Everett Peacock's Blog, page 17

The Man From T.I.K.I.

This 99c excerpt from "The Parrot Talks in Chocolate" takes you into a scene from the famous Maui Tiki bar in the jungles of the north shore.

The bartender is met by a bar inspector intent on confirming Tiwaka's Tiki Bar & Grill is authentically "tiki".

Read the entire book (downloaded over 40,000 times) @ "The Parrot Talks in Chocolate"  Here's a taste....



Gregorio was back the next week with a load of grass fed organic island beef that was so good vegetarians had to reaffirm their faith in its presence. We had the kiawe wood fires going early and by late afternoon the coals were dancing. Kegs of Kona brewed beer were being offloaded and the Kihei Ice Truck had made it all the way in this time on our gravel road. The weather was doing its best to impress even hard core islanders with clear skies and warm breezes. Just another day in paradise. Our weekly luau was gearing up just nicely. Sandy and Coco were dressed in some kind of outfits that reminded me of Trader Vic meets Walt Disney. They were giggling and prancing around so much that it would have made burlap bags look good. Ma & Pa had friends in from Canada or some place really cold. These folks were breathing in the 72 degree air like it was some kind of incense. Hard winters were always good for business in the tropics. As I was organizing the bar a gentleman walked up to where I had several hemp towels stacked. He stood silently, waiting to get my attention. Finally, he did. I turned to see who was standing there. His hair was quite gray but had not yet made the leap to white. His eyes were well disguised behind some authentic looking Texas Sheriff sunglasses. His lips were drawn back in a half smile that hinted at sarcasm. On top of my hemp towels was a law enforcement style badge attached to a flip open wallet also containing his ID. Glancing at all that in one brief moment, I offered a little solicitously, "What you drinking officer?" He didn't bite. "Are you the proprietor of this establishment?" His half smile faded a little.

5 Star Review for "Tiwaka Goes to Waikiki"

The 3rd book in the series "The Life and Times of a Hawaiian Tiki Bar" got a great write up on Amazon recently.

5.0 out of 5 stars Magic!, September 28, 2012By C. M. Tucker "CMPete" (Beach House, on the river) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)    Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)This review is from: Tiwaka Goes to Waikiki (The Life and Times of a Hawaiian Tiki Bar) (Kindle Edition)This book and the others in the series The Parrot Talks in Chocolate: The Life and Times of a Hawaiian TIKI Bar and In the Middle of the Third Planet's Most Wonderful of Oceans: The Life and Times of a Hawaiian Tiki Bar are a magic escape from dusty midwestern summers and dreary ice bound winters. The cast of characters is well drawn, and their journey is a great allegory for life in this millenium. The songlines are all connected, and the mysticism of the islands mixes beautifully with a fresh, amusing look at humanity. The narrative is enchanting. Yes, I love it. It's fun fiction that touches the pirate child in all of us, and the longing heart that we've learned to hide. A must for fans of Jimmy Buffett.

Thanks Mr Peacock, for a wonderful world......

AUDIO version of "Death by Facebook" now Available

First in AUDIO is Out!

my First AUDIO book is out!  Audible, Amazon and iTunes

100,000 Books Out the Door!

Tonight, my total lifetime distribution of books hit the big 100,000! Mostly thanks to Amazon.com

Most of those, 98,000 have moved since January 4th, when I began distributing with KDP at Amazon.
Most of those were promo books as well.

Yet, it's a great milestone for a 3 year writing career.  And, if the next three years is anything like these last 8 months, it's gonna be a great ride.

Patting myself on back now...must go...

Einstein's Garden - Chapter 1

~~~T-minus 3 months

Cape Canaveral, FloridaJanuary 1966


The hardest part about traveling at the speed of light is stopping. Of course, they never taught us this back in Houston. They were all about getting us to the moon at a mere 25,000 mph, and back safely. Pick up some rocks, flip off the Russians and smile for the remote cameras. Being good military boys, we were cool with that. The pay was good, no one was shooting at us, and the girls at Cape Canaveral were real good at holding us tight on the beach at night. There were worse places to be, some place in Asia called Vietnam was heating up. Korea and Germany had the cruel winters of our forefathers, and the ships at sea held no fascination, unless they were picking up your space capsule after a successful return from Out There. Sitting at my favorite picnic table at Chauncey's Oyster Bar with the other guys down South Cocoa Beach way we would talk it up real big and macho. The girls with us were practically hypnotized by every word we said. Vinny played this up the best of anyone by jumping up on the table sometimes and getting the ponytailed fans to give him a big T minus 10 countdown. "10!" he would start the count, flexing his left bicep and starting his slow rotation atop the table. The girls would almost drool, but would religiously wait a moment and then in their fascinated voices, almost scream. "9!" Vinny would flex his other impressive arm, to the giggling delight of his launch team. "8!" He lifted his Miami Dolphins football t-shirt, some new expansion team that year, and flexed his multi-cubed stomach. I looked around and thought a few of the girls were going to pass out before he got to the good part. "7!" They cheered him on, and off came the shirt altogether. By this time, old Chauncey would be spying on us through the salt encrusted screen window, to make sure we weren't getting too out of hand. He tolerated us more than most would because we were military boys, like he used to be. That patience would get us to 7, maybe 6, but it was the fact that we were also astronauts that allowed Vinny to continue his countdown further. "6!" A few of the older girls started to whistle, like we might at a strip bar. His muscles rippled like the neck of a bull chasing red. Of course, Vinny had turned a quiet, almost broke Oyster bar into a profitable strip joint tonight. All of us remaining guys moved away from the picnic table now, having seen the routine before. He was half drunk, our defacto leader in training, and a genius at firing up the women folk. "5!" Down came the zipper of his khaki shorts. The girlish screams were deafening. It was a good thing Chauncey already was. I turned to look inside the bar, no families had shown up yet. Good. "4!" They all panted in unison, and the button at the top of his shorts released, the pants falling slightly on his hips. I was relieved he had remembered to wear underwear this time. "3!" The girls were practically climbing up on the table with him, but like the good entertainer he was, he gently pushed them away, smiling that victory smile he was slowly earning second by second. "2!" Some of the girls were covering their faces with their hands. Naturally, their fingers were parted enough to let them continue watching in some perceived mask of decency. These were good girls, raised in Southern households of conservatism. But, they were also human, slightly drunk and unfairly overwhelmed by a man that had been twice the speed of sound that very morning. "1!" Vinny's hands went up to the top of his shorts, and held for that one last moment of mystery. "Blastoff!" The girls all stood up jumping and screaming and easily hiding Vinny from the rest of us guys. That was fine. We had seen him in his underwear before. Chauncey finally pushed open the screen door, but I saw him coming and gently put my hand on his shoulder. "Hey Chaunce,” I deflected. “We got ourselves a rocket launch tonight!" I had my other hand in his, sliding a $10 bill into his grip. "This is a family establishment Marvin, ya'll can't be getting all naked out here." His eyes looked down to see his tip, then wandered back up to gaze at the several pairs of female legs up on the picnic table. "I know. We're not. He still has his underwear on." Chauncey looked a little over my head and frowned. "Ya'll got 5 minutes to clear out Marvin. And, no. He doesn't." I turned quickly and couldn't even see Vinny, but his briefs were around his ankles and there was a lot of manic giggling. The other guys were ready to move the party somewhere else, and I knew if we didn't soon, the police would be there. "Hey!" I shouted. "The cops are coming!" I winked at the other guys, giving them the bluff. "Let's move this party to the beach." I looked at my watch. 19:50. We had about 20 minutes to make it to our favorite spot to watch launches, at the beach. "Girls! Girls! The Cape is launching a satellite tonight, in 15 minutes. Let's go!" Several of the shyer girls moved first, a little overwhelmed by Vinny's performance. "Ahh..." I heard disappointed female voices, as Vinny reached down to pull up his pants, all of them. "Come on honeys! The rocket waits for no one!" Vinny broadcast, stepping down off the table, a little flushed. "Thanks Marv," he whispered. "I was about to get a little crazy there." He pulled on his Miami Dolphins shirt despite five or six of the launch team trying to help him. "About to, eh?" I teased. We all piled into four convertibles and almost raced down to the dunes just outside the base perimeter. The weather was perfect. Perfect for a rocket launch, perfect for swimming and perfect for everything else that was about to happen. We lined up our cars, facing the Atlantic and brought out our remaining beers. Blankets came out of the trunk and shoes got left behind. I watched everyone pair off out toward the dunes, just in time. The Gemini boosters lit up the Florida swamps and sky like God's cigarette. I sat alone on the hood of my '58 Thunderbird and wondered how much longer I could wait on Ann, my high school honey from Orlando. Her heart was in engineering far more than drinking and debauchery. She might have come with us tonight, except for some exam later in the week. PhD, the boys would say. Piled Higher and Deeper. The flames shooting out of the tail of that rocket crackled the air in some kind of cosmic ripping of the sky. My eyes raced ahead as I watched, and prayed. There went the future, my future. I could hear the music in my heart, feel the crescendo rocking. It was my time to go, my time to move among the stars. My time. As I sat there on the warm hood of my car, leaning against the windshield, the rocket moved quickly to the point where the flames were not much bigger than the surrounding stars. That star light was coming at me as fast as anything in the universe could travel. I could feel it's message slamming into my chest like a lover's promise. It had traveled for years to find me, here on the beach. I raised my clenched fist up into the night sky, in victory. It might have been the beer, but my eyes filled with tears as I heard the universe call my name. It was indeed my time.
- look for Einstein's Garden in time for Christmas

NPR 3 Minute Fiction

THE OPTIMIST


She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. How could an estate sale list get any sadder, she thought? Making her way up the dark stairs to the bleak rooftop, she reviewed the list in her mind. “Baby shoes, new. Never worn. $2” “Various romantic movies, DVD. 50 cents each.” “Four slot toaster, two slots never used. $3” Pushing the heavy iron door open, she felt the cold rush of mist and winter move against her nakedness. She pushed ahead anyhow. Pigeons fluttered away, annoyed by the intrusion. Stopping, the door still heavy against her bare hand she watched them fly higher into the grayness, escaping one bleakness for another. A pair of reliable leather shoes kept no secrets as she moved nosily toward her favorite perch on the edge. As she sat down on an old “Maui No Ka Oi” beach towel, the heavy iron door announced it was no longer interested, booming shut. One last cigarette appeared magically as she rolled the box in her hands. Fishing the clear disposable lighter from her worn paper bag she fought with the flint to get one last flame out of the remaining fumes. It had been her only successful method of controlling the addiction. Never stocking up. Yet, only buying when she had run out had not delayed anything. When the building Super had noticed that of her once, he had shaken his head slowly, like old men will, saying she only tortured herself. He had no idea. Sitting on the edge, her feet dangling over the thirty vertical window gardens below, all abandoned, she inhaled deeply. It had really been the only lover she had ever been able to count on, these kisses of nicotine moving through her soul. Drawing a second deep breath she watched the traffic below and continued going over her list. “Queen sheets, 400 thread, still in package. $4” “Scented bath salts, various. $3” “Love chair, never proven. Free.” She twirled the now empty lighter in her hand, wondering how such a good friend had worked against her all along. Crushing the empty cigarette box before throwing it on the roof with the lighter she wondered for a moment if it all been a conspiracy. “Of course,” she laughed loudly, disturbing only the stubborn pigeons who had yet to fly away. The Super, a man that reminded her of a father she might have had, would at first think she had taken a weekend with a lover, perhaps out to the mountains. But, then he would come to collect the rent and find her still gone. Perhaps after another few days he would let himself in, saying out loud that he was there to inspect the pipes. Reaching into paper bag again, she pulled out a handful of bird feed, the kind that was always on sale. Pigeons weren't especially picky eaters. There was enough room on either side of her to spread it out evenly, on her left and then on her right. The varied colors had always fascinated her, even as a young girl. No one, though, had ever been able to explain why some of the seeds were one color or another. A moment later, the pigeons crowded her perch, feasting, as she flew. The Super, she envisioned would find her very organized instructions in the book, and her key sitting stoically on top. He would open it and flip to the first page. “All money to be donated to the American Cancer Society.”

Goodreads Winners Announced for April!

the April GOODREADS contests are over and we have some winners! Congrats to the following readers:



The Parrot Talks in Chocolate

Peggy from Lufton, Texas
Julie from La Jolla, California

(others below...)













In the Middle of the Third Planet's Most Wonderful of Oceans

Desiree from Fort Walton Beach, Florida
Allie from Westland, Michigan













Tiwaka Goes to Waikiki


Loren from Providence, Rhode Island
Mamma from Knoxville, Tennessee










Death by Facebook


Fred from Lakewood, Washington
Olivia from Tangent, Oregon

Audio Book version of "Death by Facebook"

an AUDIO book version of "Death by Facebook" is now in production.

I'm excited to enter this new venue for those who enjoy listening as well as reading.

Look for it soon, perhaps end of May.

Audible.com, Amazon.com and iTunes

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