’s workshop. Doyle knew for a fact he had twenty or thirty in his bag. But none with Sally’s name on it.

“I just want one so much. I waited up to see Santa so I could thank him personally.”

What was Doyle to do? He couldn’t leave this poor girl without a present on Christmas. And there was no time to contact HQ about the mistake.

Doyle panicked silently for a moment and then reached into the bag and brought out a wrapped box. Sally’s eyes lit up.

“Is that…?”

Doyle smiled. “One Robo Pal, as requested!”

She reached for it. In a split second, without Sally seeing, Doyle removed the tag that bore the name Mary Fischer. He crumpled the tag behind his back. He would deal with that problem later.

“There you go,” he said. “Just an oversight. Merry Christmas, Sally!”

She sat staring at the box. Her eyes were large with excitement.

He placed the presents for Sheryl and Mike under the tree and headed back to the chimney.

“Just don’t open it before Christmas morning.” Doyle smiled. “You should go to bed.”

“I will,” yawned Sally, setting her present under the tree. “I am really tired. You wouldn’t believe how long it took to string up that cable to catch the sleigh.”

Doyle froze and looked back at Sally.

“What did you just say?”

Sally spoke as she walked over to him. Even though she was small for a child, she was technically taller than the elf. “I had to do something. Last year I didn’t get anything. I was on the naughty list. So I spent this year planning and studying. I learned how to get my name removed from all of Santa’s lists and I learned how to rig up a sleigh catching device. When you know the parental password on the computer you can find out all sorts of things.”

“Why would you do all that?” Doyle stammered.

“To get my Robo Pal, silly.” Sally chirped. Then she leaned in close next to Doyle’s ear and whispered. “I get what I want.”

She reached out and touched the side of his nose sending him back up the chimney. She closed the flue behind him, locking him out of the house.

Doyle found himself standing alone on the cold rooftop of the house, holding his bag of presents, now one lighter than it should have been. From where he stood, he had a bird’s eye view of the area where the sleigh had crashed about half a block way. Only now did he notice the child sized boot prints that crisscrossed the snowy roof near where he stood. A chill ran through his small body, which had nothing to do with the weather.