I.C. Augur was born and raised in the Northwest and still resides there in a small, seaside town because: “I’ve never found a good enough reason to leave.”
A life-long musician and writer, (of usually short stories and satire) with a sense of whimsy that continually consternates two adult children, I.C. loves the Christmas season, and maintains it should last from the day after Thanksgiving through January 9th – the day after Elvis’s birthday, which is when the advent calendar goes up and the countdown to a new Yule begins.
If the author is not sitting at an electric, 1965 TARDIS-blue, Smith-Corona Electra 110 working on new prose, the busy hands can probably be found beating on an antiquated digital piano and irritating the neighbors for hours on end.
Two favorite hobbies are Friday nights spent at the local bowling alley, in search of rolling the first 300 career game and Sunday mornings that are filled with creating new breakfast dishes while listening to the Beatles until all mimosas are exhausted.
By I.C. Augur
A twelve-year-old boy, born on Leap Day, goes on vacation with his father only to slowly learn through a series of perplexing and fantastical events that his family have been the keepers of all the Christmas spirit and goodwill in the world for the last eight-hundred years. And it his destiny to become the next […]
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