Different worlds. Unusual heroes. Countless adventures. One very peculiar imagination.
No one is quite sure where E.K. Mockingham lives, some rumors suggest a crooked little house at the edge of the forest that can grow ostrich legs and run away when annoyed.
By day, she is said to collect peculiar trinkets and jokes that make teapots rattle with laughter. By night, these odd treasures are transformed into amusing stories while she shelters in a blanket fort. To create the illustrations, it is said that a hat feather is dipped into curdled cream when it has turned just the right color.
E.K. refuses to attend book signings, rarely gives interviews and insist that the quill can only function during a pastel colored hail storm. The obsessive goal of this author seems to be leaving the reader wondering what might be the next story hiding under a rock, under the bed or in a storm gutter - ready to be read by flashlight well after bedtime.
