The Peacock Writers

Check out this great new site of writers from around the world putting their talents to work for kids. They publish two collections a year of  children's stories and poems for all ages. All profits go to children's charities.

Okay I admit I'm one of them but I love idea of helping kids with my writing. We have four books published and another due this Autumn/Winter.

     A Whimsical Holiday for Children






         A Spooky Fall Harvest
           The Rain Cloud's Gift










Faeries, Pixies and Dragons, Oh My!




If you like the idea of helping other children when you buy books for yours then look no further.


The Peacock Writers - Home

Carol x

The Best Ideas are Always Simple

Strolling through Face Book today I read a post by a good writer friend of mine called Danny Kemp. I felt his post made so much sense; I had to share it with you all. What he says makes a lot of sense and if you have self-published writer friends you would like to support but can’t afford to buy or don’t want to read their books, you can help them in the following way. Read on, it’s very short.  

 From Danny Kemp

“I want to be serious for a moment, and take up your valuable time.

People have differing reasons for writing a book and people have differing reasons why they don't buy those books that are written. One thing that all writers, I would guess, have in common, is that they would love to be read. Books can be expensive and beyond the reach of some, or they a subject matter outside of interest, but without writers, they would be no books. Most people on these sites, within Face Book and on Twitter, are trying to get a 'name' in the literary world, and it's difficult, if not impossible for most of us.

This is where you come in. You can help without spending money, or extending your reading list.

If you know a writer that you would like to support, then you are that writer’s angel, and could open doors for him, or her, that they cannot.

Ask your Library to order that persons work. It is as simple as that. Some will only take them in a hardcover edition but there is no harm in asking, and YOU could make someone’s day.

Thank you for reading this, which I post on behalf of ever writer I know.”

                                                                            ******

So there you have it folks, no need to hide from author friends anymore. Just go to your local library armed with the title and ISBN number of their book which can be found on links the writer posts or places like Amazon. You will be a writer's angel.

Carol x

 

 

Better than any Christmas Card

From my good friend Danny Kemp

Now here's a thing, takes a bit of time to read it all, but worth it!

The old man sat in his gas station on a cold Christmas Eve. He hadn't been anywhere in years since his wife had passed away. It was just another day to him. He didn't hate Christmas, just couldn't find a reason to celebrate. He was sitting there looking at the snow that had been falling for the last hour and wondering what it was all about when the door opened and a homeless man stepped through.

Instead of throwing the man out, Old George as he was known by his customers, told the man to come and sit by the heater and warm up. "Thank you, but I don't mean to intrude," said the stranger. "I see you're busy, I'll just go."

"Not without something hot in your belly." George said.

He turned and opened a wide mouth Thermos and handed it to the stranger. "It ain't much, but it's hot and tasty. Stew ... Made it myself. When you're done, there's coffee and it's fresh."

Just at that moment he heard the "ding" of the driveway bell. "Excuse me, be right back," George said. There in the driveway was an old '53 Chevy. Steam was rolling out of the front.. The driver was panicked. "Mister can you help me!" said the driver, with a deep Spanish accent. "My wife is with child and my car is broken." George opened the hood. It was bad. The block looked cracked from the cold, the car was dead.

"You ain't going in this thing," George said as he turned away.

"But Mister, please help ..." The door of the office closed behind George as he went inside. He went to the office wall and got the keys to his old truck, and went back outside. He walked around the building, opened the garage, started the truck and drove it around to where the couple was waiting. "Here, take my truck," he said. "She ain't the best thing you ever looked at, but she runs real good."

George helped put the woman in the truck and watched as it sped off into the night. He turned and walked back inside the office. "Glad I gave 'em the truck, their tires were shot too. That 'ol truck has brand new ." George thought he was talking to the stranger, but the man had gone. The Thermos was on the desk, empty, with a used coffee cup beside it. "Well, at least he got something in his belly," George thought.

George went back outside to see if the old Chevy would start. It cranked slowly, but it started. He pulled it into the garage where the truck had been. He thought he would tinker with it for something to do. Christmas Eve meant no customers. He discovered the the block hadn't cracked, it was just the bottom hose on the radiator. "Well, shoot, I can fix this," he said to himself. So he put a new one on.

"Those tires ain't gonna get 'em through the winter either." He took the snow treads off of his wife's old Lincoln. They were like new and he wasn't going to drive the car anyway.

As he was working, he heard shots being fired. He ran outside and beside a police car an officer lay on the cold ground. Bleeding from the left shoulder, the officer moaned, "Please help me."

George helped the officer inside as he remembered the training he had received in the Army as a medic. He knew the wound needed attention. "Pressure to stop the bleeding," he thought. The uniform company had been there that morning and had left clean shop towels. He used those and duct tape to bind the wound. "Hey, they say duct tape can fix anythin'," he said, trying to make the policeman feel at ease.

"Something for pain," George thought. All he had was the pills he used for his back. "These ought to work." He put some water in a cup and gave the policeman the pills. "You hang in there, I'm going to get you an ambulance."

The phone was dead. "Maybe I can get one of your buddies on that there talk box out in your car." He went out only to find that a bullet had gone into the dashboard destroying the two way radio.

He went back in to find the policeman sitting up. "Thanks," said the officer. "You could have left me there. The guy that shot me is still in the area."

George sat down beside him, "I would never leave an injured man in the Army and I ain't gonna leave you." George pulled back the bandage to check for bleeding. "Looks worse than what it is. Bullet passed right through 'ya. Good thing it missed the important stuff though. I think with time your gonna be right as rain."

George got up and poured a cup of coffee. "How do you take it?" he asked.

"None for me," said the officer..

"Oh, yer gonna drink this. Best in the city. Too bad I ain't got no donuts." The officer laughed and winced at the same time.

The front door of the office flew open. In burst a young man with a gun. "Give me all your cash! Do it now!" the young man yelled. His hand was shaking and George could tell that he had never done anything like this before.

"That's the guy that shot me!" exclaimed the officer.

"Son, why are you doing this?" asked George, "You need to put the cannon away. Somebody else might get hurt."

The young man was confused. "Shut up old man, or I'll shoot you, too. Now give me the cash!"

The cop was reaching for his gun. "Put that thing away," George said to the cop, "we got one too many in here now."

He turned his attention to the young man. "Son, it's Christmas Eve. If you need money, well then, here. It ain't much but it's all I got. Now put that pea shooter away."

George pulled $150 out of his pocket and handed it to the young man, reaching for the barrel of the gun at the same time. The young man released his grip on the gun, fell to his knees and began to cry. "I'm not very good at this am I? All I wanted was to buy something for my wife and son," he went on. "I've lost my job, my rent is due, my car got repossessed last week."

George handed the gun to the cop. "Son, we all get in a bit of squeeze now and then. The road gets hard sometimes, but we make it through the best we can."

He got the young man to his feet, and sat him down on a chair across from the cop. "Sometimes we do stupid things." George handed the young man a cup of coffee. "Bein' stupid is one of the things that makes us human. Comin' in here with a gun ain't the answer. Now sit there and get warm and we'll sort this thing out."

The young man had stopped crying. He looked over to the cop. "Sorry I shot you. It just went off. I'm sorry officer."

"Shut up and drink your coffee " the cop said.

George could hear the sounds of sirens outside. A police car and an ambulance skidded to a halt. Two cops came through the door, guns drawn. "Chuck! You ok?" one of the cops asked the wounded officer.

"Not bad for a guy who took a bullet. How did you find me?"

"GPS locator in the car. Best thing since sliced bread. Who did this?" the other cop asked as he approached the young man.

Chuck answered him, "I don't know. The guy ran off into the dark. Just dropped his gun and ran."

George and the young man both looked puzzled at each other.

"That guy work here?" the wounded cop continued.

"Yep," George said, "just hired him this morning. Boy lost his job."

The paramedics came in and loaded Chuck onto the stretcher. The young man leaned over the wounded cop and whispered, "Why?"

Chuck just said, "Merry Christmas boy ... and you too, George, and thanks for everything."

"Well, looks like you got one doozy of a break there. That ought to solve some of your problems."

George went into the back room and came out with a box. He pulled out a ring box. "Here you go, something for the little woman. I don't think Martha would mind. She said it would come in handy some day."

The young man looked inside to see the biggest diamond ring he ever saw. "I can't take this," said the young man. "It means something to you."

"And now it means something to you," replied George. "I got my memories. That's all I need."

George reached into the box again. An airplane, a car and a truck appeared next. They were toys that the oil company had left for him to sell. "Here's something for that little man of yours."

The young man began to cry again as he handed back the $150 that the old man had handed him earlier.

"And what are you supposed to buy Christmas dinner with? You keep that too," George said. "Now git home to your family."

The young man turned with tears streaming down his face. "I'll be here in the morning for work, if that job offer is still good."

"Nope. I'm closed Christmas day," George said. "See ya the day after."

George turned around to find that the stranger had returned. "Where'd you come from? I thought you left?"

"I have been here. I have always been here," said the stranger. "You say you don't celebrate Christmas. Why?"

"Well, after my wife passed away, I just couldn't see what all the bother was. Puttin' up a tree and all seemed a waste of a good pine tree. Bakin' cookies like I used to with Martha just wasn't the same by myself and besides I was gettin' a little chubby."

The stranger put his hand on George's shoulder. "But you do celebrate the holiday, George. You gave me food and drink and warmed me when I was cold and hungry. The woman with child will bear a son and he will become a great doctor.

The policeman you helped will go on to save 19 people from being killed by terrorists. The young man who tried to rob you will make you a rich man and not take any for himself. "That is the spirit of the season and you keep it as good as any man."

George was taken aback by all this stranger had said. "And how do you know all this?" asked the old man.

"Trust me, George. I have the inside track on this sort of thing. And when your days are done you will be with Martha again."

The stranger moved toward the door. "If you will excuse me, George, I have to go now. I have to go home where there is a big celebration planned."

George watched as the old leather jacket and the torn pants that the stranger was wearing turned into a white robe. A golden light began to fill the room.

"You see, George ... it's My birthday. Merry Christmas."

George fell to his knees and replied, "Happy Birthday, Lord Jesus"


This story is better than any greeting card.
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND GOD BLESS!

Now clear the lump from your throat, blow your nose, and send this along to a friend of yours or someone who may need a reminder as to why we celebrate Christmas.

Did You Know

Women are better at negotiation, empathy, nurturing, support, group dynamics and multi tasking. Women observe, listen, and articulate better than men, they are also better at fine detail. It is a scientific fact that although women have smaller brains than men do, they are 3% more intelligent.

Men are better at fixing things and finding a destination. Men can always find north when asked. They are better at mathematics and chemistry. Their spacial awareness makes them good at judging volume and distances and very good at parking. 

Unfortunately, most women have trouble reading maps, telling right from left, are hopeless at finding north and poor spacial awareness leaves a lot to be desired on the parking front. Men on the other hand, can’t do more than one thing at a time, are totally inarticulate and completely deaf when either reading a newspaper or watching TV.

So, there you have it, science has now explained how the multi tasking ability of women and the tunnel vision of men; so useful in the Stone Age is the foundation of why we find it so difficult to co-exist today.

Bearing in mind what I have learned, I have decided to stop complaining about my partners cleaning methods in the kitchen, he can’t help missing most of the mess because he can’t see it. His inability to detect fine detail hampers him in this chore. 

 

Carol x 

Cranky Old Man....

I found this during my many wander across the net. As I’m fast approaching that time in life when people look at me and think (that’s an old person) I wanted to share this with you all. A beautiful but simple poem that needs to be set in stone and placed in every hospital, nursing home and place where the elderly dwell.

Read and remember….

Carol x

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, they thought he had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that they made copies and distributed them to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Melbourne. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appears in magazines for Mental Health. A slide presentation was made, based on his simple, but eloquent, poem. This old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.

Cranky Old Man....

What do you see nurses?.... What do you see?

What are you thinking?.... When you're looking at me?
A cranky old man…. Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit…. With faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food…. and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice…. 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice…. the things that you do.
And forever is losing…. a sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not…. lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding…. the long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking?.... Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse…. You're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am…. As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding…. as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten…. with a father and mother.
Brothers and sisters…. who love one another.
A young boy of Sixteen…. with wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now…. a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty…. my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows…. that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five…. now I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide…. and a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty…. my young now grown fast.
Bound to each other…. with ties that should last.
At Forty my young sons…. have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me…. to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more…. babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children…. my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me…. my wife is now dead.
I look at the future…. I shudder with dread.
For my young are all…. rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years…. and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old man…. and nature is cruel.
It's jest to make old age…. look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles…. grace and vigour, depart.
There is now a stone…. where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass…. A young man still dwells,
And now and again…. My battered heart swells
I remember the joys…. I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living…. life over again.
I think of the years…. all too few gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact…. that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people…. open and see.

Not a cranky old man.
Look closer….see….ME!!

Carol Interviews Author Paula Shene

What inspired you to write?

Writing full time occurred in 2008 when my illustrator son faced a breakup of his marriage. My granddaughter developed nightmares with the uncertainty in her and her baby brother’s life. Mandy, she knew. Mandy did not have a good beginning and she too, had to learn to overcome. The story was written about Mandy for Samantha in an effort to help Samantha overcome her fears.

We are also into animal rescue, so 10% of our proceeds on this series, The Chronicles of the K-9 Boys and Girls on Locus Street, goes to animal rescue.

We sought publication for Mandy The Alpha Dog only after friends and relatives said ‘give it a try.’ In 2008, either there were not the resources for self publication there is now, or I was not aware enough of the market.

Finding self publication was prohibitive price-wise, I continued to seek a publisher even though reading about breaking into the ‘conventional’ print world is daunting.

Publish America  while in its early days had accepted all and sundry obtaining a bad rep, had also overcome as it went into its tenth year. After my initial asking for a ‘reading’ and including a synopsis, I waited; they insisted on reading one fourth of the story, I waited; then they requested all text in the story, I waited; followed by a request to see the pictures for the story which is written for the ‘smart aleck’ ages of seven through twelve’ ~ an attitude I seem to have kept. I waited. After weeks of ‘will they, won’t they?,’ we were accepted and then went into months of production. Mandy hit the waves in June of 2009. It is harder to break into the market for children than it is for the adult audience, and that is difficult.

The Midnight Caper was to have been the next instalment in this series. It is written except for the final scene and having my illustrator slow down long enough to sketch his cartoons. In the meantime, I found myself following a fellow author into the BookRix site and I’ve written more stories in this series which I’m slowly in the process of updating and publishing for sale. The first story I put into a contest on BookRix won third place. It was the only children’s story, and I think would have done even better if my illustrator had darker pictures which we fixed after the announcement of the winner. The name of the story is Digging Bones: But, I found I also like to write stories for the adults. A lot of my dark humor seems to follow me into that age, too.

Do you have anyone you show manuscripts to and get advice from or are you a loner doing it all yourself?

My husband was my slash and burn partner when I was writing a monthly column for a church newspaper in the Northwest. He would always yell out to me... “You can’t start a sentence with an ‘and’ or a ‘but!’ But, my column was the one sought out by the women and the men alike.

I’m the lady with the Orange Juice Stand … “We ran out of lemons but have the most thirst quenching Orange Juice this side of the Mississippi. May I offer you some?”

I wanted to be involved with the newly formed newspaper - maybe in layout, which I had done for a living; hard copy, not virtual - but never could make the meetings. I was called and offered the job no one wanted. I interviewed one woman a month, prayed, culled and produced a column. I found after writing thirty-six columns, I enjoyed writing, but the winds turned and I had need to return to my roots to bury my aunt who was much more to me. She had been a mother, a friend, and a mentor.

My husband is no longer able to read, proof, and critique because of dementia actually caused by a smack to his head in a near fatal accident. He was misdiagnosed, said to have Lewy Body Dementia, put on anti-depressants, thrown into a full blown case of Parkinson’s and then... we went through a year of detoxification hell. I wrote about that in Lewy vs Al and for the humorous look at it in the children’s section, There’s Something Strange. My son is interactive with the children’s stories and if I can make him laugh, I know I succeeded. Then I have my neighbourhood fan club who look for the new story or the kids on the site who also are reading the stories. I’m always amazed when I run into someone I do not know and am told, ‘You wrote that book about Mandy. Hey, I loved it.’

What genre do you normally write in? Also, is there a genre you've always wanted to write in, but don't feel you could pull it off?

Not really. I write articles. I can write romance. I try to enter the contests because they each are for a different genre. I work well with deadlines - usually screeching to the finish. I have a lot of plates spinning and am always willing to add one more. So I try not to use absolutes in anything.

The one thing I find though is I am more of a sprinter than a long distance runner. I fare so much better with the short story then with a novel.

Do you ever base your characters on people you know?

“Snort.” All the time. Not necessarily physical, but certainly attitudinal.

What advice would you give to someone who was just starting off in writing?

Don’t quit your day job BUT write, write, write. Don’t let the critics kill your writing soul. I wrote an article for Angie’s Diary on What Not To Do in a Conference Call Interview and this was my take on this question: know what you are capable of writing and make sure your words are the ones that you mean to use – do not rely on spell check – if you use the wrong there {they’re, their}, or to {too, two}, or any other homophone in writing, the literate reader will pick up on it even if you miss it. {This is especially crucial if you’re your own editor}. I would also add, intimately know your target audience and what they like to read.

Go to your local library and scan shelves, then go to the catalogue which is now more than likely computerized and check the prolificacy of authors – read their books, what works for that genre and become so familiar with your subject, your writing flows.

If you do not have a passion for writing or a passion for the subject, it is time to change your direction either into another genre or profession or another time.

I wrote here and there throughout the years but did not seriously think of writing for the general public until recently when I was forced into retirement due to illness. When my body refuses to work but my mind is curious and my fingers tingle to type, writing becomes a God send for sanity. That’s my passion keeping me on the keys.

Do your stories tend to have morals, or special messages, included within them?

I don’t know how to write without a message somewhere. I’m not sure any writer is able to keep their views from seeping into a story. One of the characters is going to reflect their views either good or bad.

I do try to know my subject especially if I writing for the children. I do not want to give misinformation and that is so easy to do if you’re just breezing along and not thinking where you’re going until you hit the tree dead on.

This question was posed by a fellow author and I loved it so I decided to throw it into the mix ~ Oh no! One of your characters has escaped. Luckily, I have caught them! I will interrogate them with the help of a lie detector. Welcome! Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. You will be returning to your book once this is over. What's your name, where are you from and what is your role in the book?

“Well, hello. Carol? I ain’t ever met anyone I didn’t like, and I can tell I’ll be likin’ you. You don’t need to get that old contraption out. I’m a New York Dalmatian by the name of shadow. Shadow Hugh Shene, and I ain’t into lying. I’m into gettin’ information, too. That’s why I hang with Grandma. She’s the one at the computer and, um... she’s the one that feeds us.

I am the alpha dog, really. Just don’t go tellin’ Mandy. I like to keep her happy but she’s gettin’ up there in age, and I’m just helpin’ her keep up. Speakin’ of which, I really need to get back to work. It sure was nice meetin’ you though, Carol. Hope to see you again. Bye for now.”

Tell us why we would enjoy reading your books?

My stories evoke strong feelings and some people like certain stories, yet not others. I do seem to have something for everyone. My children stories are well received by the kids and most adults, but again not all. But, I do know there is something I’ve written that will bring a smile to your face.

To find out more about Paula, check out her author page on Indie Author Network:

 Carol x