Sunday 17 March 2024

The Story Behind the Story with Rick Revelle of Napanee, On, Canada.


This week you get to meet Rick and he is sharing his SBTS for all you visitors.



Rick will be joining us in July at the GMRD Book Fair and I’m looking forward to meeting him.

Read on my friends.

 

 

Rick's early years were spent in Wilton and Odessa Ontario. He lived for 32 years in Glenburnie Ontario and since 2019 in Napanee, Ontario.

He is the author of four Historical Fiction books and one fiction novel. 
I Am Algonquin (2013), Algonquin Spring (2015), Algonquin Sunset (2017) were published by Dundurn Press. Algonquin Legacy and The Elk Whistle Warrior Society by Crossfield Publishing.

The Algonquin Quest series takes place on both sides of the St Lawrence River Valley and the Great Lakes and to the Rocky Mountains during the years of 1320 to 1350’s. It follows an Algonquin Native family unit as they fight to survive in the harsh climate of warfare, survival from the elements and the constant quest for food of this pre-contact era. His readers are introduced to the Algonquin, Anishinaabe, Lakota, Mi´kmaq, Mohawk, and Lakȟóta, languages as they are used in the vernacular in the four novels.

The Elk Whistle Warrior Society is about a secret society of Native women who hunt down human traffickers and murderers of Native women and abusers of Native children. All the women have either a masters or PhD degree and a Martial Arts black belt. They do not use guns, only the weapons of their ancestors.




 

Title: The Elk Whistle Warrior Society

 


 

Synopsis: The Elk Whistle Warrior Society (2023) is about a 650 year old Native women secret society. They have always been protectors of Indigenous women and children. They have always hunted down human traffickers and murderers of Native women, plus the abusers of Native children. The women all have either a PhD or master’s degree, plus a Martials Arts black belt. They do not use guns, only the weapons of their ancestors. They are aided by selected male warriors and the legendary Memegwesi warriors who are the Little People and the protectors of children.

All the women have a tattoo of two blue feathers on their right shoulder and the men have the tattoo is found on their left calf.

 

 


The Story Behind the Story: I have written five books. My first book was published when I was 61 years old. Each of my books have strong Indigenous women. My previous four books were a series called The Algonquin Quest Series that followed four Omámiwinini (Algonquin) brothers during the early 1300’s pre-contact. The books are I Am Algonquin (2013), Algonquin Spring (2015), Algonquin Sunset (2017) and Algonquin Legacy (2021). During the writing of the final book, I wrote in the beginnings of a Native woman’s society. I was very excited about what I could do with this idea. As soon as Algonquin Legacy was finished then published,

I had The Elk Whistle Warrior Society almost done. My publisher Tina Crossfield liked the story, and I sent it out to a dozen women across Canada for a pre-read. All the responses from these women were that they really liked the premise and the strong women. One lady who is an actress said she wanted to make a TV series out of the book. I now have a Shopping List contract with her to produce the book into the TV series in the USA.

 

Website: Go HERE.



A question before you go, Rick:




Scribbler: What is the ideal spot for you when you write your stories? Music in the background or quiet. Coffee or tequila? Messy or neat?



Rick: I do my best writing long hand. I have always found that when I write this way my pen can keep up with the quickly flowing ideas that are streaming out of the file cabinets in my brain. I have a favourite bar here in Napanee where I have written two books, my 4th and 5th. Plus, now working on my 6th. I love writing on the train or when we go on a cruise, always longhand. When I write long hand in scribblers, I usually write about twenty-five pages in a session. Once I get home, I can turn these twenty-five pages into fifty or sixty when I add dialogue and do my research.

When I write at home, I brew a carafe of green tea with sage and lemon added, plus about five tea bags. I close my office door, then write until my kidneys almost explode. While writing in my office, I am surrounded in a world of battles, hunts, smells, noise, and everything else that I am creating.

I have always found that I am much more relaxed transposing from my scribblers into my computer. The long hand notes are sometimes 4 to 6 weeks old and many times when I read what I wrote I get excited about the notes. Usually, I have forgotten what I had written and when I re-read the pages it gives me an injection of adrenaline to continue with the book.






An Excerpt from THE ELK WHISTLE WARRIOR SOCIETY:




 

TUESDAY LUNCH

 

 

I was twelve years old in the summer of 1959.  It was the first week of July and it was hot. Having just finished cutting two lawns in the town next to our reservation, I had $4 in my pocket from my morning’s labour of six hours. Looking down at my sneakers, I saw that they were green from the juices of the dewy grass. I had bought the lawnmower in the spring with money made trapping muskrats and beaver that winter. I knew I smelled like gasoline and fresh cut grass, but my work was done for this day and my stomach was growling.

       Parking my lawnmower on the lawn in front of the big windows of the café, I made sure that the bungee cord that held my gas can on the deck of the mower was secure. Checking to make sure I still had the eight quarters and two one-dollar bills in my small, beaded change purse, I walked up to the door and peered in at the clock; 2:10 in the afternoon. Next, I checked out the large hand-printed sign in the window:

 

WE SERVE INDIANS HERE MONDAYS TO THURSDAYS FROM 2 TO 4 PM

 

Good! I was in the time frame that I could get served.

       The slight breeze coming from the south caused the overhead oval sign hanging by chains to emit an eerie creaking sound. Dabs of rust pocketed the white background of the sign, faded blue lettering seeped through the patina to silently announce Judi’s Café.    

When I opened the door, the warning bell rang and I hurriedly clambered into the booth where I could watch over my mower and still see the soft pine lunch counter where eight stools were lined along the counter. They were chrome with red leather seats, matching the leather seats in the booths. I was the only customer in the place.

       The owner, a scum bag, who we called the Toothless Wonder, came over and growled at me, “What do you want today, Buck?”

       “Can I have a hot dog and fries,” I answered.

       “Yep, if you have the money to pay ahead of time. You know the rules, Injuns pay up front!”

       I took a dollar and twenty-five cents out of my pocket. When I gave it to him, I said, “I also want a coke and a banana split.”

       He wiped his nose with his apron. “Coming right up Injun Boy.”

       I glanced out the window, keeping a close eye on my lawnmower. A Native guy who I had never seen before walked into the restaurant, announced by the bell on the door, and sat on the end stool near the cash register. He had shorts on with a tattoo of two feathers on his left calf and wore a tee shirt that said Warrior on it. Huge biceps rippled when he moved his arms. His hair was cropped in a brush cut, definitely residential school upbringing. He looked Blackfoot, no meanness in his eyes, just a sense of purpose. A roll of duct tape, a hatchet and a knife hung from his belt.

       The owner came over and said, “I have never seen you before, and I know all the Injuns around here. What do you want?

       “I came to handle some business in town and then taking the 3:04 train east. I’ll have two cheeseburgers and a Fanta orange drink.”

       “Money up front, Red Man.”

       The guest paid with a two-dollar bill, looked the Toothless Wonder in the face and just smiled.

       My food came along with 5 cents change which I put in the jukebox to play my favourite song Lonely Teardrops, by Jackie Wilson. The food had only cost $1.10 but the scum bag kept a dime for himself.

The dog had mustard and onions on it and I put a big dab of ketchup on my plate to dip my hot dog and fries in. The food calmed my nerves down and I had to keep wiping the mustard from my face as it drippled down my chin. I loved onions and when one fell from the bun, I would stuff it into my mouth with my fingers. My hands were dirty. The Toothless Wonder wouldn’t let Indians use his washroom to wash up or to pee.

       I finished my dog and fries washed down by the ice-cold coke and he brought me my banana split. I looked at the clock, 2:31.

       The bell above the door rang again, and in walked a tall Native woman dressed in shorts with a tank top and a tattoo like the Blackfoot man, except it was on her right shoulder. She looked Anishinaabe, but not from around here. Her hair also had the residential school cut.  From her waist hung two knives, one on each hip. As she walked by me, I caught a whiff of perfume, soft and spring like. Lilac. She sat three stools down from the Blackfoot man.

       “Well Pocahontas, what can I do you for,” sneered the Toothless Wonder.

       “A ginger ale, I have to catch the 3:04 train and haven’t got time to eat.”

       “Money up front, Injun Girl!”

       She tossed him a dime and smiled.

       She turned and looked out the window as a small funeral procession passed. All of the people were Native. The men were solemn, and the women were sobbing and wailing.

       The Native woman turned, looked the Toothless Wonder in the face and said, “Who died?’

       “Some Injun girl hung herself.”

       “Hmm, I heard that was the third one in a year and a half and they all worked for you at one time,” she replied sharply.

       “Coincidence,” he replied.

       Yea, I muttered to myself, except Lisa Beaver had told me what had happened here last fall. She was so ashamed. The sudden sound of duct tape being tore from a roll brought my attention back to what was about to happen.

       The Blackfoot stood up with a strip of duct tape and grabbed the Toothless Wonder by the head and wrapped the duct tape around his mouth in three quick turns.

       The woman grabbed the Toothless Wonder’s wrists in a vicelike grip and laid them flat on the pine counter. Meanwhile, the Blackfoot man pushed his back against the owner, pinning him against the counter so he couldn’t move. Next, he slipped his knife from its sheaf and laid it on the hot burner where the hotdogs simmered in a pot of water. He then turned and reached around the man with both arms and held his hands flat on the counter.

All the while the Toothless Wonder was trying to scream through the duct tape and all that came out was a muffled sound.

I watched as the woman quickly pulled her knives, one in each hand and drove them into the Toothless Wonder’s flattened hands pinning them to the counter.

       As The blood spurted up, the Blackfoot warrior swung his hatchet, cutting off both of the owners’ thumbs with a swiftness of a hawk diving for a rabbit. Blood spurted all over the counter The Blackfoot warrior reached for his red-hot knife and cauterized the spots where the man’s thumbs had been and around the two knife blade wounds, stopping the bleeding.

       The Toothless Wonder looked like he was going to pass out, so the Blackfoot man took a cold pail of water and doused his head.

       The woman grabbed the man’s sopping wet head in her hands and said, “Listen carefully to me. We know you raped those three dead girls while they worked for you. We also know that they never reported it to the law because it would be an Indian’s word against a white man’s word. Today you lost your thumbs, but if we ever hear about you again, it will be the rest of your fingers, and maybe your life. You tell the law this was an accident; your life depends on it”

       The Blackfoot warrior handed the woman a wet dishtowel and she wiped the blood from her hands. I heard the train whistle as it pulled into the station and looked at the clock; 3:03, a minute early.

       As the two walked out of the restaurant, the Warrior nodded at me. I watched as they boarded the eastbound train. I went to the bathroom, peed, washed my hands then walked out the front door. I grasped the handle of my lawnmower and pushed it down the dusty street back to the reservation. One wheel was squeaking, I’ll have to oil that.

            

            

 

        


  

 

 

Thank you for being our guest this week, Rick. We wish you much success with your stories. See you in July.

 

And another BIG thank you to all our visitors and readers.

Saturday 9 March 2024

The Story Behind the Story with Joanna Vander Vlugt

 


Let’s welcome Joanna, a popular west coast author, to the Scribbler.

She is joining us this week to tell us the SBTS of her upcoming thriller, Spy Girls.

Her previous novels have received high praise a multitude of 5 Star Ratings.

Read on my friends.

 

 

 

Joanna Vander Vlugt is an author and illustrator. As a teenager, she drew charcoal portraits and wrote mysteries. Now, she uses Copic markers to illustrate motorcycles and scooters. Under the pseudonym J.C. Szasz, Joanna’s short mysteries Egyptian Queen, and The Parrot and Wild Mushroom Stuffing were both published in Crime Writers of Canada mystery anthologies. Her essay, No Beatles Reunion was published in the Dropped Threads 3: Beyond the Small Circle anthology.

The Unravelling, her debut novel, and Dealer’s Child were Canadian Book Club Awards finalists. Joanna draws upon her 13 years’ experience working in the prosecutor’s office and 10 years working in the Office of the Police Complaint Commissioner for inspiration for her novels. Joanna is proud of her podcast SAM Magazine and the many authors she has interviewed. Joanna’s novels, art and podcast can be found at joannavandervlugt.com. As well, her quarterly publication SAM Magazine, can be found at sam-magazine.com.


 

Title:  Spy Girls

 


Synopsis: In the quaint city of Victoria, a CIA action officer is released from prison, and a Chief Justice is murdered. The Law Society is scrutinizing Jade Thyme’s conduct in the most recent trial she prosecuted. Jade’s life can’t get much worse until she is coerced into finding an elusive double agent. Tangled in lies and political agendas, high speed chases and sticky bombs, Jade must outplay a dangerous Hungarian assassin before her own life is terminated.


 

The Story Behind the Story: The inspiration behind this story came about when I heard that during the pandemic an individual had spat on a nurse. People may not know this, but spitting on someone is considered assault under the Criminal Code. I was so disgusted with humanity when I heard about this incident. My heroine, Jade, has a line of dialogue when she’s waiting for the verdict to come in on a similar assault case she’s just prosecuted, “…I’m looking for the humanity in humans.” That is a line I had said during those times. I couldn’t believe that an individual would spit on a nurse, who could very well be the person saving that individual’s life. Also during the writing of Spy Girls, Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell were exposed.

I’ve always been interested in classic espionage novels. I’ve wondered how spies carry on any semblance of a relationship, when so much of their lives must be kept secret. When I spun those ideas together, Spy Girls came together. When I had Spy Girls read by novelist, Joe Goldberg, who writes The Spy Devils thriller series, and who was a CIA covert action officer, it was encouraging to hear him say that what happens in my novel is not uncommon. I am so grateful for his feedback. I had another story line in this novel, which I ended up dropping, because it didn’t fit. Kudos to my editor for pointing that out.

There is so much chatter online. Sometimes it feels that the person with the loudest voice is the one heard. I believe writers use fiction as a tool to point out the rights and wrongs in society. Our novels become our voice.

 

Website: Go HERE.

 

A couple of questions before you go, Joanna:


Scribbler: What is the perfect setting for you when you write your stories?


Joanna: I love this question. It’s been two years since I retired from my government job at the Ministry of the Attorney General. I worked for the government for 34 years. It took me a little time to adapt to my new freedom, and sometimes I felt like I was floundering. I dreamed of the day when I could write full-time. That day had come and I didn’t know what to do.  I realized that I needed to treat writing like a job. I show up at 9:00 am in the office in our house. I have two mini-schnauzers and they are so used to my schedule, as soon as they see me with my mocha in my hand, and I say, “let’s go,” they are in the office in their beds before me. On the weekends when I may not follow that routine, they look at me a little confused.

 

Coffee or whiskey? Music or silence? Messy or neat notes?


When I write, I listen to soft jazz, or spa music. I’m working on the first draft of a time travel, and the spa music just sets the mood. Now, when it comes to action scenes, or fight scenes, I listen to the rock band Alice In Chains. With respect to notes, oh gosh, they are a mix of everything. If I’m rewriting, I’ll have notes up the side of the page with arrows and PTO circled, and sentences numbered.

 

Scribbler:  What’s your favorite and least favorite part of publishing?



Joanna: My favorite part of publishing is seeing the book cover. I learned a lesson when I hired Umbrella Squared. I told Kristy, the designer, everything I didn’t want on my cover. I didn’t want an image of the back of a woman running. I had seen many books with that as a cover. Kristy provided me with cover samples of women riding motorcycles, because that’s what my heroine does, but it didn’t click. Kristy then provided me with images of women holding a motorcycle helmet, or by bridges (bridges are a backdrop for my story), images I would never have thought of, and I loved them. I love how she designed my book. She knew what I didn’t want, and provided me with other options.

My least favorite part of the publishing industry is the industry not “thinking outside the box.” I create motorcycle illustrations. In Spy Girls, when you flip open that book, you will see one of my motorcycle illustrations. I’m taking a chance having that illustration in there, because I get the feeling that’s not something you do in a thriller novel. I’m of the view, why not? My motorcycle illustrations have sold in Canada, the US, Australia, and I see the construction of a book and the packaging (book design) as an expression of creativity and art.

Excerpt from Spy Girls, Part III, Chapter 18 – Red Box



Joanna: What I found cool about this excerpt, is that I reached out to the rock band Trooper, and asked if I could quote the song title and lyric from their song 3 Dressed Up as a 9. When I received an email back saying I could, I was ecstatic.


Adam stood and something hard nailed him on the side of the head. He stumbled, cupping his throbbing ear with his hand.

Another slam to his lower back.

He stumbled again, holding onto the table. A woman raised a butcher block above her head, steps from him.

“Babe, babe, it’s okay,” Jan said, grabbing her arm. “Put the butcher block down.”

Adam straightened. Blood whooshed through his ear, and a headache steamrolled his skull.

The woman shoved the cutting board onto the counter. She straightened her short nightdress. “You’re lucky I’m not armed.”

Jan held his hand out, keeping her back. “I know him.”

“You know this asshole? Why is he trying to kill you?”

“Because,” Adam retrieved his cell from the floor, his head pounding harder, “Jade Thyme has been kidnapped.” He held his cell out, showing her the photo.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. Her one fake eyelash, that had survived the night, gave her a battered, sinister appearance. She propped her hand on her hip. “Doesn’t give you the right to attack my boyfriend.”

“Elyssia,” Jan said, rubbing his neck. “Best you get dressed, and I’ll explain later.”

“Really, Jan, really? You shush me off so you can talk to this loser who broke into your home and assaulted you?”

Jan braced his hand on the counter. “I know this loser, and I let him in. Adam Younghusband, meet Elyssia Hawthorne. Elyssia, Adam.”

Elyssia Hawthorne. Will’s daughter.

She eyed him. Her expression changed from furious Chihuahua to sly, one-lash opportunist. Did she know about his relationship with Will? Was Elyssia going to be a problem?

Adam turned to Jan. “We need to talk. Now.” He pulled a cracked cell phone from his pocket. “Jade’s cell. I found it outside Fan Tan Alley.”

“Call the cops,” Elyssia said.

Adam glared. Before he even knew who she was, he wanted Elyssia gone. Now, he really wanted her to leave.

“Elyssia.” Jan put his arm around her shoulders as he escorted her down the hall. “This is important.”

“Are you saying I’m not? Jade is more important than me? First that crazy bitch from six months ago, now Jade. Where do I play in the scheme of your life, Jan?”

“Jade’s been kidnapped, Elyssia,” Adam said. “So, yes, she’s more important than you.”

She spun around facing him, her eyes narrowing. “Maybe if she stopped pissing people off.”

Adam stepped forward. “Do you know who kidnapped her?”

She looked from him to Jan.

“Elyssia, baby, come on,” Jan said. “What do you know?”

“There was a security guard around Fan Tan, except he wasn’t a security guard. He was once charged for impersonating a cop.”

“And you didn’t warn her?” Adam exclaimed.

“I’m not her bodyguard. You’re the one screwing her,” she fired back. “The only reason I know is because I once defended him.”

“Did you see her get kidnapped?” Adam shouted.

“No!” She marched into the other room, slamming the door behind her.

Adam looked at Jan. “She’s a real piece of work. She knew. Your crazy girlfriend knew. That’s it.” Adam stomped toward the door. “I’m dragging her skinny ass down to Vic PD.”

“Give me a minute.” Jan pushed him back, grabbed a newspaper and threw it at him. “Occupy yourself.” He disappeared into the room.

Adam heard their raised voices. He placed the paper on the  kitchen island. God he needed a Tylenol. Then, he saw the headline.

Lawyer Shot Dead.

He pulled out a stool and, rubbing his forehead, read. The article highlighted Bernie’s legal career, and his practice with the late Justice Chimera, who had been murdered the previous week. The police didn’t reveal much about the investigation, but they weren’t ruling out that the murders were related.

A thump against the door and more shouts from Elyssia.

He glanced in their general direction. They’re both nuts.

Underneath that article was another headline.

Hungarian Mobster Arrested.

Adam recognized the mob boss, who was in town for business when he was arrested in an after-hours nightclub. This was the mobster’s second assault in two weeks, and he was now being held in custody until his bail hearing. Adam stepped away from the table when he saw the red box on a cabinet.

Was it . . . her? He flipped the lid and pulled out cotton. Teeth. Upper and lower jaw, gold-plated. Crap. Katriona had been here. Maybe he should show the teeth to Elyssia? Get his point across as to who they were messing with.

The door opened. Elyssia’s voice was now at gunshot decibels. “We are through!” Dressed in a sparkling purple mini-dress, white fur shawl and purple ostrich feather stilettos, she pulled wheeled luggage behind her.

Jan followed. “Elyssia, listen. It’s a bad time right—”

“When isn’t it a bad time, Jan? Every other woman comes before me. It’s not like I’m a three dressed up as a nine. I’m a nine. More than a nine, a Goddamn ten. And you treat me like crap.”

Adam looked up. He had heard that lyric, three dressed up as a nine. Where? When?

“These are dangerous—”

“We’re through.”

She marched onto the porch. The fur shawl slipped, landing on the pavement, exposing a Prince tattoo on her left shoulder.

She stopped, her legs straddling two steps.

“Your shawl,” Jan said, holding it out to her.

She grabbed it and clicked out of sight.

Jan closed the door and returned to the main living area. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Give me a minute.”

“Trooper.”

“Excuse me?”

“The rock band Trooper wrote and sang that song, 3 Dressed Up as a 9. My dad listened to them all the time.”

“Glad you’re tripping down memory lane at my expense, but we’ve got bigger issues.” Jan disappeared into another room.







Thank you for being our guest this week, Joanna. We wish you continued success with your writing.

And another grateful thank you to our visitors and readers. Please feel free to leave a comment.

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Saturday 24 February 2024

The Story Behind the Story with Author Sandra Woods Poulin of Aldouane, NB, Canada.

 


Let's welcome Sandra to the Scribbler. This is her first visit and she has a new book which is generating a lot of excitement.

Read on my friends.

                                                          

Sandra Woods is a passionate, heart-centered leader, motivator and Reiki innovator who awakes individuals across the globe to their true gifts. She has acted as an intuitive wellness consultant for over 27 years, working with individuals as well as groups in opening their individual gifts for healing the mind, body, and soul for both themselves and others. Sandra is also the creator of Rock Your Reiki, an exclusive online program developed to support individuals in being attuned to all levels of Reiki. 

Her dream has come true when she created a workbook journal that can help many people to start or even continue on their healing journey. Knowledge can change peoples lives and the knowledge in this workbook can help them be their best version.


 

Title: Feel Better About Trusting Yourself

 




 

Synopsis:  A self-care discovery workbook journal to help you uncover and flow with the 4 bodies elements.

*This workbook journal guide you to understanding your 4 elements

(Mental, Emotion, Physical and Spiritual).

* You get to learn and receive knowledge in each of the elements.

* You get to practices simple techniques that can bring balance in seconds.

*You also get time to deepen your reflection on certain questions and stop time to journal your thoughts or feelings.





The Story Behind the Story: I was guided to write this book because I felt inside that people are having a difficult time with stress, being overwhelmed, not enjoying life and not living life the way they wish they could. I have been a healer for the past 27 years and I have done many healing session and it makes me so sad that people hold on to so many emotion of regrets, sadness, disappointment, grief, anxiety, worry and so many more. These emotions gets in the way of being happy, joyful and balance.  Some people don't know how to bring balance and let go of these emotion that no longer service them. This book inspires people to take time to stop and bring focus within themselves and bring in the understanding that they are more than the mental body. My mission to have people read, learn and practice the techniques that can help them to release emotion that no longer services with ease and flow - love and appreciation and create a better life for themselves. I wish for everyone a life of confidence, balance, joy and fulfilment.



 

AMETHYST LOFT
A Sacred Space of Healing, Transformation and Writing

*REIKI *INTUITION *QUANTUM FLOW *MEDITATION

 

Website.  GO HERE.

 

 

 A couple of questions before you go, Sandra.

 


Scribbler: Where’s your favourite writing spot?

 

Sandra: Eric and I moved in a country home and we renovated many areas of the house. We created a multi-purpose room that could be utilized for a healing room, office and a sleeping space. I enjoy being in this room, as it is quiet and peaceful, which helps balance my energy and motivated me of writing


I have everything such as crystals, motivating books, candles and angel cards to keep me balanced and reaching for new heights. When I want to start writing put on the alpha sound music, then I centre myself, and then I let my heart write.  My writing is sometime in morning or afternoon. When everything is so quiet and peaceful and my mind is rested and at peace the information for the book came clearly and easily. I make sure to have water on the desk to keep my ideas active and flowing. 

 

Scribbler: How do you decide on the title of your workbook journal?

Since it is my first one I started writing and once in a while I would get an idea of the title and as the book was getting closer to finished I was sharing my motivation about the book to a friend and the title just come out. I got goosebumps, so I knew that was going to be the title of my book.

 

 

Thank you for being our guest this week, Sandra.

 We wish you continued success with your writing

 and look forward to book # two.

 


And another BIG thank you to all out visitors and readers.



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