I Can't Believe It's Been 10 Years

 Ten years ago today my memoir, NORTH POLE HIGH: A REBEL WITHOUT A CLAUS was published. The book tells the TRUE inside story of Santa's 16-year-old daughter (me!). And the most amazing thing is, I'm still sixteen years old!

Now, before you go assuming that not aging is simply a benefit of being a fictional character like Lisa Simpson, I can assure you, I'm real. I'm as real as my father, who has delivered over a jillion toys all over the world in the ten years since I wrote NORTH POLE HIGH: A Rebel Without a Claus.

The thing is, as I explained in my book, NORTH POLE HIGH: A REBEL WITHOUT A CLAUS, which is still available at Popular Prices everywhere, all of us living here in the North Pole ages differently than those of you living outside the Circle. It has something to do with magnets and the rate of rotation of the earth up here at the top of the world and the route we take to school that takes us across the International Date Line every day. Plus most of our food is made with Magic. It's all very complicated and scientific. Einstein explained it all once to Chefy, but he didn't bother to write it down because he has flippers for hands.

Anyway, thank you to everyone who has read NORTH POLE HIGH: A REBEL WITHOUT A CLAUS over the last ten years. And to those of you who planned to read it one day but haven't gotten around to it yet: It's been TEN YEARS! What are you waiting for? YOU'RE not getting any younger!

PS: Merry Christmas!

Better to Give

Last weekend was the first day of Summer. You call it the longest day of the year, but here in the North Pole, the Sun stays out all day and all night for five months straight! Kinda makes it hard to see all the Christmas lights.

The Summer Solstice also fell on Father’s Day this year, which is always a troubling time for me. Giftgiving is one of the most important skills you can have in the North Pole. I love Presents class at N.P.H., but our teacher, Mr. Polar Bear, is pretty easy to please, as long as you gift him something that tastes like seal.

Then Father’s Day rolls around and I realize how high school has once again failed to prepare me for real life. I mean, what do you get the man who’s the best in the world at giving Presents?

Last year I knitted him a Christmas sweater that said, “World’s Greatest Dad.” Do you know how much yarn it takes to make a sweater for a guy his size? Let’s just say there were a lot of cold Alpacas last fall. And he never wore it once. My dad’s a little set in his ways, fashion-wise. When was the last time you saw him in anything but that red suit of his?

So I asked Chefy to help me make Daddy a jelly bean souffle, but he still hasn’t forgotten the last time he let me use his kitchen to make spaghetti and I didn’t put the lid on a pot and the bubble gum sauce got all over everything. Then I checked with one of Daddy’s top elves to see what new toys they were cooking up for next Christmas, but Daddy already gets one of everything they create.

Finally I had Tinsel help me chisel a beautiful Ice Sculpture of Daddy and I merrily wrapped it up and placed it under our Father’s Day tree by the fireplace. Well, you can probably guess what happened when he opened it. First he was drenched by the melted Present, then by my tears. I’d tried so hard to give him something special.

But Daddy just smiled and said, “Ho, ho, ho. ’Tis all good, Candycane. I’m much happier giving gifts than receiving them.” Then he proved it by giving me a gift: a great big hug!

“You’re the best dad in the whole wide world,” I told him. And he said that hearing that was the best Father’s Day present ever. My dad rocks!

Merry Half-Christmas, everyone!

Yes, Virginia, Santa's Coming Back This Year

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Santa's annual Christmas deliveries have become an eagerly anticipated annual tradition around the world. But one little girl is worried that Santa won't come back this year due to a mishap during his visit last year.

When reached for comment at his home in the North Pole, Santa Claus said, "Ho, ho, ho. Of course I'm coming back this year!" A spokeself for Santa's Workshop announced earlier today that Santa has once again selected December 25th, exactly 11 months from today, as the date of his next visit. Experts recommend staying on Santa's Nice List until then, as Mr. Claus is expected to load lots of toys and goodies on his sleigh.

William Hardy and Billy Moore wrote Santa Claus Got Stuck in My Chimney in 1950. The song was originally recorded by jazz great Ella Fitzgerald. You can download her version for just 69 cents at Amazon.

Christmastime is past...

Christmastime is past.

Santa had a blast.

Girls and boys all got new toys.

Now sleep is here at last.

What Makes Santa Tick

The surest way to get Santa to spend more time leaving lots of toys and goodies at your tree is to fill your home with fun, loud Christmas cheer -- just like this family:

We get so much joy from videos like this. The elves really need to see how much you need Christmas. Otherwise they'll get lazy and make really stupid toys you would never want to play with.

To the family that shared this video, thank you for being so Merry!

Fan of the Month

Merry 25th of April!

Only eight months to go. Experts say NOW is the time to start Christmas shopping. I disagree. I say now is the time to tell SANTA what you want for Christmas. You can get your early Christmas list in by leaving a comment on this blog post and I'll make sure Daddy sees it.

And now...

Big CANDY CANE HUGS

to my beautiful

North Pole High

FAN OF THE MONTH

Ogeyi from California

Post your most Christmassy picture on my Facebook page showing your North Pole High Christmas Spirit and if you get picked as my Fan of the Month, you'll get a free Christmas Wish.

(Wishes not guaranteed to come true and have no monetary value. Void where prohibited. Decision of elves on Candycane's Fan-of-the-Month committee is final. By submitting a photo, you authorize Candycane Claus to post it on all her social media channels.)

Have a Merry Spring!

Candycane, xoxo

It's Christmas!

We did it! All our hard work this year has paid off. Daddy and the reindeer have left the North Pole to deliver Christmas cheer to EVERYONE!

Thank you to all the beautiful elves who made this Christmas joyous for millions!

We're partying like mad here at the N.P. And of course we'll be bringing the fun to Twitter for one last #SantaChat Christmas wrap party at 6:00 pm ET on Christmas Day (3:00pm PT, 11:00pm London). Hope you can join us. I can't wait to hear what my dad left under your tree!

#HoHoHo

The Meaning of Christmas Trees (excerpt)

“Rudy, a Christmas tree by itself is just a tree.”

I set down my colored pencils and imagined the biggest, brightest tree imaginable.

“Each soul who hangs a bauble from its bough, or threads a string of lights through its needles, or tops it with a shining star, is teaching it to sing its own unique song of joy. A Christmas tree, when it’s finished and all lit up, with lots of presents cuddled underneath, reflects the magic inside each person who trimmed it.”

I waited for a scoff while his unblinking gaze confronted me, urging me to go on, to enlighten him.

“The tree that you and I create together will expose our very hearts to the world. No one else will ever be able to duplicate that.” I leaned forward, tempted to reach for his hand. “Close your eyes, Rudy. Picture it.”

He folded his arms and did as I said.

“You have to really think. See it in your mind’s eye.” I waited again, giving him space for his tree to flourish. “Now tell me, what’s in your heart. What does Christmas mean to you?”

He was quiet. I held my breath, ready for something special, something magical, to bubble out of him. Goosebumps sprouted up and down my arms.

Then he spoke. “I see our grades. They’re threatening to jump off a tall building if they depend on me buying into all this ’Tis-the-season jazz.” He opened his eyes and grinned.

I knew he’d never take this seriously.

“You’re a poo-head! I’m not talking to you anymore.” I swiveled my chair, only pretending to be angry, when my eyes landed on the picture on his dresser. I went over and picked it up for a closer look. I half-waited for him to stop me, but he didn’t. The woman’s eyes were so much like Rudy’s, I had to ask, “Is this your mother?”

“Uh huh,” he answered quietly.

“She’s very pretty.”

“She was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Cancer. When I was ten.”

Hearing Rudy’s mother was in heaven made me appreciate never having to worry about that, since my parents would live forever. But the sadness overwhelmed me. “What kind of Christmas tree would she want to see?”

“She’s in the ground.” His words took on a terseness that made me shudder. “She’s not watching us from anywhere and there are no such things as Christmas miracles.”

I’d obviously opened a door I shouldn’t have. Not knowing how to go back and close it, I quietly stood his mother’s picture back up on his dresser. “Maybe we should take that milk-and-cookies break now,” I said.

“I was kidding about the milk and cookies.” He got up and tucked his mother’s picture into a drawer. “Maybe we should call it a night.”

“If you say so.” I went back to the desk and carefully slipped my drawings into their portfolio. “Rudy?”

“What?”

“I don’t care what you think of me, or my friends, or my family, or my town. But what exactly do you have against Christmas?”

“It’s getting late. Why don’t we save this for later.”

My heart beat faster. I should have gotten out of there. I should have run. But I couldn’t let it go. “I think you’re here—you and your father—for a reason. One that you’re not even aware of.”

“Go home, Candy.”

I almost melted when I heard him say my name, so softly, so at odds with the way he said almost everything else. “At least tell me you’re not one of those people who doesn’t believe in Santa Claus.”

“I had dinner with him. Remember?”

We both smiled. He wasn’t a heretic.

Relieved, I started packing the rest of my stuff into my backpack.

“I just happen to think your father’s ideas are ridiculous,” he added.

Our game went into pause mode.

“What ideas? Spreading joy to the world?”

“What do you know about the world?” he snapped. “You live up here in a fantasy land, and once a year, your old man flies around the globe handing out toys—‘One for you, and one for you, and one for you.’—as if an electric train set could make up for all the wars and death and misery people suffer in the real world.” He hovered over me, his words so forceful. His hot breath hit me like a right hook with every disgruntled thought he threw at me. “I have news for you, princess. The world doesn’t work that way.”

He made me scared and confused and curious all at once. “What do electric trains have to do with suffering and death?”

He didn’t answer. Whatever he’d been ranting about, clearly he hadn’t meant to direct his anger at me. For in another five seconds, he was almost certain to make a pass.

If you want to find out what happened next, you'll have to read my book, North Pole High: A Rebel Without a Claus.

Merry Christmas!

Related content: See the tree Jenna Edwards made for me, inspired by this chapter!

Guest Post: Visit from Santa Lifts Jillyn's Spirits

Here's an absolutely beautiful guest post from one of my favorite fans about how much a visit from my dad means to her...

Everyone that celebrates Christmas has a favorite story about Santa Claus. We all have that ONE Christmas that just cannot be topped, that one toy that lit up our life and stands out above all others. (One that especially stands out to me is the Barbie Jeep I received when I was seven, but I digress). For me, last Christmas is the one that Santa went above and beyond for me.

I was a bit sad last Christmas. I was unable to go home for a long amount of time, since my house isn't always the most pleasant place. My girlfriend of three years, Emily, was kind enough to let me stay over at her house, and celebrate the holidays with her family. I was a bit pouty, and I was afraid that Santa would forget about me, since I wasn't at my home. And, a very small, sad part of me wondered if he was angered with me. So many people, family and strangers alike, looked down on my relationship -- would Santa disown me for loving a girl too?

I fell asleep that night under the tree that Emily had set up in spite of her cats in an attempt to cheer me up. Curled in a fluffy pink cupcake-patterned blanket with a rainbowteddy bear in my arms, I remember dreaming about the old-timey Christmases I'd had as a kid. The bright shiny piles of presents, the massive teddy bear print stocking I'd hung from the fireplace each year, the tins filled to the brim with cookies I'd baked especially for Santa all looked so real, and were close enough to the visions of sugar plums that all those tales teach us about. I never told Emily this (for fear of laughter), but I left candy out on my bookshelf. It wasn't cookies, but I wanted Santa to know that I believed, that I had hope. That I needed the magic of Christmas more than I ever needed it before.

I awoke to find that I had presents! Actual presents, and a filled stocking! Tears streamed down my cheeks as I pulled pink and purple candy canes and a plushie pug from my pink Disney princess stocking. I unwrapped my presents, among them a Katniss Barbie and a Cinderella DVD set.

But there was one gift that I'd wanted more than anything else, and when I pulled away the Loki wrapping paper, there it was. A Kindle! A Kindle! Just for me! It was wrapped up in a pink case, that was then adorned with pink and white glittery stickers that spelled my name, with princess castles and tiaras. It was perfect.

In that moment, I could feel the Christmas magic at work. I held in my hand the object I'd most wanted, beside the most loving, beautiful girl in my life. It didn't matter that my own home was a bit messy, that I was dating a female against the view of some people in my life. Santa found me, and with that little twinkle of Christmas spirit we can see in the frosting of the gingerbread cookies, the lights on the tree, in the unmarked fallen snow on the lawn, he lifted my spirits back up.

Santa doesn't care who you love, or where you come from. If goodness and the spirit of Christmas lie in your heart, Santa will find his way to you. Keep your head up high, and don't let other people get to you. It gets better -- Santa and I say so :)

Now go rekindle your Christmas spirit! Go drink cocoa and listen to music or watch a movie like Home Alone 2 or Elf or my favorite, The Year Without a Santa Claus. Spread that cheer and wear a smile, tell those around you that you love them, and have a very warm, loving, and happy Christmas, and a prosperous and even better New Year. (And if you don't celebrate Christmas, I hope you have a just-as- happy Kwanzaa, Yule, Hannukah, Saturnalia, and any other holiday too!)

With love and tidings,

Jillyn

Jillyn is a 21-year-old LGBT book blogger and a student at Southern Illinois University. She is a Goodreads.com Top 1% Reviewer and an official co-host of North Pole High’s #SantaChat Christmas parties. Follow her on Twitter at @jayohsul and read her book reviews at Bitches n Prose (bitchesnprose.blogspost.com).

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.

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.

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!