Every few years, the group I worked with back in the 70s would organize Magic Shop reunions, where we reminisced about the good ol' days. Many of the stories we shared I knew first hand. Others I didn't. Then someone would say, "Somebody should write this down in a book." Having already authored 6 of them, I felt I should be the one to do it.

One of the perks of working there was being coached by magic professionals. I learned sleight-of-hand moves with a regular card deck. One trick was to have someone draw a card, then shuffle it back into the deck, whereupon I attempted to locate it. In the end, the card I found was the wrong one. Placing it face down on the counter, the volunteer would turn it over to find it had changed into the chosen card. The looks on those faces were priceless.

Most people enjoyed our harmless pranks, and laughed whenever they found themselves a victim of one. Others regarded our humor as somewhat less than amusing. Every so often, a guest would complain to City Hall that we had exceeded the limits of good manners. But that didn't stop the fun. Remember, the sign out front read tricks and jokes.

We sold these ketchup and mustard squeeze bottles, like the ones you see on restaurant tabletops. Point one at your intended victim and squeeze. All that came out was a colored string. People always jumped back, thinking they were being splattered with a greasy liquid. Interestingly, though they were prominently displayed on the counter, no one ever asked why diner condiments were being sold in a magic shop.

Seeing the park's inner workings that were hidden from the public was fascinating—like the time I witnessed the robotic Mr. Lincoln being calibrated. But it was the other cast members whom I found most interesting. Where else can you rub elbows with artists, musicians and actors all in one place. Seeing the Disney walk-around characters backstage with their heads off was funny at first, but soon became a common sight you didn't think much about.

Sadly, he left the park years before I started. I only learned of his presence after watching him host a video presentation on Disneyland's 50th anniversary. Nonetheless, I have reached out to his publicist, asking if he would consider endorsing my book. That will take some real magic. I hear he's a busy guy.

There were other passions I wanted to pursue. I resumed my musical career—composing, recording and performing live. Then I realized my dream of becoming a feature film character animator. Not coincidentally, those dream-come-true successes followed my time working at Disneyland.

First of all, it's a cheerful holiday story, with plenty of candy canes, mistletoe kisses and eggnog. But it's also about the battle between ordinary folks and the ruling class. It features a cast of obstinate characters, not unlike that one we all know from that Dickens classic, only my Scrooges have no intention of reforming.

A little boy's father is a volunteer medic, serving in a foreign war, when he is reported missing. It's Christmastime, and the boy writes to Santa Claus, asking that his dad be returned home safely. The problem is, writing letters to Santa is a federal offense. Outraged, the boy's teenage sister launches a nationwide campaign to repeal the ban.

Most everyone has seen the holiday movie Miracle On 34th Street. The story ends (spoiler alert!) with a courtroom judge declaring that Santa Claus does indeed exist. In the real world that decision would have been appealed to a higher court. I simply picked up where "Miracle" left off.

I've always been drawn to stories that pit the little guy against the powers that be. Characters in movies like Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and It's a Wonderful Life emphasize self-sacrifice for the greater good. I wrote Holly to project that same fearlessness. She expresses that kind of heroism we don't see much of anymore—the kind where you confront evil without using your fists.

I had already written a series of books for young adults featuring teens who stand up to authority. Then youth activism began making headlines. Watching those millions of kids marching on Washington told me I was on the right track. I started attending their rallies, and quickly realized how vitally important youth involvement is.

It ponders that fundamental question we hear every holiday season: People are so kind at Christmas, why can't they be that way all year long? I answer it with an original song that weaves through the story. (Watch the music video HERE.)

Generally, my books explore relevant topics through storytelling. They take a hard look at today's issues, though never at the expense of a fun read. An Unacceptable Christmas follows in that vein. It provides an escape, but not into an unfamiliar world. Most importantly, it promotes empathy and optimism. Broad-minded young adults in search of alternative YA fiction will find it refreshing.

Don't accept that the way things are is the way it has to be. Listen to your heart and use your head. Discover your better self, then prepare to feel that spark—that moment of euphoria when you say to yourself, "Hell, yes! I can do this!"