Just my Author media kit

1. Yolanda Jackson
2114 W Jefferson St
Rockford,Il 61101
815-963-7324
815-963-5676
viviyjackson@aol.com
http://www.YolandaJackson.com
PETER CARROT TOP
IN SEARCH
OF THE 8Th KEY
by
Yolanda Jackson
Publisher www.e-booktime.com

2. Book Release: December 2, 2008
ISBN 9781598249675
In search of the 8th Key is the first in a series of Peter
Carrot-Top fantasy novels for children and Young Adults. The books take its
readers
into the fantasy land of Baja where only human ghosts can survive. A
young boy by the name of Peter Carrot-top is called upon by the
Rulers of Baja who awaken from hibernation to find that their land is
being attacked by wizards of the forest and their leagues of
extraordinary monsters.
Like all children in Baja, Peter is born with a great power – his power
is the ability to create black holes that lead to many unknown worlds
and far away galaxies. Peter and his friends, who attend the great
Waldorf Academy, must combine their powers to save the people of
the Land of Baja and its great mystical powers. Read as Peter's
adventures carry him across the great land as he battles against
magical card throwers and twenty-footed monsters to save his family
and the people of Baja from the evil spells of the dastardly wizards.

3. My name is Yolanda A. Jackson, born on April 3, 1980 in Rockford,
IL. I have been writing from the age of twelve, mostly Fantasy and
Sci-Fi, but my writing skills go way beyond the norm into Horror and
Animation. I first developed my talent as a writer when I complained
about Robocop needing more action, but my friends loved it. They
dared me to come up with a movie better than Robocop - and I did!
My first book/script was Copper Kid, it was about a computer
program robot girl who fights crime with jet-propelled wings and a
computer brain. It was just great; well at least I thought so. Finally I
got them to read it and lo and behold they loved it, and that was when
I first knew maybe I had something.
As the years passed I started to hate school - it was not the place for
me. I began to daydream about being a big movie director and
owning my own studio. It never happened and I finished school, but I
hated everything but English class and writing assignments which led
me to my first novel September Monkies, hand written, which I still

4. have to this day. No one believed in my dreams, and consequently
they swept aside as I went through this wonderful stage called
growing up.
Peter Carrot-Top: In Search of the 8th Key by Yolanda Jackson © 2008
I was a foster child my entire life - a ward of the State - and writing
eased the pain of moving from one foster home to another or one
group home to another. Every time I moved I tried to write a novel to
help me cope with my new home, and because of this I became more
involved in my writing, I began to imagine places that only exist in
fantasy or animals that only inhabit one's imagination. Soon, this
stimulated my brain and freed me to face reality and to know when
not to face reality. While my friends were all dating and into boys, I
was into creative writing, imagining fantastic creatures that don't
exist, or developing characters to which everyone in the world can
relate.
At the age of seventeen the Department of Children and Family
Services let me go and I was out into the real world on my own.
That's when I realized that my dreams of writing would have to take a
back seat to earning a living. The bills came first, and a roof over my
head was more important than what seemed like just a dumb dream.
It hurt to let my dreams slip away, but I had no choice. It was either
work three jobs to get the bills paid or live in a fantasy land where the
Fairy God Mother pays the bills, and it did not take me long to
realized that the Fairy God Mother did not exist. All the money I had
for publishing was now used for survival, I threw my dreams aside to
play the game of life. After years of working three jobs, I got tired and
decided to give my dreams one more shot. I got a better job as a
Sterile Tech in a trauma hospital and began making a little more
money, so I saved and saved and finally had had enough to self
publish which has been a wonderful learning experience.
I have published my first novel in a series - Peter Carrot-top "In
Search Of the 8th Key. My goal in writing is to not only improve my
skills, but to get children of the world interested in reading and writing,
to see the story unfolding in their minds, and to use their imaginations
to dream and to dream big.

5. Chapter 1
Meet the Carrot-Tops
A long, long time ago, in the year 1850, there was a man by the name of
Sam Carrot-Top. He was a well educated man, slender in build and always
wearing a dusty old cap that covered his orange hair and broken glasses.
He was an honest and wealthy man, but you would never guess that he and
his family were well off; he never showed his wealth or bragged about it. He
used his money to help the poor and needy.
His wife, Jane, was oh so beautiful with lush red hair, a petite figure, and
smooth, creamy pale skin. She loved all the children in the neighborhood,
always fixing a broken heart or a scraped knee. She was the perfect house
wife, the kind any man could want.
They lived in a small town in Georgia called Valdosta. Sam and Jane were
the talk of the town; they grew the largest vegetables and fruits the eyes
have ever seen. Their watermelons were the size of houses and carrots as
long as 20 feet!
All the neighbors began to whisper and became jealous of the success of
the Carrot-Tops, farmers came from near and far to see the great Carrot-
Top plantation. Because of the popularity of their fruits and vegetables,
they became a household name. Merchants came from all over the world to
buy their fruits and vegetables.
Some of the other farmers became extremely jealous of the success of the
Carrot-Tops. They tried to sabotage their land, either by overflowing it with
garbage or water, but it never worked. The fruits and vegetables kept on
growing and growing. Some were so tall that their leaves touch the clouds.
Nevertheless, Sam and Jane ignored their rivals and continued to be good
neighbors.
Their pride and joy was their son and only child, Peter Carrot-Top, a 10-

6. year-old boy who was and skinny as a bean pole with bright orange hair
and deep freckles on his face. He wore the same old clothing over and over
again, brown khaki pants and a rainbow-colored shirt with two different
colored shirt sleeves.
Peter was teased by all the kids. Not only was his hair funny, but his name,
Peter Carrot-Top, was as well. The kids teased him all day. Every day it was
the same thing, kids singing,"Peter Carrot-Top, Peter Carrot-Top," in an
annoying and devilish tone.
Peter was sick of it. Unfortunately, every time he got upset, his head would
swell up like a big orange balloon and his orange hair would gently stand
up at attention. This made the kids laugh even harder.
Peter was all alone in a world he didn't understand or fit in. There was
nothing the principal or the teachers could do. Peter was just a special boy.
His mother and father were hurt the most; Peter got the orange hair from
his father, and the freckles from his mother.
Peter's parents went to the school regularly to seek help for their son. Just
a poor farmer, Peter's father did not know what to do. He would pace the
school hall as he talked to the dean of the school asking for help for his
son, but Mr. Snicker, the dean of the school, just walked around with his fat
gut stuck out and only made the Carrot-Tops feel worse by telling them
their child needed to be placed in a special school.
Peter's father slammed down his hat in frustration as the dean sat back in
his leather chair, smoking his cigar with an smirk on his face. Mr. Snicker
shouted to Peter's father, "Boy, calm down before I have you thrown out on
your ears!"
Peter's father grabbed up his hat, took his wife by the hand and stormed
into Peter's English class. "Peter, get your things. We're taking you out of
this school!" By the look on his father's face, Peter knew that his dad was
very upset. All Peter's mother could do was cry and sob as they walked out
the doors. The kids began to laugh, and once again, Peter felt distant an
alone.
Peter and his family jumped into their wagon, and off they went. Peter
could see the concentration on his father's face and the sadness in his
mother's eyes. Peter began to tell his parents how very sorry he was, but a
gentle touch on the hands from his mother let Peter know it was all right.
Peter laid back in
Peter Carrot-Top: In Search of the 8th Key by Yolanda Jackson © 2008
My second Novel is Imaginary Friends

7. ISBN 978608620173
publisher www.e-booktime.com
publishing date 03/02/2009
Everyone has or had an Imaginary Friend in their lives one time or another,But what did yours tell
you to do? Does yours tell you to cheat,kill,or destroy? or do they simply talk to you at night?
Many are affarid to answer these questions, but if one choose to ignore them, sometimes they can
become so real,They will surely over power your mind and every rational thought you ever had; so
take sometime to investigate the voices that are talking to you, the longer you ignore them, the
stronger they will become.
Take a look into the life of a small town girl who was constantly abuse by her mother and complete
strangers,she was hid away from the public by her mother in an old cellar, it was there that she first
discovered her ability to create Imaginary friends,And once the Imaginary Friends where formed she
send them all out on a revenge killing,But was it the Imaginary Friends doing the killing or her?
Chapter 1
Everyone had or has imaginary friends; what do yours tell you to do? Well, I’ll tell you about my friends. Back in
the 1980's, I was living the worthless life of an abused child, one that society doesn’t care about. I was what they

8. called poor white trash; my father was nowhere around and my mother was a whore and drug addict. Every night
she would bring different men into the house, hoping to score enough money for a hit, and most of the time she
would sell me to them. I was raped, beaten and molested, but she didn’t care; my innocence was making her
rich. Instead of the men asking for her, they’d asked for me. Yes, I tried to fight back, but the men were too
strong for me. I called out for my mother, but she ignored my pleas; she sat in the room and smoked her cocaine
as the men had their way with me. She never came to check on me; she didn’t know if I was alive or dead before
she set up another john. I begged her not to sell me anymore, but she didn’t care, that cocaine was more
important to her than I was.
While the men were having their way with me; I began to blackout and go into a world that I called my
own. I had to step out of reality in order to keep the little bit of life I had left in me. When my mother saw that
selling me was a great idea, the best thing that had ever happened to her, she continued to do it more and more.
I tried to run away, but was always caught. My mother began to lock me in the old cellar; it was damp and
creepy, there was no light, no windows and every day was the same as night. I was afraid, I began to scream;
the dark frightened me so terribly that I would wet my pants. No matter how often I wanted to stop from going to
the bathroom on myself, I couldn’t. The fear was so deep; I could feel it in my bones. I begged my mother that I
would do whatever she wanted, that I would be a good girl, but she never answered me; she left me in the
basement for days, weeks, months.
The men would come down with a kerosene lamp and do their business with me. I got so sick of the
abuse and the rapes that I began to talk to myself. I was trying to convince myself that it would be okay, that one
day my mother would love me and make everything all right, but that day never came. I waited patiently; I closed
my eyes and prayed for a miracle, and yet the miracle never came, it was always ‘in the works’.
I sat in the corner of the dark, damp cold cellar, crying my eyes out, wanting to be set free, wanting to be
back upstairs with my mother. I was so afraid that I began to make up imaginary friends, a group of people that
would love and protect me, a group of friends that would never let anything happened to me. As I sat there, the
first friend I created was Johnny. He was a white guy with really blonde hair; dressed like a cowboy and always
toted a gun in each of his holsters. Johnny was a cool cat that always told jokes, very sarcastic ones, and
smoked the hell out of some cigarettes; he loved Marlboros. Even though it was dark, I could still see the
creation of my friend in my mind, and I would stare into his blue eyes, like a damsel in distress, and hope that
Johnny would save me.
Then my little fantasy would be over, and I’d come back to reality. But, when the memories of the rapes
and abuse got to be too much for me to handle, I’d make Johnny appear in my mind to help me and then he’d
disappear. Until one day, or night, I never could tell because I was locked in the fucking cold dark cellar, sitting
there fully awake, I began to smell cigarette smoke! At first I thought I was still in my fantasy world, but I wasn’t; I
remembered waking myself from my fantasy. Then I got scared; could Johnny really be alive? Could I have the

9. power to raise my thoughts from the dead? Could my fantasy come to life?
Well, it did! While sitting in the corner, I could feel the soft clouds of smoke grace my face, and from a
distance I could see a red light in the background. I was afraid and began to move around in the dark, trying to
make my imaginary friend go away. I covered my eyes with my hands; when suddenly I felt a soft touch pull my
hair. I was so afraid to turn around; I kept my eyes closed and counted to ten, hoping that whatever I had created
would go away. But it didn’t; it came closer and closer, until I was forced to open my eyes.
I screamed as I saw this figment of my imagination come to life. I screamed and screamed, but no one
could hear me; there was a party going on upstairs and the music was too loud. I screamed so much that I lost
my voice, and Johnny just stood in the corner, smoking his cigarettes, laughing at me.
"Dude, chill out," he said.
But, I was in a state of shock; I had just been fucking scared shitless because my imagination had come
to life, and this shit was scary. It took hours for me to calm down, but when I did, Johnny was still standing in the
corner, only this time he was playing with his gun, twirling and spinning it around his fingers like a toy. He glowed
in the dark and I got a better look at his face; he was perfect, just like I had created him, but his blue eyes
glowed a faint red and that was disturbing. Nevertheless, I was happy to know that I had a friend to be with me
and chase out the bad guys. Johnny pulled out a deck of old cards, I could tell that they had been used before,
from the wear on the back of the cards, and in the light of his glow, we played go fish and memory match.
Johnny always let me win; he was the perfect man, he was the father I could only dream of having. He
was also a great storyteller; he told me of back in the old days how he used to rob banks and could outrun the
sheriff of the town, and of days spent sleeping on the open range and getting run off the land by the owners.
These stories, to me, were very comforting and relaxing. For the first time in months, I was able to fall off asleep
without a care in the world; for the first time I was not afraid to sleep alone, the cellar never frightened me
anymore. Johnny was here to save me and protect me from all the evil men that had hurt me.
I could see him pacing the floor at night, he was talking with someone, but I couldn’t see who that was. I
didn’t care, I was happy to have peace of mind and my own bodyguard, but I was concerned that Johnny was
talking to someone or something, and whatever it was, it was a heated conversation. All I could see were
Johnny’s lips moving and he kept looking back over his shoulder at me. I overlooked his mischievous ways and
began to drift off to sleep, for the first time in a long time I could close my eyes without the fear of finding a
strange man on top of me. With Johnny there, I was completely safe, nothing could hurt me ever again. Johnny
was my hero, he was always there, but seemed occupied, as if something else required his attention. But, I

10. didn’t mind, as long as I got peace and quiet.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps coming down the cellar stairs. A voice shouted out, "You little bitch, where
are you? Come and play with daddy."
I quickly ran behind Johnny to protect me and he didn’t let me down.
Out of the darkness, Johnny approached the john and said, "Now, that's no way to treat a young lady."
For a minute, I didn’t think that the two would be able to see each other; after all, Johnny was just my
imagination. But, something strange happened, they could both see each other, and the john became very
afraid.
"Who the hell are you? I paid for her first," shouted the john at Johnny.
"Well, I’m her new best friend; and your worst nightmare," said Johnny.
The john pushed Johnny out of the way and headed toward me, groping my chest and private parts. Out
of the blue, Johnny began to shoot his gun at the john over and over again; it seemed like Johnny was never
going to stop. Finally, I went over and prevented him from putting another bullet in the john. At first, I was a little
terrified, but it served that john right; I was young enough to be his daughter and he was paying my mother to
sell me to him. From the glow off of Johnny, I could see the blood splatters all over the cellar walls, I could see
the guy’s head full of bullet holes and his eyes rolled back and facing the heavens.
For once in my life, I felt so powerful and unafraid. Johnny loved it too, he began to kiss and caress his
gun; then he took his old handkerchief and wiped the bloodstains off. Johnny wanted to do it again, he wanted to
kill, he loved the idea of killing. I told him that we had get to the top of the stairs and escape, but he seemed
reluctant to go up there. I let him know that it would be all right; then he confided in me that when grown ups are
around; kids tend to forget about their imaginary friends.
I said, "Oh no, not me I’d never forget about you, I love you!"
Johnny just smiled, giving me a soft peek on the cheek and held my hands; his eyes began to turn red
again, and although it frightened me, I pretended it didn’t exist because I wanted him around, the first man in my
life that never wanted anything from me. Johnny was the perfect gentleman and I was willing to overlook his
faults. My gut was telling me that something was wrong, but for whatever reason I ignored my gut feeling and
began to enjoy the pleasure of revenge.
Before we went upstairs, Johnny told me that we had to get at least four more friends. He let me know
that I had the power to conjure up anything I wanted, and in order for me to be totally safe I had to kill all of those
evil people upstairs, and all throughout the world. At first it didn’t sound right, especially when his eyes began to

11. glow red again. When Johnny saw me thinking too hard, he reminded me how he had protected me, and how if I
had many more imaginary friends I could be protected for life. The offer sounded good, and I jumped on board;
besides what could go wrong with just a few more imaginary friends? Not only would I be safe, but I could help
other abused children that were in the same situation. So, for about an hour, I conjured up images of the perfect
friends that I’d want to save and protect me.
First, I closed my eyes and said, "Samson, come forward."
And, he did. I could hear his huge footsteps in the background. I slowly opened my eyes, and saw my
imagination come to live. Samson was a huge black gorilla, at least nine feet tall and over a ton. He had the
biggest brown eyes, and his coat was so soft; I just ran up and hugged him tightly. At first, he didn’t move or
make any loving motions toward me, but then Johnny spoke up.
"Yo, Samson, you big ape, give the little girl a hug."
Suddenly Samson warmed up and hugged me with his huge paw-like hands. That was the softest coat I
had ever felt. But, as I was excited to meet another one of my imaginary friends, Johnny was pushing me to
make more.
He kept on telling me, "We need at least two more."
So, then I conjured up Emily. She was very spooky, her skin was a pale ashen color, and she looked as
if she’d been dead for years! She was really skinny and limber, the same age as I was, but she was a little shy;
her long black hair covered one side of her face. I finally built up enough nerve to approach her.
I called out, "Emily!"

13. My 3rd novel is The prince and the Robot.
This novel is about a spoil prince Name Harry who was taken under the wings of a Wizard name
Whisker. Wisker used the Prince as rasom aganist his father King Authur, hoping that the king
will stop ruling with an iron fist aganist his people and many lands,but the plan back fired and
the king invaded the land of the Bots where whisker was hiding the prince.
As the war took place between king authur and the bots Prince Harry became friends with one
special bot named rozetta,ofcourse the king did not agree with this and kill his son by his
sword,Whisker the wizard brought the Prince back to life with a drop of his wizard's blood,But
now that prince Harry had the blood and the powers of a Wizards will he choose to fight on
the side of his father or on the side of whisker and the bots
The prince and the Robot has not been released yet,but will soon come to market in 2009..