Things look a little different around here don’t they? This blog is now a part of a whole new website: HeidiSchulzBooks.com. I have been looking forward to showing it off for months and am thrilled to finally share it with you!
If you haven’t taken the time to look through the whole site (especially that incredibly detailed map on the landing page, under the home tab above) go look. Yes, now. It’s okay. I’ll wait.
Isn’t it AWESOME?
All summer I researched websites I liked. Once I had a clear idea of what I wanted, I assembled my crack team of amazing designers. By that I mean, I went to two of my very talented friends and begged for the opportunity to hire them. Lucky for me they both said yes.
My Team
Annie Laurie Cechini created all the gorgeous and incredibly detailed original artwork. Drew Heacock brought that artwork to life with his amazing programming and design skills. (I’m talking dark wizard level skills. I asked Drew if he could make that beautiful clock actually keep time, local to the user. He wrote a program and did it.)
Two months ago, I sent them both a few pages of notes, including some drawings so rudimentary they would make a five-year-old shake his head. They took those rough notes and made them into something absolutely wonderful, as represented by the following figure:
I love it so much!
Celebratory Giveaway
To celebrate, I’d like to do a little giveaway. I’m going to pick one of you to win the following two prizes:
A copy of my very favorite illustrated Peter Pan, the 100th anniversary edition with artwork by Michael Hague:
And your choice of a tote bag or t-shirt featuring the best pirate giraffe the internet has to offer:
Onward Tote Bag, Studio 6
To Enter
You do not have to subscribe to my blog, follow my twitter, or like my Facebook (though, I mean, you certainly can do those things if you like). Instead, I want you to tell me a story. But make it a short story–I don’t have all day.
Please write a story in 100 words or less using all of the following words:
Giraffe
Cutlass
Hook
Chicken
Pink
Clock
Pie
Bonus points if you use “AAAAAAAAR” in a way that is neither pirate-speak nor an exclamation of pain.
Enter your story in the comments. Next Friday, November 8, my agent, Brooks Sherman, and I will bicker and fight over them until we have agreed upon a winner.
Contest is open to those living in the U.S. or Canada, please.
Good luck!
The Puny Life of Giraffe,
Once upon a time there was Mr. Cutlas and his friends. Today he made a new friend. His name is chicken. Chicken went for a visit. He went through the front of the clock. He went through the pink cave and met Mr
Cutlas. Mr. Cutlas was a little mad at Chicken for being late, so he sliced up Chicken. He spit acid on him, and mushed him to a slimy goo. Ms. Pie was on a date with Chicken, but Chicken was late so Ms. Pie spit cherries in Chicken’s face. Chicken decides to run away from Ms. Pie and Mr. Cutlas. He hops on the giraffe train where Chicken gets robbed of all his yumminess. Then he walks very slowly to the LAAAAAAARGE intestine train where he forms into a big lump of yuck and gets dropped off at the toilet station. And you don’t want to know what happens next. It does not involve a hook. Just be glad you are not Chicken.
Sincerely by Grant S.
Adapted from the following story:
The Puny Life of Pizza
Once upon a time there was Mr. Stomach and his friends. Today he made a new friend. His name is Pizza. Pizza went for a visit. He went through the front mouth. He went through the esophagus cave and met Mr Stomach. Mr Stomach was a little mad at Pizza for being late, so he shriveled up Mr. pizza. He spit acid on him, and mushed him to a slimy goo. Ms. Liver was on a date with Mr. Pizza, but Pizza was late so Ms. Liver spit enzymes in Pizza’s face. Pizza decides to run away from Liver and Stomach. He hops on the small intestine train where Pizza gets robbed of all his yumminess. Then he walks very slowly to the large intestine train where he forms into a big lump of yuck and gets dropped off at the toilet station. And you don’t want to know what happens next. Just be glad you are not pizza.
Sincerely by Grant S.
I love your kids.
Boris scowled at the pink clock in his sister’s bedroom. They were late. The room smelled flowery and it made him feel sick, like eating old chicken pot pie.
Emmelina emerged in a giraffe print dress.
“How do I look?”
“Fine.” he said, grabbed her coat off the hook and threw it at her.
“It’s picture day!” she said, “Fine won’t cut the mustard.”
Boris imagined wielding a cutlass, slicing through the mustard, zip-lining to school, and arriving right before the bell.
Emmelina sashayed back to her closet. Picture day was the worst.
“Cutlass or hook?” The giraffe eyed the chicken.
The plump bird ruffled its feathers.
“Why you’re flushed pink as a late evening’s sunset.” With a glance at the clock, the giraffe began to trim the piecrust. “Dinner may be late.”
Shaking and shimmying, the chicken tried to dislodge his foot from the increasingly warm, coil burners.
In a flash of silver, the hook lassoed the chicken’s neck. The giraffe pulled his friend to safety. “Stop roosting on the stove,” the giraffe warned, “and help me with the pumpkin pie.”
By Lisa AAAAAAAARd
http://www.authorlisaard.com 🙂
AAAAAAAAR, the chair squeaked over the floor. Phyllis the chicken jumped onto it and peered at the clock. She had only minutes.
With Heidi and Newt’s conversation about dinner still fresh in her mind, she set to work.
Phyllis grabbed Newt’s stuffed giraffe from the table and crossed the yard to the coop. The giraffe would serve as a decoy there and buy her some time.
Next, she seized Heidi’s cutlass from the table and hid in the dark corners of the kitchen, her pinky orange feathers hooking around the hilt. She wasn’t about to turn into anyone’s chicken potpie.
By @Kelly__Allan
LOVE, love, love the map! Story coming… I am not going to read any of the others until I have finished.
Thanks, Mary Ann!
Captain Phyllis D. Chicken and her first mate One-eyed Joe Giraffe set out in search of the world’s greatest pie.
Joe’s wrist-clock tethered to his hook helped to guide them.
They sailed from morning until the last pink rays of the setting sun gave way to the inky blue-black of the night.
Just when Phyllis was certain she spotted a rare rhubarb pie on the horizon, Giraffe fiendishly took out his cutlass, ripping the sails to—“CAAAARRRR!!!” said Phyllis.
They hustled to move the ship out of the street waiting for the car to pass. “Game on,” shouted Joe.
Thank you for calling Phobia-Busters, Mr. Hook. How may I help you?
The Alektorophobics Group is meeting at the Pink Cutlass Diner at 8 o’clock tonight for their annual Chicken Pot Pie Dinner. Oh, I see… Afraid of chicken, yes…
Well, the Ablutophobics, Acaraphobics, Achluophobics, Aerophobics, Amathophobics, Ancraophbics, Arachibutyrophobics, Automysophobics, Rupophobis Group, or AAAAAAAARG, will be doing a service project to get rid of the spiders and cobwebs in the stockroom.
Yes, Mr. Hook, we are in the old Toys R Us building – just look for the giraffe in the parking lot.
We look forward to seeing you tonight!
“AAAAAAAAR, something’s wrong with that chicken”, thought Gaffe as he crossed the street. He’d never seen a pink chicken with a hook for a foot before. But, deciding to abide by his New Year’s resolution to not judge others, he continued galloping on his way. Besides, who was he to judge? Others looking at him today would see a giraffe, balancing a cutlass sitting on top of a coconut cream pie, on his head squarely between his ears. Stupid fraternity initiation. But right now he needed to worry about reaching the tower clock before noon…and time was running out.
Hot pink cutlass held aloft, Chicken, tears bathing its face, rode Giraffe through the Sahara, screaming, “VENGEANCE SHALL BE MINE!”
“ARRRRRR!” cried Giraffe.
Chicken jerked the reigns, shut its eyes and sighed. “Aye. Remember!?”
“…Aye?”
“AYE!” With a snap of the reigns, they were off.
* * *
“Wait here, speak to no one!” said Chicken.
“What does he look like?”
Chicken smacked its forehead. “Never mind.” He shoved open the cantina doors.
A cuckoo clock dangled from a hook too small for clock’s weight. At noon, the doors opened, revealing an apron-clad alien, a pie in its tentacles, its smile vaguely menacing.
Time to Go
She picked up his plate that held only crumbs of a chicken pot pie.
“Are you having dessert”?
No answer.
She refilled his coffee cup and gazed out the window. His faded, pink Oldsmobile Cutlass was parked in front of the diner. The filthy windows made it hard to see what was inside, but she swore there was a large stuffed giraffe in the back seat.
She looked at the clock and realized her shift was almost over.
“AAAAAAAAR YUUUUUUU HAAAAAV-ING DE-ZURRRRRRT”?!!!
He wiggled the hook of his hearing aid.
“WAAAAAAAT”?!!
Looking at the clock, Hook realized the Chicken Pot Pie was about done. His friend Giraffe was coming over to join him for dinner.
A knock on the door! He hurried to open it. Giraffe was there, her cheeks pink from the fresh cool air.
“I decided to walk, it was so lovely” said Giraffe, “And on the way over, I stopped to watch some children play Pirate on the green.”
“Would you mind if we delayed dinner? I’ll grab my cutlass and we’ll play with them” said Hook.
So they both went back and had a wonderful time.
The pink chicken wanted to hook up with the giraffe who worked at the local dinner. He considered combing his comb, but decided to shave it off with a cutlass instead to impress the cute lass and prove that he was a tough old bird. Unfortunately, she was on the clock. With a sigh, he ordered a pie and set about drowning his sorrows and his pain. After all, pie heals all wounds.
Hi Heidi, I read your first page in a contest awhile back (not sure which one, GUTGAA maybe?), and I remembered it when I stumbled across your blog. Of course that first page was going places:) Anyway, beautiful website. Here’s my entry. Thanks for the contest!
“You must leave your jokes and tricks at home.” Mrs. Prudent pointed a rubber chicken at her students. “This is a classroom of order and soberness.” Ralphie looked at the upside-down clock, which read two minutes past giraffe. He didn’t even know what that meant. “And finally,” Mrs. Prudent said, sitting on the large cherry pie she used as a chair cushion, which is why she had a pink stain on her backside, “absolutely no food in the classroom.” She pulled out her cutlass, hooked it through a spelling test on her desk, and looked at Ralphie. “You misspelled commonsensical.”
Thanks, Jessie! I can’t believe you remembered it!
I vote for Karin Archibald! Good job, Karin!!! 🙂
Thanks Charlene!
Smee shielded himself with a burnt oven mitt. “B-b-beg your pardon, Captain.” He pushed a plate across the table. “It’s a n-n-new recipe. Tallest thing I ever seen in Neverland, sir.”
Bracing for the cutlass—or perhaps even the hook—Smee didn’t relax until the Captain reached for a fork. One bite of the strange, orange pie, however, and the Captain’s expression froze like a broken clock.
Smee tugged at his apron strings.
The Captain swallowed.
“They c-c-call it,” said Smee, cheeks turning pink, “a giraffe.”
“Aaaaaaar,” moaned the Captain, satisfied. “Tastes like chicken.”
Long ago, and far, far away…
“What?” asked Giraffe.
“I said: Long ago, and far, fa….”
“I know what you said,” Giraffe interrupted, “I just didn’t like it.”
“But it’s how the story begins!”
Giraffe sighed and looked around the Pachinko parlor. He glanced at the clock; it was shaped like an apple pie with a piece cut out of it. He didn’t know how he was going to hold out until 5:00, waiting in this kitschy place. Twenty minutes to go.
“Ok,” Giraffe said, waving his hook in resignation, “start again.”
“Long ago, and far, far away, there was a pink chicken living in a Pachinko parlor.”
Giraffe sighed.
“Aaaarrr,” she grumbled as she silenced the insistent chicken cluck emanating from the alarm clock. She wiped the sleep from her eyes, dressed in her uniform, shoved a slice of leftover pie in her mouth, and grabbed her weapon from the hook on her way out the door. A pink slip of paper fluttered to the ground: a warning from her homeowners’ association. She rolled her eyes as a young One came around the corner. She raised her cutlass removing the head with ease and walked away. “HEY! You can’t leave that lyin’ there!” She shrugged, “It’s a giraffe.”
The Pink Giraffe wasn’t the kind of place I’d normally go, even on a dare. But my boss was insistent that I get this story.
“So how’d you get this gig?”
She sat across from me in black hooker boots, plastic cutlass, eye patch, bandana and nothing else.
She gave me a crooked smile. “On a dare. My roommate said I was too chicken to even try to dance. So I decided to go for it. Ironic Halloween is my first night.”
“What song did you pick?”
“Cherry Pie by Warrant.”
I nodded and glanced at the clock bored already.
Woah! The new site is phenomenal!!!
I love the home page and I really REALLY love the Seeeecret EasterEgg Island! OMG, that was adorable. And awesome.
SO this is what happens when you become a bonafide author? Fairy godmothers redo your webpage and make it super fun and fancy?
I need to write faster.
Hee hee! It really is spectacular. Congratulations!
And I also love pie. I will duel you. With swords. We will get hurt. And people will give us pie because they feel sorry for our blood loss.
When you see a chicken and a giraffe driving a pink cutlass, you may ask yourself aaaaaaaarn’t they good drivers? well it doesn’t matter go have a piece of pie and re-hook the clock on the wall. Next time the alarm goes off you may not wonder about it all.
“Dad’s hook is missing,” I said.
“Sounds serious,” Mom replied, taking a warm Chicken Lickin’ pie out of the oven.
I scooted out of her way.
“AAAAAAAAR!” Mom placed the dish on top of my book about giraffes. “Where in god’s name are all of our hotplates?”
Her cheeks turned pink, as if she’d just been clocked in the face. Didn’t she know the hotplates were with the hook, along with all the other stuff that guy just stole from our house? I sighed and watched the crook speed out of the driveway in a rented Cutlass Supreme.
Giraffe took a clock from his pocket. This will never do. The chicken pie was still pink. He had lost his cutlass and there was no way that hook-of-a-hand could get the pie back in the oven before the doorbell rang.
Mrs. Lion had heard their arguing and letting her in was his best option.
“Won’t you try some pie?” Giraffe nudged the meat towards her.
“I never understood how a giraffe like you could ever get a chick like her.” Lion devoured the pie. “AAAAAAAAR that’s so good what is in this?”
Giraffe grinned. There was no more evidence.
There was once a chicken who loved to peck at the pink pies the giraffe made around the clock from her berry bushes. He hanged by his cutlass and climbed up the wall until he got to the pies, then jumped off the wall.
One day, the giraffe stamped her foot down, “Away with the scallywag!”
She waited below the window until the chicken jumped down, and hooked him to the wall.
“If I can’t keep you away, the wall wilI be your coop. You can now have pies scraps!”
And that’s why we say chickens come home to roost.
Giraffe was stuck in bed. He was in bed and not at Giraffe School because the day before, while he was playing pirates with Chicken, he had caught an unfortunate case of pink eye, which he assumed was a result of eating pie with his pirate cutlass. As Giraffe watched the clock, and ate slices of AAAAAARgle-berry pie, he was grateful, because his plight was not as unfortunate as Chicken’s. Chicken had eaten his pie using his pirate hook, which had lodged into the side of his mouth, and he could no longer eat pie at all.
The kewpie doll only came awake at night—after the crust hands of the pie-clock hit midnight and the literary agent climbed back into his “WANTED” poster. (He wasn’t nocturnal.)
Tonight was the night. Revenge would be hers.
She climbed from her shelf and grabbed a cutlass from The Hall of Sharp Things, making a wish to the broken Gearwing as she went.
The chickens were waiting outside. Five of them! She mounted the one called Hook.
“AAAAAAAAAR YOU READY?” she yelled. “LET’S RIDE!”
Before the pink sunrise, the Giraffe who once bit off her head would pay.
The giraffe was back.
It was peeking in Captain Salty’s kitchen window. Third-floor kitchens are irresistible to giraffes.
Salty looked at the clock. The minute hand clicked.
AAAAAAAR!
“Bleedin’ timer.” Salty grabbed a potholder from the hook on the wall. He retrieved an apple pie from the oven and set it on the counter next to the roast chicken.
A pink giraffe tongue poked through the open window and inched toward the pie.
Salty unsheathed his cutlass. He raised it above his head and slashed the air.
The pie was now two pieces.
The giraffe gobbled up both.
“Bleedin’ giraffes.”