Monday, February 29, 2016

PUYB Virtual Book Club Chats with Sherri Elizabeth Tidwell, author of 'The Daffodils Still Grow'



The Daffodils Still Grow was inspired by diary entries of the author/illustrator, Sherri Elizabeth Tidwell, after the death of her mother when she was 14. “My mother committed suicide when I was 14, and after nearly a year of crying and hurting, I was surprised -- almost shocked -- to see the daffodils she planted right before her death still bloom again. It was a big wake-up call to me that, even though she was gone, I could still carry on without her FOR her. Somehow, our loved ones still find a way of communicating with us when we need it the most." Sherri Elizabeth now attends Seton Hill University’s MFA program in Writing Popular Fiction. She has a BA in both communications and studio arts from Austin Peay State University. She hopes that every parent will know how irreplaceable and loved they are to their children and that every child who has lost a parent will know they are not alone. Remember, the daffodils still grow!
For More Information
About the Book:

Title: The Daffodils Still Grow: A Book for Grieving Daughter
Author: Sherri Elizabeth Tidwell
Publisher: Mascot Books
Pages: 38
Genre: Children’s Picture Book
The Daffodils Still Grow is a full-color illustrated book that portrays life after a loved one dies as seen from the observations of a motherless child. “Beautiful and inspiring.”

For More Information

  • The Daffodils Still Grow is available at Amazon.
  • Pick up your copy at Barnes & Noble.
  • Watch a narrated video of the book at YouTube.
  • Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

Before you started writing your book, what kind of research did you do to prepare yourself?

The Daffodils Still Grow: A Book for Grieving Daughters was inspired by diary entries I wrote as a child while grieving for my mother. It gives a voice to children who experience that loss and also shares some hopeful insight about how a mother’s love and legacy continues on. Since it came from personal experience, I simply recalled a lot of the memories I had of growing up while dealing with the loss of a parent.

Did you pursue publishers or did you opt to self-pub?

I went through Mascot Books, which is a hybrid between self-publishing and traditional publishing.

If self-published, did you hire someone to format the ebook version for you or did you do it yourself?  Can you tell us what that was like?

I chose not to have an ebook version, simply because I felt like this was a book people would want to purchase as a keepsake gift for little girls who just lost their mothers. I assumed they would want to give something to the little girls that they could hold in their hands, so I chose to only publish the book in a hard cover version. However, there is a free version online that can be viewed here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N-W_ok28nI4. I created it via a PowerPoint presentation.

If published by a publisher, what was your deciding factor in going with them?

I love the quality of Mascot Books and that they allowed me to have control over the finished product but I also was able to seek out advice and support when I needed it.

If published by a publisher, are you happy with the price they chose?

Yes. I think it’s a fair price.

Did you purposefully choose a distinct month to release your book?  Why?

I wanted to release it during the months when daffodils bloom, hence the title: The Daffodils Still Grow.

How did you choose your cover?

I designed and illustrated it. I wanted the book to look like a beautiful keepsake, and it was very important to me that it be colorful and vibrant and also feminine so that little girls would love it and want to keep it forever.

Did you write your book, then revise or revise as you went?

I think I do a little bit of both.

Did you come up with special swag for your book and how are you using it to help get the word out about your book?  

Yes. I designed a locket little girls can purchase with the book. It has daffodils on the front but can also be special-ordered to have any type of flowers of their choosing on the front. The idea is for them to place a photo of their mother in the locket and wear it close to their hearts. The flowers on the front ideally represent the type of flowers their own mothers grew.

Did you consider making or hiring someone to make a book trailer for your book?  If so, what’s the link?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N-W_ok28nI4. I created it a narrated version of the book (minus small editorial changes) via a PowerPoint presentation.

What’s your opinion on giving your book away to sell other copies of your book?

I personally feel it’s a great way to get the word out about the book. I have given hundreds of copies away to nonprofit organizations that deal with grief. I hope it helps a lot of grieving children and families.

What are three of the most important things you believe an author should do before their book is released?

1.      Be prepared for both criticism and support. For writers who spend a lot of time isolated, opinions from others can be jarring. Try to prepare yourself to deal with this emotionally.
2.      Decide how you will interact with others via social media who may reach out to you. It can be overwhelming. Consider having a trusted assistant help you. (Again, something helpful for introverts who are not used to interacting as often.) 
3.      Know who you are and try to stay grounded and do what you believe in at all times.

What are three of the most important things you believe an author should do after their book is released?

1.      Say “Thank you” to everyone who helps you spread the word, because every little bit counts.
2.      Try to donate copies of your books to those who need it.
3.      Enjoy this time! It’s not everyday something like that happens. Enjoy every moment if you can.

What kind of pre-promotion did you do before the book came out?

I did a Kickstarter campaign, a Facebook page and created a YouTube video of the book being narrated.

Do you have a long term plan with your book?

I would like to create a series where I also have books for grieving sons and other family members in the long run, similar to The Daffodils Still Grow.

What would you like to say to your readers and fans about your book?

Thank you to everyone who has checked it out on YouTube or purchased the book for themselves or their family members! The outpouring of support has been so generous. I appreciate the support but am sorry that so many of us feel the deep sadness of loss. If you are dealing with the death of a loved one, please remember you are not alone and that the daffodils still grow!


PUYB Virtual Book Club Chats with Connie Lansberg, author of 'The Perfect Tear'



Connie Lansberg is a singer/songwriter and now author based in Melbourne Australia. She’s had her original songs placed in some of Australia’s best loved TV shows that play around the world and The Connie Lansberg Quartet is a fixture in the Melbourne jazz scene. Her most recent original musical project, Alone with Bees, performs her songs written especially for The Perfect Tear. This is Connie’s first novel and the movie is coming soon.

She also received several grants from the Victoria Council of the Arts for the development of mobile phone games that she created.

Connie joined the Melbourne Writers Group in 2010 to work on ideas and scripts and during this time the idea for The Perfect Tear began to develop and take shape. She continued her education by taking scriptwriting classes at the Australian Film and Television School in Melbourne and later, worked extensively with Marcy Kennedy on the book. She has two more stories to complete The Perfect Tear Trilogy and is hoping to have the second book finished by 2016.
 
"The first thing anybody tells you about this business is to say what makes you unique and different, but I couldn't and the very idea of it never sat well with me and after much deliberation, I finally realized why.

Because, I'm not unique or different – I'm exactly like you and I love that.

We each have a unique filter through which we interpret the world, and with this filter in place, I write stories and songs and you might find them surprising or intriguing or confronting, you may relate or you may not. They may make you laugh and sometimes, even cry.

You may or may not understand what I'm trying to say and you may not understand me, however, rest assured, once we get past the filters, at our core, we are wonderfully and beautifully, exactly the same."

For More Information
About the Book:

The Perfect Tear begins with the Singers of the world who, during their initiation by a multi-dimensional being, are given a magical three-pronged hair comb to use as tuning forks to help keep the world in harmony.  They are a special breed of women, able to connect their voices to the vibration of the earth in order to create this needed balance and equilibrium for all.   
   
The story follows the main character Eleanor, from age six to sixteen.  She is a good natured and dutiful young girl, with a profound ability to interact with both animals and nature.  Like her mother, she is a powerful Singer but has not yet been initiated because she has not reached the age of maturity. After the unexpected death of her mother, a grey mist descends upon the earth and the world fails to thrive, forcing this innocent child into a course of action that she had never asked for, nor had ever envisioned.

Set against a backdrop of abandonment, loss and betrayal, Eleanor is determined to find her way through strange and dangerous landscapes in her desperate search for the Perfect Tear, a dark and powerful crystal that contains the Third Vibration, which she must find and release in order to heal the land – and save her world.  Just like the notes of a song must connect to create a perfect melody, Eleanor has to discover the proper associations needed to create this special harmony.

For More Information

  • The Perfect Tear is available at Amazon.
  • Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.

Before you started writing your book, what kind of research did you do to prepare yourself?

Because The Perfect Tear was written as a movie first, and because I didn’t set it in a rigid time, although, there is a castle and no electricity, they ride horses and use swords, so I really just researched what the physical world was like during that period in our own world. But, like any good fantasy, you mostly have to make it all up.

Did you pursue publishers or did you opt to self-pub?

I did pursue publishers and did in fact get three offers, one of whom still keeps in contact with me even though I turned her down, but for expedience sake and to support the movie, I went with a hybrid publisher who did all the InDesign, cover, and e-book conversion.

If self-published, did you hire someone to format the ebook version for you or did you do it yourself?  Can you tell us what that was like?

I will never attempt the technical stuff. My brain doesn’t work like that. I would always recommend getting a professional to do it, unless of course you like that sort of thing. It isn’t expensive.

If published by a publisher, what was your deciding factor in going with them?

I was actually pushed by my manager to go with the publisher I chose in the end, because I was assured this was an up and coming business with connections to the music business and since this project started with ten original songs (I started as a songwriter and am in the middle of recording ten original songs for an enhanced ebook) I decided that was the way to go.

If published by a publisher, are you happy with the price they chose?

No, I’m not. I’m a new writer and The Perfect Tear is my first book. I think the price should be lower. I’d rather earn much less and know people are reading it. Maybe I can work out a special deal for your readers.

Did you purposefully choose a distinct month to release your book?  Why?

Truthfully, I’ve learned so much after the book came out. I don’t think the month matters as much as how well your launch is orchestrated. I’ve learned you need one thousand people lined up, ready to purchase your book on the same day, to make any mark on Amazon. And you need a huge email list.

How did you choose your cover?

My manager had a poster made to take to Comic Con and I had drawings made by Marilia Mexi for the book trailer. Because I love Photoshop, I actually did the cover myself from all the different artwork I had. There are some great tutorials on Youtube that lead you through it step by step.

Did you write your book, then revise or revise as you went?

I am definitely a revise as you go kind of girl. Because I do a beat sheet for every movie and every book, I know where I’m going. I’m more interested in whether I chose the right word and whether I’ve been clear. I tend to start each day by reading what I wrote then see how much further I can get. Of course, there were times the story took off by itself. That’s the most fun.

Did you come up with special swag for your book and how are you using it to help get the word out about your book?  

I love art, painting and drawing because I can’t do it. So I commissioned an Italian artist, Francesca Baerald to draw about five watercolors for each chapter that I will offer as prints for people who sign up to my website. Each person can pick a chapter they like best. I will be running a contest soon, about casting the movie. The winner will be the person with the best cast overall and will receive $300. I’m going to start that on Facebook soon. I’m also thinking of having a Perfect Tear pendant as well. All still in the works.

Did you consider making or hiring someone to make a book trailer for your book?  If so, what’s the link?

As I said above, I hired the artist and I did the trailer myself, since I make many movies for my jazz band, I really like editing and just use an old version of iMovie.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ftTqiXw2VFs

What’s your opinion on giving your book away to sell other copies of your book?

I’d give everybody in the world a free book if I could. I really want my movie to get made and that will only happen with the readers help.

What are three of the most important things you believe an author should do before their book is released?

The first and foremost is to find the most brutal editor you can and thank your lucky stars if you find one. Secondly, start building an email list, something that is still a mystery to me, and then proof, proof, proof using text to speech. My publisher told me she had proofed the book and I immediately found a mistake on page one. After that, I took it into my own hands using text to speech on my computer and in 120 hours and three passes I had an error free book. It is astounding what the human eye will fill in.

What are three of the most important things you believe an author should do after their book is released?

Start the next book and find someone to do all the hard stuff. I wish! I love interacting with people and I answer all comments and anything on social media, but I just don’t know how you get something in the public eye, except for a blog tour! Don’t hire a publicist. They only seem to work for non-fiction where there is an expert involved. Plus they are extraordinarily expensive without really doing much.

What kind of pre-promotion did you do before the book came out?
I actually had everything as far as an author platform set up–all except an email list. I’m in the process of learning to do that. Because I’m also a full time jazz singer, it gets really tough to fit everything in. I almost consider this to be the launch.

Do you have a long-term plan with your book?

The first is to get enough interest in the book to get the producers excited to do such an expensive film and I’ve already started the second installment, which will take place nine months on.
What would you like to say to your readers and fans about your book?

The first thing anybody tells you about this business is to say what makes you unique and different, but I couldn’t and the very idea of it never sat well with me and after much deliberation, I finally realized why. Because, I’m not unique or different–I’m exactly like you and I love that. We each have a unique filter through which we interpret the world, and with this filter in place, I write stories and songs and you might find them surprising or intriguing or confronting, you may relate or you may not. They may make you laugh and sometimes, even cry. You may or may not understand what I’m trying to say and you may not understand me, however, rest assured, once we get past the filters, at our core, we are wonderfully and beautifully, exactly the same.




Not Quite So Stories by David S. Atkinson



Title: NOT QUITE SO STORIES
Author: David S. Atkinson
Publisher: Literary Wanderlus LLC
Pages: 166
Genre: Absurdist Literary Fiction

The center of Not Quite So Stories is the idea that life is inherently absurd and all people can do is figure out how they will live in the face of that fact. The traditional explanation for the function of myth (including such works as the relatively modern Rudyard Kiping's Just So Stories) is as an attempt by humans to explain and demystify the world. However, that's hollow. We may be able to come to terms with small pieces, but existence as a whole is beyond our grasp. Life simply is absurd, ultimately beyond our comprehension, and the best we can do is to just proceed on with our lives. The stories in this collection proceed from this conception, each focusing on a character encountering an absurdity and focusing on how they manage to live with it.

For More Information

Book Excerpt:
TURNDOWN SERVICE
      Margaret's heels clicked repetitiously on the polished marble floors of Finklebean's Mortuary. The sharp sound echoed down aisles of metal-faced vaults in the chilled, solemn hallways. Her steps were quick but purposeful, her stride constrained by the tight skirt of her starched navy business dress. An invoice was clutched tightly in her talon-like hand. Someone owed her an explanation…and that debt would be paid.
      Catching sight of the plain brown wooden door hidden off in a back hallway bearing a faded Caretaker's Office sign, Margaret halted, causing her heels to clack loudly on the stone. She pursed her lips as she scrutinized the sign. As if using the white metal sign with flaking black letters as a mirror, she adjusted the smartly coiled chestnut bun of her hair. Then she shoved open the weathered door and marched inside.
      "Excuse me," she called out sternly before looking what the room happened to contain, or even whether it was occupied.
      A portly man in old blue coveralls sitting at a rough wooden worktable looked up at her calmly. Long stringy gray hair framed his face around a set of coke bottle eyeglasses perched on the end of his reddened bulbous nose. A metal cart, half full of plastic funeral flower arrangements, was positioned next to the worktable. Individual plastic flowers littered the table surface.
      Unlike the somber and silent polished gray marble trimmed in shining brass of the hallway outside, the caretaker's room felt more like a basement or garage. The walls were cinderblock, unpainted, and the floor was bare concrete. Obviously, the room was not used for professional services.
      "My bill is incorrect," Margaret said, thrusting the invoice out at the frumpy little man between a thumb and forefinger, both with nails bearing a French manicure. "You maintain my grandfather's plot, but this month's bill is way over the usual twenty-five sixty-three…nine hundred dollars more to be precise. You may not be the person in charge of this, but you're who I found."
      The older man quietly looked at her still presenting the invoice even though he had made no move to take it. "Name?"
      "Margaret Lane," Margaret said curtly.
      "No," the caretaker shook his mess of oily old hair. "I won't remember you. I meant your granddad's."
      Margaret pursed her lips again. "Winston Lane."
      "Ah, yes." The heavyset man leaned back in his chair, putting his hands behind his head and cocking out his elbows. His belly pushed on the table slightly, causing loose plastic flowers to roll around on the tabletop. The flowers were separated into piles according to color: red, white, yellow, purple, and orange. "Winston Lane. His is over on hillside four, I believe."
      "I'm sure." Margaret crossed her arms, still clutching the invoice. "So why do I have a bill for over nine hundred dollars?"
      The caretaker hunched forward, setting his chin on a pudgy arm and wrapping a flabby hand around his mouth. "Let's see…Winston Lane…bigger than normal bill…oh, that's right!" His face brightened with recollection.
      Margaret smugly waited for the expected rationalization to begin, the extras and add-ons designed to take advantage of the gullible grieving. She wouldn't be so easily manipulated.
      "He got an apartment."
      Margaret's expression cracked.
      "That's what the extra money is," he pleasantly explained. "It's to cover the rent."
       Margaret stared, blinking occasionally. A thin purple vein throbbed angrily at the side of her neck.
      The man smiled. Then he pushed his round glasses further back up his nose and grabbed one of the plastic funeral arrangements from the cart. It had a block of dense green foam set in a fake bronze vase and various colors of plastic flowers stuck in the foam. The man pulled all the flowers out in a single movement and set each in the respective colored pile on the worktable. Then he placed the vase in a pile of similar vases on the floor.
      "You…rented my grandfather an apartment?" Margaret finally asked. "Why?"
      "Don't be ridiculous," the older man snorted, dismembering another arrangement. "He rented the apartment, not us."
      Margaret sneered, having recovered her self-possession and indignation. "Sir, my grandfather is deceased."
      "Yep," the caretaker agreed. He started quickly taking vases from the cart, ripping them apart, and then tossing the materials in the respective sort piles. "Guess he didn't like the plot he picked out. Maybe it wasn't roomy enough, I don't know. Some things like that you just can't be sure of till you get in a place and stay there a while. Anyway, he must not have liked something about it because he went and got himself that apartment. He wouldn't have done that if he'd been happy where he was at."
      Margaret stood rigid. The toe of one foot tapped irritably. "How could my grandfather possibly rent an apartment? He's dead!"
      "How couldn't he?" The caretaker snorted again. "It's a great apartment. Plenty of light. Nice carpets. Good amount of space. It's got a nice pool, too. Not that pools make much of a difference to a guy like him, being dead and all. Anyway, take a look; happen to have a photo of the place right here. Can't rightly remember why."
      The man handed Margaret a bent-up photograph he pulled from a coverall pocket. It depicted a pleasantly-lit living room with vaulted ceilings. Tasteful black leather and chrome furniture was arranged around a delicate glass coffee table. On top of the coffee table sat her grandfather's mahogany coffin, looking just as stately as it had at her grandfather's funeral service.
      Margaret glowered, unsure what to make of the photograph, noticing after a moment that she was chewing her lip as she ground her teeth. Her brain couldn't keep up, it was all just too ludicrous for her to grasp. The man sorted more funeral arrangements. "So…you're telling me that my deceased grandfather rented an apartment. Him, not you."
      "Yep. That's the long and short of it." The man jammed the photograph back into his pocket.
      "My dead grandfather."
      "Yes'm." He took the last arrangement off the cart and disposed of it as he had the others. He paused to dust off his hands. Then he grabbed a vase from the floor, jammed a plastic flower inside from each stack, and set the newly arranged arrangement on the cart.
      "How could anyone rent my grandfather an apartment!?" Margaret threw up her arms. "He's dead! The landlord couldn't do that!"
      "Sure they can," the caretaker countered, paying more attention to the funeral arrangements than Margaret. "The building is zoned for mixed use."
      "Mixed use?! He's dead!" She wiped her hand down her face slowly, stretching her skin as it went.
      "So? He's residing there. That's a residential use. Certainly isn't commercial." The caretaker accidentally shoved two red plastic flowers in the same vase. Laughing at himself, he ripped them out again and started over.
      Margaret stepped back, perhaps wondering if the caretaker was insane as opposed to just conning her. That would explain the photograph.
      She crossed her arms loosely and tilted her chin upwards just a little, trying to mentally get a handle on the situation. Her brain felt like an overheated car with no oil in the engine. "I'm sorry, but that's very distracting," Margaret commented, pointing at the plastic flower piles on the worktable. "Is there any way that you could stop a moment?"
      "Sorry." The older man shook a thick calloused finger at an old clock on the wall, stopped as far as Margaret could tell. "I got to get this done."
      "But…what exactly are you doing? You're just taking them apart and putting them back together."
      The rumpled man gestured at the flowers. "Well, people pay us to put these on graves, don't they?"
      "Right…"
       "They come from a factory, don't they? Someone paying someone else to bring something a machine made? I don't think much of that. My way, there's at least some thought in it."
      Margaret did not respond. Instead, she watched the man fill up the cart again. The arrangements looked exactly the same as before.
      "Anyway," the caretaker went on, "don't you owe your granddad?"
      "Pardon me?" Margaret puffed out her chest.
      "Sure," the man said, peering up at her through the finger-smudged lenses of his glasses. "He said when he bought the plot that you were going to take care of it and he was going to leave you money to keep going to school. He thought you should start working, but helped you out since you were going to mind his spot."
      Margaret swallowed, ruining her attempt to look indignant. A few beads of sweat gathered at her temples.
      "You figure you've done enough?" The man had his head held low, hiding the tiny smirk on his face.
      Margaret's eyes widened. Her arms hung limply at her sides and her shoulders slumped. "But…"
      "Hey, that's between you two. I just take care of things like I'm paid to. If he wants his plot, I do that. If he wants a two-bedroom palace, I do that instead."
      Margaret absentmindedly twisted an old, ornate gold ring on her finger. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed as if the light in the dim room had gotten brighter. The meticulously squared corners of her mind twisted and stretched deliciously. "That's right…it was a deal."
      "Come again?"
      "I agreed to have his plot cared for."
      "And?"
      "Well…" Her lips slipped into a pointed grin. "I pay you a fixed monthly amount to care for that plot. Apparently this apartment is his plot now, so the rent should be part of your monthly care. I expect you to take care of it accordingly. After all, caring for his plot is caring for his plot."
      "Now see here–"
      "Regardless, I can't help but think," she went on, "that it reflects poorly on your services if grandfather isn't happy with his plot, not mine."
      The caretaker gawked at Margaret, his mouth hanging loose. "Is that what you think now?" The older man finally growled.
      "It is," she responded with a saccharine tone, "and I expect that all future bills will be for the correct amount."
      "Hmph," he huffed, settling back into his chair. "Wonder what your granddad would say about that."
      Margaret smirked. "You're welcome to go and ask him, if you think it will get you anywhere."

Dark Money by Larry D. Thompson



Title: DARK MONEY           
Author: Larry D. Thompson
Publisher: Story Merchant Books
Pages: 420
Genre: Legal Thriller

DARK MONEY is a thriller, a mystery and an expose’ of the corruption of money in politics.

Jackson Bryant, the millionaire plaintiff lawyer who turned to pro bono work in Dead Peasants, is caught up in the collision of money and politics when he receives a call from his old army buddy, Walt Frazier. Walt needs his assistance in evaluating security for Texas Governor Rob Lardner at a Halloween costume fundraiser thrown by one of the nation’s richest Republican billionaires at his mansion in Fort Worth.
Miriam Van Zandt is the best marksman among The Alamo Defenders, an anti-government militia group in West Texas. She attends the fund raiser dressed as a cat burglar---wounds the governor and murders the host’s brother, another Republican billionaire. She is shot in the leg but manages to escape.
Jack is appointed special prosecutor and must call on the Texas DPS SWAT team to track Van Zandt and attack the Alamo Defenders’ compound in a lonely part of West Texas. Van Zandt’s father, founder of the Defenders, is killed in the attack and Miriam is left in a coma. The authorities declare victory and close the case---but Jack knows better. The person behind the Halloween massacre has yet to be caught. When Walt and the protective detail are sued by the fund raiser host and the widow of the dead man, Jack follows the dark money of political contributions from the Cayman Islands to Washington to Eastern Europe, New York and New Orleans to track the real killer and absolve his friend and the Protective Detail of responsibility for the massacre.

For More Information

  • Dark Money is available at Amazon.
  • Discuss this book at PUYB Virtual Book Club at Goodreads.
Book Excerpt:
Jack Bryant turned his old red Dodge Ram pickup into the driveway of the Greek revival mansion at the end of the cul-de-sac in Westover Hills, an exclusive neighborhood in Fort Worth. He was amused to see Halloween ghosts and goblins hanging from the two enormous live oaks that fronted the house. The driveway led to wrought iron gates that permitted entry to the back. A heavy set Hispanic man with a Poncho Villa mustache in a security guard uniform stood beside the driveway near the gates, clipboard in hand. He was unarmed.

Jack stopped beside him and lowered his window. “Afternoon, officer. Fine autumn day, isn’t it?”

The guard sized up the old pick-up and the man wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. “You here to make a delivery?”

Jack reached into his left rear pocket and retrieved his wallet from which he extracted a laminated card. “No, sir. Name’s Jackson Douglas Bryant. I’m a lawyer and a Tarrant County Reserve Deputy. My friend, Walter Frazier, is part of the Governor’s Protective Detail. Said Governor Lardner is attending some big shindig here tomorrow night and asked me to lend a hand in checking the place out before he hits town. My name
should be on that clipboard.”

The guard took the card, studied it closely and handed it back to Jack. He flipped to the second page. “There it is. Let me open the gates. Park down at the end of the driveway. You’ll see another wall with a gate. Walk on through and you’ll find your way to the ballroom where the party’s being held tomorrow. I’ll radio Sergeant Frazier to let him know you’re on your way.”

The gates silently opened, and Jack drove slowly to the back, admiring the house and grounds. The house had to be half a football field in length. Giant arched windows were spaced every ten feet with smaller ones above, apparently illuminating the second floor. To Jack’s right was an eight foot wall. First security issue. Not very hard to figure out a way to scale it. Fortunately, cameras and lights were mounted on fifteen foot poles that appeared to blanket the area.

Jack parked where he was directed and climbed from his truck. Before shutting the door, he took his cane from behind the driver’s seat. He flexed his left knee. It felt pretty good. He might not even need the cane. Still, he usually carried it since he never knew when he might take a step and have it buckle under him. Better to carry the cane than to fall on his ass.

He found himself in front of another wall. He was studying it when Walt came through the gate. Walt was ten years his junior, six feet, two inches of solid muscle. He bounded across the driveway to greet Jack. They first shook hands and then bear-hugged
each other like the old army buddies that they were.

Walt pulled back and looked at Jack. “Damn, it’s good to see you. Been, what, about three years since you were in Austin for some lawyer meeting?”

“Could have been four. I think I was practicing in Beaumont then.”

“Still carrying the cane. That injury at the barracks causing you more problems?”

“No worse, not any better. Every once in a while the damn knee gives out with no warning. I may have to put an artificial one in some day. Meantime, the cane does just fine. I’ve got a collection of about twenty of them in an old whiskey barrel beside the back door of my house. This one is my Bubba Stick. Picked it up at a service station a while back.”

Walt’s voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Follow me into the garden. There are some tables there. We can sit for a few minutes while I explain what’s coming down.”
They walked through the gate. Beyond it was a garden, obviously tended by loving hands. Cobblestone paths wound their way through fall plantings of Yellow Copper Canyon Daises, Fall Aster, Apricot-colored Angel’s Trumpet, Mexican Marigold and
the like. Walt led the way to a wrought iron table beside a fish pond with a fountain in the middle, spraying water from the mouth of a cherub’s statue. The two friends settled into chairs, facing the pond.

“This is what the help call the little garden. In a minute we’ll go around the house to the big garden and pool that fronts the ballroom. You know whose house this is?”

“No idea.”

“Belongs to Oscar Hale. He and his brother, Edward, are the two richest men in Fort Worth. Their daddy was one of the old Texas wildcatters. The two brothers were worth a few hundred million each, mainly from some old oil holdings down in South Texas and out around Midland. Life must have been pretty good.

Then it got better about ten years ago when the oil boys started fracking and horizontal drilling. Counting proven reserves still in the ground, word is they’re worth eighty billion, well, maybe just a little less now that we have an oil glut.”

“Edward still around?”

One of the servers in the kitchen had seen the two men and brought two bottles of water on a silver tray.

“Thanks…Sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Sarah Jane, Walt. My pleasure. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Walt took a sip from his bottle as Sarah Jane returned to the house. “Yeah. His legal residence is still in Fort Worth, and I understand he and his wife vote in this precinct, only they really live in New York City. He always kept an apartment there. When the oil money started gushing, he upgraded to a twenty room penthouse that I hear overlooks Central Park. He’s big in the arts scene up there, opera, ballet, you name it. He’s also building the Hale Museum of Fine Art here in Fort Worth.”

Jack nodded his head. “Okay, I know who you’re talking about. My girlfriend is thrilled about another museum in Fort Worth. She’s into that kind of thing. When I moved here, she took me to every damn one of them. The western art in the Amon Carter museum was really all that interested me. So, the Hales play with the big boys, and the governor’s coming. From what I read, Governor Lardner travels all over the world. Never seems to have a problem. What’s the big deal here?”

Sunday, February 28, 2016

PUYB Virtual Book Club Chats with Trillian Anderson, author of Unawakened

Thanks for joining us at the book club Trillian. 

Why did you choose to write novels in the urban fantasy genre?

I’ve always loved the fantasy genre. My interests range from traditional and epic to urban… but it never ceases to amaze me how short of a step it is to make the science-filled world we live in magical. It’s a genre that blends the comfortable and expected with the strange, the interesting, and the unique.

Where is your book set and why did you choose that location?

Like Dawn of Dae, Unawakened is set in Baltimore, Maryland in a future world. Society has conformed to one set standard, and not only does it have urban fantasy elements, it’s a dystopian science fiction focused on social issues we could face in our future.

I chose Baltimore because, once upon a time, it was near to home. I don’t live anywhere near Baltimore now, but the city and its people have stuck with me all this time.

I’d like to know more about Unawakened.  Can you give us a little background into why you wrote the novel?

Like The Dawn of Dae, I wrote Unawakened to explore possibilities—if key elements of our culture changed, if certain freedoms were revoked… what would happen?

Adding the bizarre and magical helped make the journey interesting and fun for me. I like fun, interesting things.

I’d like to know more about your main character.  Can you tell us more about him/her?

Alexa Daegberht is a woman who has seen some pretty tough patches in her life. She’s been to the lowest rung, and she’s seeing the world from the top for the first time in her life.

To make things more difficult, she’s one of the only normal, unmagical humans left in the world, which makes surviving tricky at best.

Can you tell us a little about the other supporting characters?

That’s something I really like about this book. There is a huge cast of interesting characters. There is Colby, a sentient macaroni and cheese casserole, who is learning to talk. Its vocabulary is limited, but don’t let that fool you—there is more to it than meets the eye. Sullivan is a vampire, and like other vampires, his blood tastes like cotton candy, and Alexa really likes cotton candy. Then there’s a bejeweled dragon, a unicorn, and an octopus, all who play their own roles in the story.

Finally, there’s Rob, the only other human—well, humanoid—who can touch Alexa without making her break out in hives.

There’s never a dull moment with this crew.

They say all fiction books have pivotal points in the book where the reader just can’t put the book down.  What’s one pivotal point in Unawakened?

Hard choice. ‘d like to say the pivotal moment in this book is when Alexa finally finds the courage and determination to put aside the fact she’s a normal, unawakened human and prove she’s not inferior to the dae… and once she decides to get going, watch out.

What’s next on the agenda for you, Trillian?

I’m working on The Chameleon and the Hound, the third installment of The Dae Portals series! It’s going to be a fun romp, and will close off a lot of the issues left open from both Dawn of Dae and Unawakened… and lead into Summit, where the powers of the world collide.

What would you like to say to your readers and fans?


Thank you so much for reading! I hope you have as much fun reading this book as I’ve had writing it.




About The Book



Title: Unawakened
Series: Dae Portals Book 2
Author: Trillian Anderson
Publisher: Bright Day Publishing
Publication Date: January 26, 2016
Format:  eBook  / ePub / PDF - 305 pages
ASIN: B017WHH9EI
Genre: Urban Fantasy


Buy The Book:


Discuss this book in our PUYB Virtual Book Club on Goodreads


Book Description:

In order to restore peace after the Dawn of Dae, the United States has declared martial law. Enforcing the militant regime won't be easy, and a new policing force of dae and their bonded humans has been mustered to keep the populace under tight control.

Alexa wants nothing to do with the government, its army, or the special forces meant to keep rebellion at bay, but she has a choice: do what Kenneth Smith wants or die a quick death. As one of the unawakened, she has no chance of infiltrating the police on her own. Forced to partner with Kenneth's dae, who dislikes her almost as much as she dislikes it, her life hinges on how well she convinces others she's a big, bad monster just like them instead of an ordinary human woman.

Working for the police is no easier than dealing with Kenneth's work. During the day, she's a part of the law, but at night, she's a tool of crime and war. It's only a matter of time before she's caught--or fails her mission and is killed by her drug-dealing boss.

If she wants to live a free life, she'll need to take care of Kenneth once and for all. Since he won't listen to reason and let her go, she's determined to buy her freedom with his death.

Unfortunately, Kenneth isn't the only problem in her life, and unless she does something about Rob, she'll lose the independence she fought so hard for. Worse, unless she's careful, he'll make her like it...


Book Excerpt:


Chapter One


Three months after Kenneth Smith had tried to kill me, I returned to his home with a katana and a gun. I wore the sword as a message and a promise I wouldn’t go quietly if Kenneth or one of his other hounds tried to kill me again.
The gun would be how I kept my lethal promise, and its weight in my shoulder holster reassured me. Despite the early winter chill, I left my leather coat open so I could reach my Beretta if I needed it.
I likely would.
Violence I understood, and I found the presence of both my weapons comforting. The day was ripe for bloodshed, and my sword and gun wouldn’t help me against many of the magical dae, but I did my best to ignore that fact. It hadn’t been so long ago the bonded had been regular humans without the strength and power the magical dae gave them.
Humans remembered the purpose of a sword, and the dae bled when cut. The problem was getting close enough to kill them before they killed me.
The sunrise painted the eastern sky in red and gold, and while I wanted to find somewhere quiet to watch it, I didn’t dare. I had a limited window of opportunity to act, and I couldn’t afford to waste it.
Before the Dawn of Dae, the early hour wouldn’t have been so peaceful, safe, or quiet. The emergence of the magical had turned sunrise into one of the serene parts of the day. Many of the dangerous dae were returning to their homes to sleep while the more cautious and mundane remained indoors.
In an hour, the city would awaken. I wanted to be done with Kenneth Smith so I could get on with my life, not that I was sure what sort of life waited for me. While I hadn’t been expelled from college, classes hadn’t resumed, and no one was really sure if they would.
For the moment, education came second to restructuring society. The police and military ruled in a state of martial law implemented at the government’s decree. Despite the chokehold on the population—or because of it—things were slowly returning to normal. Most businesses had reopened, and life went on. Most of the bonded and their dae had adapted to their new partnerships and circumstances, although there were still those like Arthur around, who wanted to use their newfound powers to control, destroy, or change the world.
Dae like Arthur, ready and willing to use their powers to get what they wanted, frightened me far more than I wanted to admit. With Rob’s help, I had no scars from my time in captivity—not visible ones, at least. Some of the wounds the fire breather had inflicted on me wouldn’t heal, not until I saw to Arthur’s death myself.
I’d let Rob and Colby help. They deserved satisfaction, too. Before I could hunt Arthur, however, I needed to deal with Kenneth Smith once and for all.
I reached his street, and it didn’t surprise me to find Kenneth’s favorite bitch, Lily, waiting on his doorstep. Unlike me, she held her gun out in the open, and the instant her gaze settled on me, I understood her silent message.
One of us would walk away alive. The other wouldn’t.
I smiled. Lily’s challenge changed nothing. Kenneth Smith would fall, and if I had to take out his favorite bitch first, so be it. Business was business.
We had never liked each other anyway.


Lily watched me approach, and her eyes caught my attention. Before the Dawn of Dae, they had been blue, accenting her porcelain skin. The emergence of the dae hadn’t been kind to her, graying her complexion and turning her irises a burning orange.
Passion, love, hatred, and anger gave fire breathers their strength; that much I had learned from Rob. Lily fidgeted, flexing her left hand. A thin coating of yellow fur sprouted over her skin.
I sighed, well aware of the lethal combination of werewolf and fire breather. In a way, I had hoped Lily hadn’t bonded with a dae, although the development didn’t surprise me very much. People like me, the unawakened, were few and far between, and most dae didn’t know what to make of us.
I didn’t know what to make of us, either, which didn’t help matters any. I’d yet to meet someone like me, someone who lacked a dae to teach them the new ways of the world.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” Lily said, and flames crackled in her voice.
Why did she carry a gun? I considered her weapon; it was an antique, far older than my Beretta. Rust marred its surface. It was the type of weapon Kenneth liked, so old the government didn’t view it as too much of a threat. If the authorities found it, the deteriorating state of the pistol would convince most it wasn’t a real danger to anyone.
Kenneth, thanks to his rank, would probably get away with having it, as long as no one found any ammunition to go with it.
I knew better, though. Maybe the gun appeared damaged beyond repair, but if Lily cocked it and pulled the trigger, I’d die all the same. Kenneth didn’t keep useless things around, people included.
Lily’s gaze lowered to my katana, and the woman smiled. “That won’t save you.”
“Nice to see you, too. Is Kenneth around?”
“You won’t be seeing him.” Lily’s smile widened, and she fiddled with the hammer of the pistol. “I’d be happy to leave a message for you, though.”
I glanced in the direction of Kenneth’s house and smiled for the hidden cameras. “Yeah, I have a message you can give him.”
“Oh?” Lily adjusted the grip on her pistol, her thumb poised over the hammer, although she didn’t cock it.
In addition to the cameras, the front of Kenneth’s house was wired with microphones, so if my boss was watching, he’d get my message loud and clear. I matched the woman’s fake smile and crossed my arms over my chest. I slipped my right hand beneath the leather jacket Rob had given to me.
Lily’s posture remained relaxed, and her thumb slid away from her pistol’s hammer. “Well? What’s your message? Tell me and leave. You don’t belong here anymore.”
Escaping Kenneth Smith wasn’t so easy, and Rob had told me my boss wanted to speak with me. Rob hadn’t been happy about relaying the message, either.
The next day, he had disappeared.
If Kenneth Smith was behind Rob’s vanishing act, I’d do a hell of a lot more to him than kill his favorite bitch. I’d ruin his wealth and reputation before I murdered him and his dae.
In a way, the Dawn of Dae had been a blessing in disguise. I had Rob, and I had Colby. Maybe my future was uncertain at best, but I no longer needed Kenneth to survive. New paths had opened to me.
Lily glared at me when I remained silent. “I’m not letting you into the house.”
“Are those Kenneth’s orders?” I tilted my head to the side. “I was given a message he wanted to see me.”
“I’m not letting you into the house.”
Two could play the repetition game, and I had no intention of losing. “Are those Kenneth’s orders?”
“Are you deaf? I’m not letting you into the house. I’m giving you one chance to turn around and walk away. I’ll shoot you and throw your body in the river. No one will miss you.”
If I turned and walked away, she’d shoot me anyway; I saw her desire for my death in the way she smiled. We had been on neutral terms for a long time. When I made her job with Kenneth harder, I bribed her, but because of my stubbornness and my inability to sleep with our boss, she had many reasons to hate me. Just hearing my name was probably enough to anger Kenneth since Rob had stolen me from him.
I preferred to think I had stolen Rob with no intention of letting the dae escape me, but that was another matter entirely. My sometimes roommate, frequent lover, and partner-in-crime wouldn’t be happy when he found out I had gone to see Kenneth alone.
The remorse of killing the woman would hit me later, but such was life on the fringe while working for the elite. Kill or be killed, and I had no intention of dying quite yet.
After several months of waiting for my broken ribs to heal, my patience with Kenneth and his operations had grown thin. I pulled my gun out of its holster, took aim, and before she could do more than gasp and flinch, I fired.
Lily crumpled to the sidewalk, twitched, and fell still. I waited until her blood stained the ground around her before stepping to her body, gun ready in case she decided to get back up.
Even the weakest of the dae and their bonded had ceased decaying to ash last month. Rob had sounded both pleased and annoyed by the development. I touched my fingers to Lily’s neck in search of a pulse.
She was already cold, as though all of the heat had been sucked out of her body right along with the fires that had burned in her eyes. Her blood stained my hand. Some people loved to kill, but I wasn’t one of them. I couldn’t even force myself to look at her. I swallowed several times so I wouldn’t throw up, rose to my feet, and headed for Kenneth’s door.
It opened before I had a chance to knock. Kenneth scowled at Lily’s body before turning his attention to me. “Was shooting her necessary?”
“She would have shot me if I had turned around, and she wasn’t letting me in.”
“All I have to do to lock you away for a long time is make a single call and inform the police you shot someone,” my boss hissed through clenched teeth.
“And I’ll tell them she’s a fire breather who was armed with an illegal gun. She threatened me.” I stowed my Beretta, pulled out my wallet, and flipped it open so Kenneth could see my concealed carry license. “Unlike her, I’m allowed to shoot people who threaten me, Mr. Smith. Rob told me you wanted to speak with me?”
“Come in, Collie.” Backing out of the way to give me space to slip in, he shut the door behind me and gestured to the basement stairwell. “I’m surprised you came.”
“Rob approved of our meeting.” Rob hadn’t been happy about it, but if he thought it was important enough to involve me in Kenneth Smith’s dealings once again, I’d listen—and look for a way out of working with him permanently.
“He has you eating out of his hand,” Kenneth snarled, stalking me down the stairs to his basement lounge. I flopped on the couch, propping my booted feet up on the antique coffee table. If Kenneth noticed the fine leather, I hoped he would wonder if I had purchased them for myself or if Rob had acquired them for me.
While Rob had made the purchase, I had paid the dae back for the boots by doing tedious paperwork for him—one of the few activities I could manage while my concussion and ribs healed.
Working with Rob had a lot more perks and a lot better pay than dealing with Kenneth. Whatever he wanted had to be important if Rob wanted me to deal with him again.
“So what? Business, Mr. Smith. You need me for something, else you wouldn’t have talked with Rob. I just killed your favorite, and you’re ignoring it. What do you need me for, what’s my pay, and when do you need it done?”
“As astute as ever. Very well. I’ve gone over the documents you provided, and I want you to sniff out Terry Moore’s associates, including the dean of your college. I also have a second job for you, if you’re up for the challenge.”
Dean Lewis had been paying Terry Moore to murder women while they were under the influence of Kenneth’s drugs. Not only had Terry murdered them, he had raped them, and the drugs had ensured they enjoyed it right up until he had killed them.
The thought of killing again didn’t enthuse me, but I was prepared to make an exception for the dean of my college. I still had the video evidence, hidden away where no one would find it without my help. I still had a copy of them on my personal laptop, too, waiting for me to delve into their horrors in search of answers. I didn’t need them anymore, though. The videos’ content was seared into my memories, and I woke too often from nightmares where I was one of Terry’s victims.
Sometimes, Terry became Arthur in my nightmares, and those were the nights I woke up drenched in a cold sweat. The dreams had gotten worse since Rob had vanished, as though his presence in my bed somehow kept them away. A few times when I had woken up from nightmares and Rob had been there, he chased them away and replaced my fear with more pleasant things.
“You’re asking a lot,” I grumbled.
“You’re the only one I have in a position to get what I need from him.”
I frowned, leaning back and stretching my arms along the back of the couch, positioning myself so Kenneth got a good look at my Beretta. “Likely true. What do you need me to find out?”
“First, I want you to find out what he was having Terry Moore do with my drugs. The earliest invoices were dated a week after I supplied him. Seems like too much of a coincidence to me.”
“I see. I guess I need to know what the drugs do. You gave me a brief summary of the effects. They can’t be detected on the current tests. They’re mild. But what do they actually do?”
Kenneth smiled, but there was nothing friendly about his expression.
I tensed, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw something dark coming towards me. I whipped my hand to my gun, but Kenneth’s dae was faster. He caught my wrist, yanked my arm back, and before I could even scream, he jabbed a needle into my arm.
Kenneth had moved while I was distracted by his dae. He clamped his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet. I thrashed, but the two didn’t release me until Kenneth’s dae pulled the needle out and tossed the syringe on the coffee table.
A few smears of red lingered in the barrel, and I trembled, remembering what the drugs had done to Terry Moore’s victims.
“I don’t know exactly what they do. That’s not my problem, Miss Daegberht. It is, however, now yours. I expect a full report when it wears off. Don’t worry. Jacob will take you home so you don’t have any unfortunate mishaps on the way. I’ve been told by reputable sources it takes about twenty minutes to kick in, no matter how it’s taken.”
Kenneth pulled his hand away from my mouth, and I realized he was wearing gloves. I shuddered.
Had Rob told them about my allergy? To cover my growing fear, I snapped my teeth together and sat straighter. “You son of a bitch.” I rubbed where I had been stabbed with the needle. Kenneth’s dae had also been wearing gloves.
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with an allergic reaction in addition to being drugged.
“You should be happy, Miss Daegberht. This is the good stuff, the stuff you couldn’t afford even if you wanted it. You’ll finally have the perfect high you’ve been searching for all this time. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed you wanting another hit, no matter how good a job you did fighting it.”
“Give me a reason I shouldn’t kill you right now.”
“You’ll die, for starters. You’d probably be dead before you could pull the trigger. Don’t kid yourself. You won’t do it. You only killed Lily because she always had what you wanted. Take her home, Jacob. No side trips. However appealing she might be to you, she’s off limits—for now.”
I spat curses at him and reached for my gun. Kenneth’s dae grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet. In spite of Kenneth’s estimate of twenty minutes, the drugs were doing something to me—something that made it difficult to resist the dae.
“Oh, and another thing, Miss Daegberht. It should wear off in about twelve hours. If my understanding of the drug is correct, I recommend you stay home. Do try not to forget to write notes on the drug’s effects. It may be important for your research later. We can talk more about your job after you’ve recovered. Perhaps I’ll come visit you a little later tonight, once you’ve gotten accustomed to the drug.”
There was so much I wanted to tell him, but my tongue refused to obey me. My arms and legs were no better. Kenneth’s dae dragged me towards the stairwell, and I stumbled along with him. By the time Jacob got me into Kenneth’s car, I could barely stay on my feet, let alone fight him. Had Rob set me up? If so, why?
When the first tingling wave of the high hit, everything narrowed to the sensation of my clothes caressing my skin, the leather rubbing against me, and the pleasure of even the lightest touch.


The initial surge of the drug’s influence subsided by the time Jacob dropped me off in front of my apartment, although my skin’s hypersensitivity to touch remained. The dae leered at me, leaving me with zero doubt of what he had in mind for me.
I liked when Rob looked me over head to toe, but Jacob doing it sent chills through me. I scrambled out of the car, backed out of the dae’s reach, and slipped my hand into my coat for my Beretta.
“You don’t want to do that, Miss Daegberht.”
“Oh, I do,” I replied, although I didn’t pull out the weapon. “If he even thinks of backstabbing me again, I’ll start sending his hounds back to him in pieces, and I’ll take out his most useful ones first. Lily was just the start. No more tricks. If he really wants my help, he better get his head out of his ass, because right now, I’m not feeling very benevolent. I may decide Dean Lewis might be interested in knowing Kenneth Smith is gunning for him.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I wouldn’t? Are you so sure about that? I would, Jacob. I would, and I wouldn’t even hesitate. He broke his trust with me. If he’s stupid enough to think I’m going to just accept his attempt to kill me was a part of the work, he’s mistaken. He can also expect a hefty bill for this… stunt.”
Maybe the drug made all of my nerves sing, but once the initial surge of pleasure had faded, it hadn’t affected my ability to think. It didn’t smother my anger, either. I closed my fingers around my Beretta’s grip, wondering if I could get away with leaving another body lying around for someone to find.
With the emergence of the dae, bodies were plentiful and few seemed to miss the dead. Given time, once friendships and lives were rebuilt, people would miss those who were gone, but the world was currently inhabited by the strange who were also strangers. For all the dae often took on monstrous forms, they were still a lot like humans.
They only cared for those with close ties to them, ties most hadn’t had time to form.
“I’ll make certain he is aware of your opinion.”
“My opinion is non-negotiable, Mr. Jacob. Perhaps this will wake him up to reality: I’m tired of being stepped on. If he even thinks of trying to ruin my schooling, remind him if I can go behind his back and get admittance into Bach studies, there’s a lot more I can do, too.” While some of my speech was bluffing, one important fact remained: I had leverage on Dean Lewis and Kenneth Smith, if I could figure out the best way to use it. “Ask him if he wants me on his side, or should I have a talk with Dean Lewis?”
“Are you threatening him, Miss Daegberht?” the dae growled.
“I don’t make threats, dae. I make promises. Remember, he backstabbed me first. If he hadn’t sabotaged my gear, he wouldn’t be in this position right now. Get the fuck out of my sight. You and your pathetic master sicken me.”
I turned and stormed to my apartment building. If Jacob said anything, I didn’t hear him over the bang of me slamming the front door.



About The Author


Opener of Portals. Urban Fantasy Author. Mistress of Giggles. Warped Sense of Humor.

Trillian Anderson is, like so many of us, a figment of someone's imagination. She was born somewhere in the United States, loves to travel, and has no scruples about moving to new and interesting places around the world. She loves fantasy fiction of all types, but holds a special fondness for urban fantasies, epic fantasies, and stories capable of capturing her imagine.

Most of all, she enjoys grabbing a flashlight, hiding under the blankets, and pretending she's asleep when she's, in actuality, reading a beloved book.

Connect with Trillian Anderson:



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