The Official Bio:
K Dicke (it’s pronounced Dick-ee, ‘nough said) left the lucrative-yet-boring field of accounting to pursue her dream of having superpowers—or at least writing about superpowers. She might be one of the very few Midwestern moms who loves both surfing and needlepoint.
Ten Things About Me
- When I was eight, I wanted to be a lumberjack so I could scream “timber” at the top of my lungs, wear plaid shirts, and tuck an axe under my belt like a woodsman gangbanger. Then my dad introduced me to his extraordinarily loud and scary chainsaw. I started to re-think my career goals.
- My siblings and I fall into the category of ultimate PKs (preacher kids), meaning our dad was a pastor and our mom was the church organist. Somehow we all turned out normal—not too Bible bangin’, not too headbangin’—just slightly rebellious with an innocent smile. Perhaps someday I’ll tell you about my rendition of “Silver Hells Bells” (ala AC/DC) that happened during a bell choir practice in the sanctuary…
- When I was ten, I was selected to go to the Young Author’s Conference at a local university in Seattle to share my work. My story was about a family, and I think there was something in there about koala bears as pets (they’re so docile!). Within the text, I reflected and complained about the household chores I had at the time—classic.
- For twenty years, I thought “a grain of salt” was “a grand assault”. How much more opposite could it get? For as nearly as many years, I was sure the phrase “for all intents and purposes” was “for all intensive purposes.” I like all intensive purposes better. It has more oomph.
- The three favorite things on my desk are an inappropriate birthday card from my sister that rags on the use of proper grammar, a full size pair of brass knuckles (don’t ask), and then there’s the thing. The thing is made of clay and painted red, looks kind of like an alien head with a big mouth and google eyes, and serves as an eraser holder (in the event that I might need to quickly find a big pink eraser).
- I believe dogs were given to man to act as small garbage disposals, and that feeding them table scraps is the means of helping them fulfill their purpose on this planet. Think about it. Cats are also probably pretty good at that task but I wouldn’t know—I’m allergic.
- If given the choice I’d always choose a couch over a bed for taking a nap.
- Game shows from the 70s and 80s get me overexcited, loud, and borderline obnoxious. I’ve tried to control my passion, but I can’t help it when the ding-dong contestants make ding-dong decisions that I’m sure I never would’ve made under equal pressure, way-bright stage lights, and a studio audience composed of people like me. Geez!
- I have over a hundred cookbooks stacked up in my kitchen and regularly use maybe twelve–am still trying to find my inner Kris, do a mind-blowing brunch-y thing.
- I’m not a good surfer. Honestly, I’m not sure I’m qualified to say I’m a surfer since I rarely get the chance do it. But if loving that feeling and that freedom, and thinking about waves, and checking surf reports before I book a trip counts, then maybe I am. Wait, this bit is too serious for a ten stupid things list. Let me rephrase: I suck at catching waves! There, I said it.
Oops! Here comes another one!
- At the entrances of diner-type restaurants and dime stores are those quarter machines that dispense candy or oddball junk like temporary tats or mini-gun key chains, or small plastic body parts. I love that stuff! A couple of years ago, there was this pair of tiny handcuffs (great as a pendant or a crazy belt-loop accessory) that the quarter machine had denied me weekly for nearly six months. I had no choice but to drop ten dollars in quarters into it to get what I was after. Think I did?