Author and Comedian J.T. Bird: Adults and Animal Fiction + giveaway

Adults and Animal Fiction 

"Some people talk to animals. Not many listen though. That's the problem."

- A.A. Mile, Winnie the Pooh 

‘Anyone from eight to eighty-eight.’ That was the response from Richard Adams when asked who was suited to read Watership Down. It was initially rejected by numerous publishers who felt that adults didn’t want to read about animals and that the plot was too tricky for children. Thankfully – and rightly so- he was not to be deterred.

Agents jump for joy whenever they clasp another tale about werewolves, witches, or brash dystopian heroines – yet scoff and scowl at the mention of talkative mammals. That has certainly been the case for me anyhow. I’m a stand-up comedian who was trapped in lockdown, and I decided to tackle my bucket list – starting with a debut novel. There was never any doubt which tale I’d tell. When I was eight years old I wrote a story about a crime-solving penguin, but despite doing all the illustrations with my selection of half-eaten crayons, and sketching a bar code on the back of my stapled pages – it was sadly never published. Alas, nearly thirty years later I scratched that itch and finally completed my manuscript. Finally, I could unveil my semi-aquatic sleuth.

Naively, I assumed the trickiest part was over. I’d written the book, a full book, sixty thousand bleedin’ words; surely now the literary fairies just took it away and brought me back a cheque?!

Nope.

Being a stand-up comedian, I have developed quite a thick skin, but it’s tough receiving wave after wave of emails, each rejecting your precious ideas. Every agent to walk the land seemed to be of the same opinion: only children want to read about animals. And much like Adams, I refuse to believe that’s the case. Just because the bookshelves aren’t bursting with animal fiction, doesn’t mean that people wouldn’t care to read it – and remember that once upon a time, publishers were rejecting books about the school days of wizards.

For as far back as I can remember, I’ve enjoyed stories that introduced me to talking creatures (or anthropomorphic animals if you prefer). I’m a thirty-six-year-old bearded man now – yet the allure of Aslan the lion, Shere Khan, or Woundwort hasn’t waned for me in the slightest. The idea that apes could rule the world still plays on my mind. Toad of toad hall still makes me smile. I’d still like to walk through the looking glass. In fact, I believe that deep down every adult still harbours that desire to hear the thoughts of their pets. I mean, who isn’t curious what the cat has to say? Who hasn’t dreamed their dog would banter as well as bark? Wouldn’t life be fab if the hamster could sing?

I’m also a huge fan of film noir, so my novel takes place in 1952. Yes, there are similarities with your Raymond Chandler novels or classic movies like Chinatown, LA Confidential etc, but of course in my story – the main detective is a king penguin named Frank, and his partner is a red howler monkey called Chico. The setting for my yarn could quite easily be confused with fifties Los Angeles, yet I’ve swapped it for a metropolis called Noah’s Kingdom. Ok, I just loved the idea of a penguin that wore a fedora!! There are no spells, dragons, or teenage relationship issues, so it’s a bit different than what you’re used to – and it’s not targeted at a particular age group, but don’t be put off by the grumpy agents. Watership Down to date has sold around fifty million copies, so there is certainly someone out there who’s curious what the animals are whispering.

The City That Barks and Roars: A thrilling detective mystery in a world of walking talking animals

by J.T. Bird
May 2, 2020

Genre: Mystery Fiction
Animals rule the world

They hit cafes for breakfast then nine to five at the office, and fritter away evenings at jazz clubs.

But paradise is still a distant dream, for there are devils amongst the angels.

Lucas Panda is missing; clues on the riverbank suggest he was probably kidnapped. Enter Frank. Who else you gonna call? Hard-boiled penguin and the finest detective in town. And meet his new partner, Detective Chico Monkey - yeah, the wisecrackin' kid with all the snappy suits. But the stakes have been raised; three more creatures are missing and the citizens of Noah's Kingdom are faced with possible extinction. Can the grouchy bird and plucky young ape save the city from doom? Or, will evil prevail and escape the claws of justice?

'Animal noir' peppered with plenty of humour; this thrilling debut novel from award-winning comedian JT Bird is an intriguing blend of Jungle Book and Chinatown (Zootopia for grown-ups?! Watership Down with Fedoras!?) - perfect for fans of animal fiction, or mysteries, adventure and crime. A gripping yarn, packed with weird and wonderful creatures, for youngsters and adults alike (or anyone who's crying out for anthropomorphic detectives!!)

Add to Goodreads

Amazon-B&N-Google-Kobo

About the Author:
Website-FB-Twitter
Bookbub-Amazon-Goodreads
J T Bird is an award-winning stand-up comedian from North London, where he lives with his wife and child. His humble abode sits neatly between the former homes of HG Wells and Robert Louis Stevenson...so there's no pressure to write something utterly successful and wonderful.

Bird was actually 'The Chosen One' that prophets foresaw would rescue the world from all the powers of darkness - however, he opted for a career as a clown and author instead...

Another little known fact - his father was sent from the future to protect him from an android assassin, and his mother's possessed by a demon - but hey, we all have family issues right?!

GIVEAWAY

$25 Amazon ,E-book of The City That Barks And Roars 

Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway! 

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

That's a First! WIth author Jacqueline Simon Gunn + giveaway

That's a First!

*A story about the first time I had to pump my own gasoline

The Right Hook

By Jacqueline Simon Gunn

“Heeelp!” I ran toward the convenience store, my heart pounding, my arms flailing. I whipped open the glass door, my hands and knees shaking.

“May I help you?” An awkwardly thin man appeared from behind the cash register. His lanky body and fragile stature left me anxious. How was he going to help me? It was dark. It was 4 a.m. And I was in a store off the endless, lonely Pennsylvania Turnpike.

I had moved to Pittsburgh to attend graduate school only a week before and was on the seven-hour long drive back home to northeastern New Jersey for a visit. The night felt strange. The turnpike seemed evacuated. There were stretches of time when I was the only car on the highway. The unchanging scenery left me with the uncanny sense that I treaded along the same patch of road for hours. Being alone with my imagination, I wondered if I had missed a warning to vacate the area. Pearl Jam blasted. I sang along, sipping black coffee while my thoughts vacillated between envisioning an alien invasion that left me as the sole survivor and a class I had had earlier that day on Heidegger’s Being and Time, which felt like a religious sermon.

At some point, I realized that I only had about a quarter tank of gas left. I needed to stop, so I was on the watch for a gas station. There for nothing for miles. Then a glow, amidst the darkness, illuminated a building that seemed to appear from out of nowhere. As I approached, I saw it was a gas station.

I pulled up, hopped out and began fumbling with the gas hose. Pumping your own gas is illegal in New Jersey, so I was still getting the hang of it. While in the midst of untangling the long hose, which somehow got wrapped around my leg, a peculiar little man with a potbelly wearing a pin-striped suit approached me. He offered assistance. His attire made him seem misplaced. He was dressed for Wall Street, but his gesture appeared genuine, so feeling grateful, I handed him the gas hose.

The peculiar little man grabbed the hose and tossed it to the side, then grasped my shoulders and shoved me against my car. My computer sat in the passenger seat and my keys were in the ignition. He pressed his body against mine. With my back against the car, we were nose-to-nose. I smelled his polluted breath as he mumbled something about getting in my car for a little fun.

I shook. He had me pinned. Thoughts raced through my mind, then, on reflex, I raised my leg and kneed him in the balls. He hunched over, groaning and cursing, releasing me.

I ran into the adjoining store screaming for help. At first it seemed deserted. I screamed again, my eyes darting around, planning my next mode of defense. And that’s when the awkwardly thin man materialized from behind the counter asking how he could assist me.

I placed my shaking hand on my heart, trying to keep it from pounding out of my chest. “I - this man – outside, he – he pushed up against me. He – I think he was going to assault me and my car still has the keys in it.” I leaned forward, placing my hand on my knee, and took a long, labored inhale.

The awkwardly thin man listened. I thought he might lock the door and call the police, but he surprised me when he offered to escort me outside, help me fill my gas tank and wait until I had safely departed back into the dark, empty abyss that was the Pennsylvania Turnpike. I studied his delicate stature and manner and his warm, serene expression.

“He was very aggressive and he could have a gun or something. Aren’t you afraid?” I asked.

“Don’t you worry. We’ll be fine.” He raised his right arm. The sleeve of his shirt scrunched down and he gestured for me to look. “I have this.”

My jaw dropped. Instead of a hand, the awkwardly thin man had a steel hook. I tried to wipe the astonishment I felt from my expression when we met eyes and shared a nod. He did just as he promised. He walked me out, pumped my gas, his hook glaring under the light as he stared menacingly at the peculiar little potbellied man, who completely backed off and drove off before my gas tank was even full.

I graciously thanked the awkwardly thin man over and over, even offering him a monetary tip, which he declined. I then got back in my car and continued my trip east on the dark, lonely highway, feeling like I’d experienced an altered reality.

I thought about the awkwardly thin man and the experience for quite a while after that. And even though I made that same trip many times while I lived in Pittsburgh, I was never able to find that gas station, ever again.

The Cat Who Ate His Tail
by Jacqueline Simon Gunn
November 15, 2019
Genre: Animal Fiction, Women’s Fiction, Psychological Fiction
ISBN: 978-1699608081
ASIN: B07ZY6VZNH
Number of pages: 324
Word Count: 76,059
Have you ever wondered what your pets are thinking?

Inspired by true events, this heartwarming story is told from the perspective of Sneakers, a curious cat with serious emotional baggage. Neglected and ultimately abandoned by his original owner, he compensates for the trauma by overeating and making droll observations about the crazy love life of his new owner… who also happens to be a psychologist.

Through paying attention to her work, the loving home she provides and watching her own trials and tribulations, Sneakers learns so much more about life, love and the ways of the world. Both their lives take unexpected turns, both suffer for their own inability to see their inherent worth. But just maybe they can help each other learn the most important lesson of all before it’s too late: If you let it, love can heal even the deepest wounds.

Sometimes you must be willing to take that second chance.

Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/zGKvFLjVTIU

Amazon

Excerpt:

“I love her,” he raised his voice. His feet were right next to the couch. Please, don’t make me kill you. I’d be the cat who ate his tail and killed a human on the Upper Eastside. This would not look good for me. They’d judge me based on the tail incident and assume the murder was due to my instability, never considering the duress that preceded his demise.

That’s why he was living with a shrink. Nut job. I heard the newscasters saying.

My eyes followed his feet. He bent down, glaring at me underneath the couch, and yelled, “I love her. You hear me. Just because she isn’t the girl I want to spend my life with doesn’t mean I don’t love her.”

What kind of catnip was he sniffing? Leave her alone then.

I stared back at him, my heart pounding even harder.

I heard rummaging. From his shadow, I thought he was in her desk. Probably trying to sift through her drawers. Maybe looking for notes or things she’d written down, so he knew what she was thinking. Then the couch bounced as he plopped down onto the middle cushion. I wondered how this was going to go down when she came home and found him. Which would be worse: finding him dead or alive, I wondered. But before I had to choose, he got up, and I heard him fumbling around in the kitchen, and then the front door closed.

I waited an ample amount of time, inhaling to get my breathing even, then strutted into the kitchen, sniffing around where he’d left his sour scent, the only evidence of him being here. I knew humans’ sense of smell wasn’t as strong. I wondered if my mom would know just by intuition that Moby had come. I thought of ways I might communicate it to her. I was lying on my chair ruminating about this when I heard my mom turning the doorknob, then her voice mixing with that of a strange man’s.

I took a heavy breath. What a stressful night. Now I had to scrutinize the new guy while figuring out how to tell her about Moby’s appearance. I was exhausted and crashing from the adrenalin of what had happened earlier.

“What’s wrong, handsome?” She kneeled beside me, rubbing my head. Looking up at this new tall man-human who had a warm smile, she explained, “He always greets me at the door. Something feels weird in here.”

“Whadaya mean?”

“Like someone was here.”

“Like a break-in? “Or like a ghost?”

She looked around. “Nothing looks out of place on first glance. Do you believe in ghosts?”

“I do, and I think cats see them. Maybe he saw something.”

“He does look spooked by something, doesn’t he?”

“It’s hard to tell.” He bent down and rubbed my head. “He is a good-looking cat.” He rubbed under my neck. “Did you see something?” he asked me.

“Maybe they see things that aren’t there. Maybe he thought he saw something.” She wore a perplexed looked, but it got me thinking and wondering if that ghost thing was possible.

Maybe I was losing my mind. Was Moby here or did I imagine the whole thing because the idea of him haunted me?

Gosh, maybe that last catnip pillow was laced with something.

About the Author:

Website-FB-twitter

Instagram-Amazon-Bookbub

Goodreads-LibraryThing

Jacqueline Simon Gunn is a Manhattan-based clinical psychologist and writer. She has authored two non-fiction books, and co-authored two others. She has published many articles, both scholarly and mainstream, and currently works as a freelance writer. Gunn is now writing psychological fiction. Always in search of truth and fascinated by human behavior, her fiction writing, like psychology, is a way for her to explore human nature — motivation, emotions, relationships.

In addition to her clinical practice and writing, Gunn is an avid runner and reader. Gunn is currently working on multiple writing projects, including a spin-off of “Forever and One Day,” the third book in the Where You’ll Land series and a book written from her cat’s POV.

Tour Giveaway

 ebook copy  and  $5 Amazon gift card

a Rafflecopter giveaway