Posts Tagged ‘humor’

About the Book

Title: The Peacock Door

Author: Wanda Kay Knight

Genre: Middle Grade Fantasy

In a magical tale of adventure, eight cousins sneak through forbidden treehouse doors, only to find themselves separated from each other and lost in strange worlds. In their quests to return home, they must unravel mysteries, escape snares and villains, find one another, and search for the elusive Oracle. The Peacock Door is a rich story of camaraderie, loyalty, love, and determination with a bit whimsy sprinkled throughout.

 

Author Bio

Wanda Kay Knight lives in the Pacific Northwest, teaches literature, strives really hard to keep up with her adventurous/competitive family, makes things out of yarn (mainly unique hats), enjoys collecting pretty rocks, and writes a lot.

Word from the Author:

I have to admit that I am not an organized person—not at all.  I keep my house clean and I like things tidy, but my car is a mess and I tend to get caught up in my everything else instead of doing what I need to do. Then, I become a furious rush of activity and make everything appear like it was clean and sparkling all along.

Now, the truth is that I feel really good when all my tasks and goals are finished.  I love it when my house is clean. I love it when I have finished enough exercise to keep myself from feeling guilty. I absolutely love it when I have finally organized that new knitting project and the yarn and the needles are sitting beside the couch begging me to continue the project every time I sit down. And once I get started, I have a hard time stopping.

Well, it’s the same with writing.  Once I get myself to sit down and write, I have a hard time putting it down.  I love it. I come away from a writing session or even a writing marathon with a sense of relief and excitement that I have accomplished a goal. And furthermore, if I could just stay awake all night and keep writing, I would do it (until the next morning when I have to start the process of getting started all over again).

For any others out there like me, I have one suggestion that seems to work. The one thing that kept me consistently writing was meeting with a group of would-be authors once a week with the specific goal that we have to read something—just a page or so—but something each week. After we read, we accept some criticism, listen to the others, and come back in one week prepared to it all over again.

Sometimes in those weeks between meetings, I would only get a couple of pages finished. Other times, the story would take over and I would write furiously and get pages and pages done. But, that once a week meeting really did force me to do something each week, and that was enough to build on until I finished. I found that I needed to be held accountable once a week—every other week did not work.

And, if you hate meetings (as I do), and avoid them at all costs; you should know that for some reason, this particular type of meeting with a few other people constructed around a defined goal was quite pleasant with just the right amount of motivation.

And so, as I begin the process of writing book two, I know that it is once again time to find a couple more would-be authors and once again meet once a week.  For me, it is bonding, creative, and motivating experience, and without it, book two just might not get written for a long, long time.

Links

Website: www.thepeacockdoor.com

Youtube video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9VAx9k2_2eU

Youtube video:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yVRFqy5_hko&t=30s

Email address:    wandakayknight@thepeacockdoor.com

My personal email:  wkayknight@gmail.com

 

 

 

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Book Excerpts

Grizzles and Lola:

He hobbled and wobbled when he walked as though sharp tacks protruded from the floor; his shoulders were hunched, and his head bent forward; he was ancient, no doubt about it—he was an ancient, old man. Giant folds and wrinkles covered his face; his white hair fell in large loopy whorls about his head, and they might have redeemed the face if it were not for the huge bulbous nose and the tiny squinty eyes. But the part they noticed the most was the fingers; gnarled, wrinkled fingers with long, yellowed talons for fingernails.

He twisted around and snarled at them; his raspy voice interrupted by his own heavy, noisy breathing, “Can’t you see that I am busy? I don’t like people, and I especially don’t like children. I ate the last child that came here.” He picked his tooth with a dirty fingernail. “What do you want?”

Icy Stone Steps:

A full moon had risen in the cobalt sky casting a bluish glow over the icy, snow-swept mountainside, illuminating the entire hamlet. Icicles dangled from the steep, high pitched roofs of cottages nestling here and there, jumbled together at odd angles wherever the mountainside allowed. Jagged, ice covered stone steps, cut into the mountainside, curved up and around the icicle laden cottages until finally reaching a summit—a high, flat plateau. And it was on that plateau—high overhead and overshadowing the village—that a Citadel, a snow-covered stone fortress—overwhelming with its massive and imposing presence—rose up out of the mountain as though etched and carved from the rock itself.

They stood exhaling puffs of frosty mist; entranced by the ethereal beauty of their snow laden destination and shocked by the terrible price they must pay to get there. Finally realizing the price for warmth and comfort for the night so they would have an audience with the Oracle tomorrow was a midnight climb up jagged icy stone steps tonight. It was foreboding and frigid; it was ethereal and sublime.

“We can do this,” Eleanor whispered. She slipped over and laid one arm on Ivan’s shoulder and the other on Tilly’s. Addison silently reached down grabbing Brody’s hand—and he let her do it. Claire moved over to stand beside Levi who had taken Esmé back into his own arms. He smiled a grim smile, and then he turned, planting his foot on the first jagged, icy stone step as each of the cousins formed a silent line behind him, breathing in the cold, frosty air, and preparing to follow.

The Citadel:

Nothing, nothing at all, not the ancient tales of lore, nor the fables of old could have prepared the cousins for the imposing power or the exquisite beauty of the Citadel. It rose up out of the snow like an elaborate ice sculpture, with belfries and pinnacled towers climbing into the clouds and reaching higher than the peaks themselves.

There were arches and turrets and cupolas, and parapets and round keeps with lanterns flickering in spade shaped windows, and all of it as pristine and intricate as though carved from ice and decorated with snow.

The castle was hewn from the mountain itself, forged from the stone so that the posterior of the castle was fused into the rock face of the mountain. A high, thick stone wall with ramparts and battlements like the strongholds of old, curved around the castle, surrounding it like a giant horseshoe with the massive gatehouse setting the center and the two prongs fusing back into the mountain.

The Doors:

The others smiled, nodding innocently. Gramma laughed and turned to go out the peacock door; but, as soon as she grabbed the handle, she pivoted back facing them.

A bizarre expression clouded her face. “Whatever you do,” she said, “Whatever you do—listen to me!” She pointed her finger at each of them, and after staring directly into each set of eyes, she continued. “There are journeys and treasures beyond those doors,” she said, “There are long forgotten wisps of alchemy and lost keys and crystals and mirrors of illusions; but, you must not go out any of those doors. Her voice lowered as she leaned forward. “I gotta tell you—those keys are especially hard to find. You think it’s easy; but, nooo, it is not! Everything is fine as long as you don’t go out any doors except the peacock door, right here. This is the door to use—only this one.” She patted the door.

Her voice lowered even more—almost to a whisper. “You see, kiddies, even if you’re ready to search for the keys, it’s real hard to—um—well—to—to feel them—to experience them.” She rubbed the fingers of each hand together, rotating the thumb around the fingertips. “Yeeessss, to feel them; it’s just not the time to feel them. That’s the hard part. Do you understand?”

 

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“At times hilarious, at times touching, the best intentions often yield the largest blunders.”

 

You might think I am a psychiatrist, or perhaps a guy Dear Abby, to write a book about what it’s like to be single in your 50s. Nope. I was just single in my 50s. And I needed help. Over time and trial and error of many approaches to dating (and lots of therapy), I began to figure things out. Single-dom in middle-age should not be a death sentence to your sex life or happiness.

Think Steve Carell’s character from Crazy, Stupid Love—when most men find themselves bald, significantly uncool, and suddenly dumped, they don’t have a Ryan Gosling to usher them through this next phase in life. That’s where I come in.

Oh Shit! I’m Over 50 and Single is any man’s—and woman’s—answer to that first morning of waking up alone. It gets better. Only slightly, but it does. From chapters like “To V Or Not to V” to “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?” this guide touches on everything from the little blue pill to dating foreign women to sex toys to menopause with a robust selection of personal stories.

Who Am I?

P A Brook is an Author, Dater, and Know-It-All Smasher of Boring, dating in New York, NY.

From writing a Survivor themed article on investment regulation where the SEC wins every immunity challenge to using baseball analogies to wake up 700 people at an industry conference, trying to put an interesting spin on any topic has always been an interest. Now he is helping the over 50 and single crowd figure out there is life after divorce.

And what makes him an expert? How about two divorces, a retirement savings spent on therapy, and dating a thousand women. Okay, not a thousand, but enough to know what works at this age, at this time. There is no substitute for experience.

Subscribe to the Rated P comedy of P A Brook and receive your FREE copy of

Oh Shit! I’m Over 50 and Single

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Fictional Humor
Date Published: August 15th 2017
Publisher: Grave Distractions Publications
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When seniors normally settle into Cedar Branch Retirement Community they begin a simpler and slower pace of living. Not this group! With Jack Goslin, Karl and Betty Rutherfurd, and the Stevens Sisters nothing is simple or slower after moving into the number one retirement community in the south. With the neighboring resort battling over the beach property our eccentric group of seniors avenge war on the uptight and controlling manager of the resort. And after CBC gives the green light for residents to have private golf carts, well things just get even crazier for Derrick St. Clair.
From the new exotic fitness instructor, to Violet’s secret winery, Jack’s pimped out golf cart, and a host of other new issues for the director, CBC continues to gain popularity as the most interesting retirement community in the south. If you are looking for a place to retire, settle down, or witness bizarre fiascos stop by Cedar Branch, who knows – you just might make it home!
 
About the Author

Lee DuCote has traveled the world researching cultures, people, and historical accounts to help create his stories.  A native to Louisiana, he writes to give hope and encouragement to others, as well as to entertain and spark the imagination.  Lee lives in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas with his wife and family and is the author of seven novels including Camp 80 that earned him an international book award.

 



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