Showing posts with label North Pole High Beginnings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label North Pole High Beginnings. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Penguin Awareness Day

January 20th is Penguin Awareness Day!

Many astute readers of my book, North Pole High: A Rebel Without a Claus, have asked me how is is that my family has a penguin for a chef.

As everybody knows, penguins are found in Antarctica, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand, Chile, Peru, the Falkland Islands, and the Galapagos Islands -- NOT in the North Pole.

Well, it's a short story. Literally. Shortly after my book came out, I released a collection of short stories by some of my closest friends. Chefy's story of how he came to live in the North Pole is one of those. Here's a taste:

The First Welcoming Feast (Excerpt)
by Chefy

An oral history of Chefy, as told to Candycane Claus.

Chefy, the Claus family's penguin chef, from North Pole High. Penguin Awareness Day.
My story? Why, thank you for asking. I am beyond flattered. Nobody here ever wishes to be regaled by my glorious tales from the south lands, much less comes straight out and requests to hear one.

Let me see. Where to begin? I was hatched by my father many, many years ago on the South Shetland Islands, where I developed an interest in cooking at an early age. I simply could not stomach my parents’ food preparation methods. You see, first they’d eat my meal themselves—to ensure it was not poisonous, they’d say—then regurgitate the already digested food into my beak. Now I ask you, is that any way for a young chick to enjoy the sumptuous taste of a fine kettle of fish?

Are you getting all of this? Please do let me know if I am going too fast.

Anyway, by the time my adult feathers came in, I had already invented a number of signature dishes out of little more than snow, ice, rocks, calling bird feathers, and magic algae from the floor of the sea. One day I waddled up to my parents and said, “Excuse me, please, but I have decided to be a chef.”

My older brother fell in the snow and rolled about, laughing.

“And just whom, pray tell, do you plan to chef for?” my mother nay-said, slurping a mollusk off her webbed foot. “Not everyone in the South Pole is a fussy eater like you. Most of us are fine with our food the way it comes.”

“If our baby wishes to spend his life wearing that funny hat and an apron,” my father began, in his grandest attempt to sound supportive, “what harm could it do?”

To show my commitment to my new occupation, I decided to change my name. “From now on, I want you all to call me Chefy.”

To my delightful surprise, they agreed to comply with this instruction, though that may have been more because my given penguin name, Ejarkthamaptonaraaliey Yennnnisferiptidognoman, was so difficult to pronounce. The ‘g’ is silent.

“And to answer your question, mother, it is my dream to one day cook an immense feast for His Honor, Mr. Claus.”

* * * * *

I guess it's not that short a story. If you want to learn the true story behind the South Pole Flying Seal Think Tank and the subsequent North and South Polar Trade Agreement and how it all led to my father discovering Chefy and bringing his talents to the North Pole, then celebrate Penguin Awareness Day with North Pole High: Beginnings, available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Google Play.
North Pole High: Beginnings, a collection of short origin stories compiled and edited by Candace Jane Kringle, author of North Pole High: A Rebel Without a Claus

Monday, November 25, 2013

How Mrs. Claus Met Santa (excerpt)

Merry 25th of November! 

Christmas is exactly ONE MONTH AWAY!!!

Celebrate this milestone with an excerpt from my mother's short story, How I Met Your Father, when my dad, then known as Kris Kringle, gave Mom and her friends a ride home from a party.

Mrs. Claus recalls the time Kris Kringle gave her a ride in his reindeer-drawn carriage when they first met. Images from openclipart.org.

His carriage was drawn not by horse, but by two strong caribou. Kris handled the reins with skill and gentleness, as if politely asking the animals for a favor, and the bucks merrily complied.
I was the last to be dropped off. Still struggling to overcome my fear of speaking to this alluring man, I directed him to my home in mumbles.
“Why don’t you sit up here, with me, m’lady, so that I may better hear your instructions?”
“I do not believe that would be proper, Mr. Kringle,” my mouth said, as my mind continued to mull over the prospect.
“Very well, then.”
He steered the reindeer up the hilly road. The moon shone brightly as we continued on in silence. A stiff wind blew through my auburn hair and, as if struck by a sharpened moonbeam, I suddenly found myself hopping into the front seat like some uncontrollable monkey.
“Well,” said Kris, with a chuckle.
I looked into his eyes, assaulted by his very beauty, and managed to choke out, “I have changed my mind, Mr. Kringle. I am told it is my privilege as a lady. Drive.”
He flicked his wrist ever so slightly, clucking his tongue twice, and the deer sped off. The carriage wheels seemed to seek out immense bumps that jostled me on the seat until the distance between me and Kris could be measured by a caterpillar. My shriek turned into a laugh and I made no attempt to remove myself from his warm side until we neared my home.
When we stopped, the dead silence of the still night air enveloped us in awkwardness. He flashed a smile upon me and I felt as though I had witnessed a shooting star dance across the sky. “I would very much like to sculpt you, as I did your friend, Carol.”
My heart skipped a beat, then raced to catch up. “Why do I not see you in school? You are but a year older than I. Do you already know everything at seventeen?”
“Ho, ho, ho! Hardly, my dear. Alas, my family cannot afford to send me to high school, on account of the crippling taxes collected by the rascal Arthur Goody. So I am homeschooled.”
My mouth went dry. My father? A rascal? Depriving this kind and generous man—who happened to possess a form not unlike your average Norse god—of a basic education? Forsakes, what if Kris were to be made aware the rascal was of my blood? Should I tell him now and spoil the moment for whatever it was or might be in the future?
Before I could utter a word, Kris handed me a bundle of some sort. “Please, take this,” he said, his voice warm like a pleasant cup of tea.
I unwrapped the paper to reveal a nutcracker unlike any I had ever seen. Instead of the usual king or palace guard, I held in my hands a beautiful fairy angel. She wore a white, silken dress, and even without paint, her wooden face had the appearance of fine porcelain. “She’s gorgeous,” I sputtered. “I don’t understand.”
“My address is on the card.” He smiled at me again, and I felt a strange warmth cover me everywhere. “Call upon me, if you wish.”
I removed the tag from the fairy’s wand, stuffing it into my pocket without so much as a glance. Then I ran inside, a bundle of nerves, forgetting to thank him for the ride, the wrappings drifting to the curb in my wake, the magical nutcracker clutched tightly to my bosom.
Breathing normally again from the safety of the other side of my front door, I found my father waiting up for me. Not angrily, for I had not stayed out past the agreed upon curfew, but for the sake of simple fatherly concern over the safety of his young daughter. He put down the book he’d been reading, came over to hug me, asked if I’d had a good time at the party, then quizzed me on my peculiar new toy.
“Where in heavens did you obtain this thing?” he asked.
“At the party. From a friend of Carol’s.”
Poppa moved the lever up and down, carefully examining the mouth as it opened wide, then shut tight. “That Kringle fellow?”
“Yes, Poppa.”
“He’s an odd one. Drives around with reindeer pulling his carriage.”
“I don’t think his family can afford a horse,” I said, before remembering who Kris had blamed for that.
“And just how much did Mr. Kringle charge you for this handiwork?”
“’Twas a gift, Poppa.”
“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin and stared harder at the nutcracker.
“Is something wrong, Poppa?”
“Funny how a boy of such destitution can afford to buy gifts for young ladies he hardly knows.” He carried the angel across the room.
“Oh, but Poppa, you are mistaken. Kris made this doll of his own hand.” I pictured Kris’s nimble fingers shaving small curls of wood off the inanimate object, bringing it magically to life.
“That makes him all the more odd then, in my book. Why give things away when one can easily command a decent price for his wares? For then his father would no longer be delinquent in his payments to the state. His Majesty, my boss, would say the Kringles deliberately avoid an income to shirk their duty to the crown. I am afraid that assessment may not lie far from the mark.”
I flashed back to the day I'd seen Kris at the toy shoppe. Poppa’s queries began to make some sense. Why did Kris hand his toys to those children when he could just as easily have sold them to the shopkeeper for a nominal fee, who could in turn have sold them to the boys and girls for a small profit?
“At any rate, we don’t accept gifts from strangers now, do we?”
I became so lost in the memory of a kind of glow that I’d noticed surrounding Kris as each child’s face lit up, that I scarcely noticed Poppa toss my present onto the fire. I could almost hear the lifelike figure cry out in agony as he pushed her deep into the flame with a poker. I nearly burst into tears myself, but somehow stopped when my tips of my fingers found the card with Kris’s address nestled at the bottom of my pocket.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I’m sorry, Poppa. It was wrong of me to accept the gift.”
“There, there.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “No harm done. Just remember to keep your distance from the lad.”
Well, I bet they hooked up eventually, or I would never have been born! To find out what happened next, read the complete short story and more in North Pole High: Beginnings.
North Pole High: Beginnings by Candace Jane Kringle, featuring the short story "How I Met Your Father" by Mrs. Claus
You can still get the ebook for free through the end of November using the coupon code posted earlier this month, or for just 99 cents at Amazon and now at Barnes & Noble too!

Friday, November 1, 2013

Merry Month-Before-Christmas!


Frowning Jack-o-Lantern is sad because Halloween is over.
Halloween is OVER.

It's finally NOVEMBER!


Swans-a-swimming, that means...
CHRISTMAS IS NEXT MONTH!!!
Two happy Christms trees celebrate because Christmas is next month.

To get your Christmas Spirit going, I'm giving you an
early Christmas Present!

North Pole High: Beginnings is a collection of short stories that explore the wondrous origins of some of the most beloved characters from my critically-acclaimed book, North Pole High: A Rebel Without a Claus.
North Pole High: Beginnings by Candace Jane Kringle
And this month only, you can get fun, Christmassy prequel absolutely FREE.

Click on the book cover above and use the COUPON CODE: WZ95X

But pleeeeeeeeze don't TELL EVERYONE YOU KNOW or the Kindle elves won't be able to keep up with the demand.

North Pole High: A Rebel Without a Claus - a memoir by Candace Jane Kringle
BONUS: If you have Amazon Prime, you can borrow North Pole High: A Rebel Without a Claus for free too!

Have a Merry November from everyone at North Pole High!

Ho, ho, ho!