We often hear about the mystery of Christmas. In  Over the River and Through the Woods, we not only have a mystery, but a detective noir tale set in Santa’s North Pole workshop complete with a hilariously crass elven anti-heroine named Tink.

“I didn’t write Tink; I think Tink wrote herself. Her voice was so loud, strong, funny, and irreverent, I had to put it on a page. She may end up in a full-length novel, because I’m not sure she’s done talking yet.” —Abigail Drake, author of “Tink”

Speaking of mysteries, a peculiar woman on the street catches the attention of the protagonist in Maryalice Meli’s story and we soon learn that appearances can be deceiving…

“When I think of Christmas holiday celebration, I think of Wampum, PA. This little Lawrence County town has the biggest parade of any outside Pittsburgh. My story is set at a Christmas parade though the story itself of an elderly woman outsmarting the angel of death has nothing to do with the parade.” —Maryalice Meli author of “The Christmas Angel”

Finally, Amy Morley reminds us that regardless of whether he’s flesh and blood or merely a myth, Santa Claus is a symbol of hope and virtue worth believing in—at any age.

“This is longer than you wanted. But I had to give the whole story in order for it to make sense.

I wrote “Reminiscing on the Nostalgia of Happier Times” as part of a writing exercise when I took a poetry class with regional poet Bill Boggs back in the fall of 2011. The prompt was to write about a memory, and to practice using imagery. As I sat down to write I remember hearing jingle bells in my memory.

The fall of 2011 was actually a very sad time in my life due to unexpected challenges that turned my life upside down. During these months I had numbed myself from feeling anything just so I could get through it without crying every second, so this was a very difficult assignment for me. I was trying not to remember anything at all as a defense mechanism from feeling additional remorse from what I thought at the time was a life full of regrets. But when I thought about what to write, I kept hearing jingle bells.

Those bells brought me back to a memory from November 1993, when I was 15 years old and I met a “Sidewalk” Santa at the South Street Seaport in New York City. I was a sophomore in high school and my marching band had performed in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade earlier that day. We had to wake up at 2AM so I was sleep deprived, so I am not sure what was real and what I had imagined from this memory.

But from this memory, I heard jingle bells. Santa was walking along the pier and ringing a bell. The bells were haunting, and I was drawn to them, almost hypnotized, and I felt as though they were calling me. I walked up to Santa and out of nowhere I told him that even though I was 15 years old, I still believed in him, and asked him what I had to do to get people to believe in me? I told him that it was impossible for people to believe in a mythical being, but somehow there are enough people in this world who continually believe and therefore keep him alive. Yet I was only 15 years old and I felt as though no one noticed me, no one thought I was important, no one believed that I would ever become someone of worth or recognition, but I knew that I was someone worthy. I knew I had talents and skills, I just didn’t know what they were, and I was afraid to even try to figure it out because I knew it would be useless since I felt discouraged and defeated all of the time. I told him that I just needed someone to believe in me. I asked him if he would believe in me since I still believe in him. He told me, “you keep believing in me and I will keep believing in you. And I promise you that things will change for you in the new year.”

And they did. A million different ways they did.

I wrote this poem when I was 32 years old. It was seventeen years after I met the real Santa Claus. I needed him at age 15 and then again at age 32. He was there for me both times; once in person or as a spirit even perhaps, and once again in my memory. Both times he was the one who believed in me, when I was alone, even when I didn’t believe in myself. Both times his presence in my life changed things so significantly that there’s no other explanation as to how he was able to do this, other than the fact that he was the real Santa Claus.” —Amy Morley

Proceeds from the sale of Over the River and Through the Woods benefit the Ligoner Camp and Conference Center, home of the Mindful Writers Retreat. We thank you for your support!