#Excerpt from John Smith: Microsoft Wars by Roland Hughes #Dystopian #AmReading

SK:      Can we talk about the Microsoft Wars now?

JS:       Orwell was right.  Everyone was forced to read his book and yet, it still happened.  In reality, that is all anybody needs to know.

SK:      Orwell?

JS:       <sighs> Back in 1949, an author by the name of George Orwell published a novel titled 1984.  It was a look into the future and basically created the concept in society of Big Brother.  This Big Brother was a government, any government really, which would watch over you like a child.  Your life would be monitored and controlled 24 hours per day.  The dictionary would not grow in size, but shrink, as words and thoughts were continually restricted.  Anyone who possessed a thought against the government, system or the way things were being run would be turned in by friends/family/neighbors as a thought criminal.

One by one, various ministries were set up to control every aspect of life, all for the betterment of society, and most had some plausible excuse bringing them into existence.  There would be monitors installed everywhere, so you were continually watched and controlled.  It was one of the best- selling and most widely talked-about books of all time.  Many movies were created showing various flavors of the book.

SK:      Well, if everybody knew about it, then it surely didn’t happen.

JS:       Not in 1984, no.  The final vehicle for control wasn’t  chosen until the early 1990s and it took a while to roll out globally.  Sometime during 2010, the governments around the world achieved 95 percent of what they wanted.  The vast majority of citizens carried with them a 24-hour monitoring device, which could be accessed remotely and would, via GPS, give a complete picture of their travels.  Each one had a unique ID.  Best of all, the devices were marketed in such a way as to make people think they were nothing unless they had one and kept it with them at all times.

When it became apparent that some portions of society simply couldn’t afford the devices—yes, each citizen paid for their own, and gladly…they even paid to customize them—most governments came up with some kind of ministry or program to ensure each and every person falling into the “cannot afford” category was issued one under some plausible story as “medical need” or “neighborhood watch.”  This removed the poor-person-rejection-of-charity problem.  Nobody felt insulted to receive the devices, since the devices allowed them to communicate with anyone at any time, as long as they knew the other person’s unique ID.

SK:      Do you honestly expect me to believe that everybody stood in line to get a unique ID for the government to monitor them 24 hours per day, seven days per week?

JS:       No. They didn’t see it like that. They stood in line to get the latest and greatest cellphone with video camera, GPS, speaker phone, Internet access, and every other buzz phrase marketing could think of.  If you don’t know what any of that is, it doesn’t matter.  All you need to know is the more applications, called apps, it had, the more people wanted it.

Each phone had to have a phone number, which was globally unique so anyone in the world could call anybody else in the world, no matter where they were at the time. It was that “anywhere, anytime” communications capability that was a major selling point. A system of assigning phone numbers to allow for international calling had been in place for many years due to the older land line system, so it was simply leveraged.

Everyone proudly carried and used their government monitoring device.  There were even crime shows on television showing how law enforcement agencies could track a cellphone as long as it was turned on.  What they didn’t tell you was that the phone would periodically report in even when turned off, and if certain instructions were waiting, it would turn itself back on, silently, so full monitoring could continue without the owner being aware.

The only thing that could truly stop monitoring was to remove the battery, then turn the cellphone on to drain the hidden reserve.  When you did that, however, the phone was of no use.

SK: So let me get this straight—you’re saying that there was a communications network that could monitor every person in the country?

JS: No.  Before the middle of 2011, thanks to some production cost reductions, it was every person on the planet living in any civilized country and even many third world countries.  A basic cellphone could be manufactured and sold for under $20 retail, which put the actual production cost at about $6.  Those countries too poor or with terrain too rough used the satellite phones, which cost a bit more, but leveraged cellphone components to reduce costs.  Both networks were monitored by government agencies, even though commercial companies were providing the services to the cellphone owners.  Even children in third world countries who didn’t have food to eat or a bank account in their name had a phone so they could be tracked.

“John Smith: Last Known Survivor of the Microsoft Wars” is one big interview. It is a transcript of a dialogue between “John Smith” (who, as the title of the book implies is the last known survivor of the Microsoft wars) and the interviewer for a prominent news organization.

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Genre – Dystopian Fiction

Rating – PG

More details about the author

Website http://johnsmith-book.com/

Confessions of a Time Traveler by Erin Sands @TheDunesBook #AmReading #Relationships

Confessions of a Time Traveler

What if you had a chance to do it over again? By “it”, I mean your life. What if you could go back in time and make a different choice? Right a wrong. Say “yes” instead of saying “no” or vice versa. Would you do it? I’m not offering, I don’t really have a time machine; just a very vivid imagination and a wisdom born from lessons learned the hard way. So indulge me for a moment while I take a ride back in time, ten years ago to be exact and find that younger version of me, sit her down and give myself the advice only the future me could provide.

Eat Better

As cliché as it may sound, the first thing I would tell myself is, “You’ve got to eat more vegetables, preferably raw. I know, I know, you’re in a season where you can eat a cheeseburger everyday, three times a day and it has no affect whatsoever on your weight or immediate well-being but trust me it will. Ten years from now when your hormones change and things slow down you will wish like heck that you started eating healthier sooner. So take my advice and do it today”.

Save Money

Ten years ago, a great pair of shoes had just as much importance as my rent. Ten years later, I know better. The second thing I would tell myself is to save money. “No matter how hard it seems, no matter what budget you may be on at the moment, each week, every pay check, put away some money. Gaining discipline over your finances will be an immeasurable help to you in the future and for years to come”.

Be Fearless

The lesson that I would absolutely impart to my younger self is to never let fear motivate any of my decisions. “Don’t say “yes” to something just because you’re afraid you will never get the chance again. Don’t say “no” just because you’re afraid of what might happen. Follow your joy and let peace be your guide. When you pursue your passion and walk in your purpose, you will not go wrong”.

Seize the Day

Ten years ago my goal was to be fluent in Spanish. Ten years later, I still have that same goal. The reason why I’m not fluent in Spanish is because I kept putting it off for some day. Some day I will have more time, some day I will find the perfect teacher. Some day never came. I would tell my younger self that “some day” is not a day of the week and anything that is worth experiencing is worth making time for. Seize the day!

Then I would give myself a hug and say, “Hey, even though you’re learning some lessons the hard way, your future is bright. You married a great guy, you wrote an awesome book and that was just the beginning…”

http://bit.ly/1pwryZK

Born in Cincinnati, Ohio and raised in the Bay Area of Northern California, Erin grew up with an innate love for dance, theatre and the written word. A graduate of Loyola Marymount University, Erin began her career in the arts as an actress and choreographer. After booking several notable roles in television and film, Erin began to use her gift of writing in blogs featuring political and social commentary, as well as developing content for theatrical use.

Although The Dunes, is a divine departure from Erin’s previous writings it is by far her most cherished work to date. “I wrote The Dunes initially as self therapy because I needed to release some painful experiences and disappointments from my past. I had this thirst to walk in the complete fullness of life with joy as my constant companion. I had no idea what effect it would have on other people. But when I saw people read it and be released from fears that had held them back for years…when I saw people forgive and be able to walk in the freedom forgiveness brings…when I saw people commit and serve and how those things opened up new opportunities in their life, I was just humbled. Humbled by the awesome power of God and humbled that I had been allowed to go along for the ride”.

When asked why she writes, Erin pauses and reflects on the truth of her heart. “I write because although I am only now beginning to truly love the process, I have always loved the outcome. Like a composer, words become my notes. I string them together in song eliciting the response of my reader, grafting a picture of my soul. Where besides the written word can you effect change so utterly and so succinctly? What besides the written word can pierce the universal collective mind? Everything begins with a thought, but it isn’t until that thought is articulated in written word and those words passed down can life changing movement happen. It must be written, it must be expressed on tablet, and when it is, we all become greater, whether the writing be genius or fatuity, it has evoked thought and debate. Why wouldn’t I want to be apart of that phenomenon? Why wouldn’t I want to share my story, give my testimony…add my paradigm to the mix? Whether it is a novel, a poem, an essay or an article, it is humanity visited. An insight into a new or sometimes shared truth. In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God and the word was God. And with that I live my life”.

If there was a journey that could masterfully change your life in seven revelations...would you take it? 

In life, sometimes the kernels of wisdom and the richness of revelation can be found in the most innocent of stories; and so it is with The Dunes. Join one man and one woman in an exquisitely simple yet remarkably profound journey as you discover with them that the mountain you must climb in order to live the abundant life of your dreams is located squarely within your heart. 

Illuminated in seven revelations; The Dunes carries the reader on a journey to not only examine the obstacles that are holding them back in life but to conquer and over come them as well. With each revelation The Dunes intimately calls on the reader as the journey companion to face a challenge…a dare if you will that requires an uncompromising commitment to change. In the family of faith-based self help books, The Dunes stands alone, simultaneously taking the reader from fiction to life and back again, equipped with a tailor made journal for the readers inner most secrets and reflections. The Dunes is part allegory, part testimony and part journal, but the best part is the healing it offers your heart. When you’re ready to step out of your comfort zone and step into the miracle of your life…The Dunes awaits. 

CAUTION: Readers of this book are subject to significant changes for the better. Side effects may include frequent smiling and enjoying life in every season.

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Genre – Non-fiction

Rating – G

More details about the author

Connect with Erin Sands on Facebook & Twitter

Website www.thedunesbook.com

Pendelton Wallace Shares His Publishing Journey #AmWriting #Thriller #PubTip

This is a heart-breaking tale. I finished my masterpiece and was sure that the world was clamoring to read it. I had a moment of humility and hired an editor to take a quick look at it. After all, it was my first work and it might need a tiny bit of polishing.

Well, she cut it to pieces. After I recovered from the shock that someone might not immediately fall in love with every word I wrote, I went back to work.

I cut over a hundred pages from the original manuscript, then started writing again. My editor was much kinder to my second draft. By the way, the first draft took me about three months to write. The second draft took two years.

Now that I had my masterpiece ready to unleash on the world, I needed an agent.

Being the organized person that I am, I got a copy of 2003 Guide to Literary Agents. I searched though this book for every agent that accepted memoirs. If they also represented mysteries and thrillers, they got bonus points.

I then researched the agents on the Internet and ranked each one as an A, B, or C. The A’s I needed to query today. The B’s I would query if none of the A’s came through. I never expected to query the C’s. By the way, I saved all of this information in an Excel spread sheet so I could organize it anyway it needed.

In those days, most agents were still requiring a paper query letter, so I wrote my first ten and shipped them off. There was one agent who accepted electronic submissions, so I shot off an email to him.

To my amazement, I received a return email from him the next day asking to see the first fifty pages of my manuscript.

A couple of weeks later, I got another email from him. He wanted to see the whole manuscript. I hadn’t even heard back from the other agents I’d queried yet.

A week or so later, I was at work when my cell phone rang. It was my agent.

“I can sell this book,” he told me. I jumped for joy.

We worked together for a year trying to sell the manuscript. He pitched it to all of the publishing houses in New York. The general response was, “This is a really nice little book, but I don’t see how it fits in our lineup this year.”

Finally, an editor at one of the major publishing houses fell in love with my book. (I think it was Random House, but my memory may be faulty here.) She pitched the book to the editorial committee and they signed off on it.

She prepared a pro forma and took it to the publisher. He looked it over and said “Present it to Barnes and Noble.”

In those days, Barnes and Noble was king. Twice a year this publisher took a list of books they were considering to Barnes and Noble buyers. The B&N buyers gave a thumbs up or thumbs down. If it got the thumbs up, it was published, otherwise, no.

My editor had thirty seconds to convince the B&N buyers that Blue Water & Me should be published. She gave it her best shot.

The buyer said “This sounds like an interesting book. I like it, but I don’t see how we’ll market it. I don’t know what shelf we will put it on.”

That was it. Blue Water & Me was dead. My agent pitched it to several Hollywood studios, but they don’t want to touch a book until it’s a best seller.

Finally, he told me that I would just have to set it aside and write something else. It was not going to be published.

Flash forward six years. I have written three other books and have had no luck in getting them published.

I was at the Write on the Sound writers conference in Edmonds, Washington. I went to a presentation by an author who had written a memoir. It was similar to my book. He talked glowingly about his publisher, Aberdeen Bay Press. I decided to query Aberdeen Bay about Blue Water &Me.

I sent in the query and never heard anything back. Then, over a year later, I got an apologetic email from an editor at Aberdeen Bay Press. She had just found my query letter under a pile of paper on her desk and she liked what she saw. Would I like to send her the whole manuscript?

It was off that day. A week or so later, she contacted me again and said she loved the book and wanted to publish it. We wrote back and forth a few times, then she dropped off the face of the earth.

I didn’t hear from her again. I emailed her every few weeks to see what progress she was making.

More than a year passed and I got an email from her. Once again, she was very apologetic. Her brother had died and she had to go to New Mexico to take care of his estate. She was no longer working for Aberdeen Bay Press. I should contact the publisher and see if he was still interested.

But she gave me no contact information for the publisher.

I went to their web site and sent a query to their “contact us” address. A couple of weeks went by and I heard back from their chief editor. She had assigned my book to another editor and he would be back with me shortly.

At this point we got back on track. It took about a year from the time the third editor got in contact with me to the time the book was published, but I finally had a book in my hand that I had written.

If Clive Cussler had written Ugly Betty, it would be Hacker for Hire. 

Hacker for Hire, a suspense novel about corporate greed and industrial espionage, is the second book in a series about Latino computer security analyst Ted Higuera and his best friend, para-legal Chris Hardwick. 

The goofy, off-beat Ted Higuera, son of Mexican immigrants, grew up in East LA. An unlikely football scholarship brought him to Seattle. 

Chris, Ted’s college roommate, grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. His father is the head of one of Seattle’s most prestigious law firms. 

Ted’s first job out of college leads him into the world of organized crime where he faces a brutal beating. After being rescued by beautiful private investigator Catrina Flaherty, Ted decides to go to work for her. 

Catrina is hired by a large computer corporation to find a leak in their corporate boardroom when the previous consultant is found floating in Elliot Bay. 

Ted discovers that Chris’s firm has been retained by their prime suspect. Now he and Chris are working opposite sides of the same case. 

Ted and Catrina are led deep into Seattle’s Hi-Tech world as they stalk the killer. But the killer is also hunting them. Can Ted find the killer before the killer finds him? 

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Genre – Mystery, Thriller

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with Pendelton Wallace on Facebook

Website www.pennwallace.com

Lights Over Emerald Creek by @ShelleyDavidow #SciFi #YA #AmReading

The Invitation

Lucy looked down at her hands. She didn’t want to see him. Ever.

‘You go and …’ Lucy said.

And then, there he was. The whole of him. Right on the ground, outside the kitchen, in front of her. His hair had grown long over his face. He looked slightly nervous and hitched his shorts with his big tanned hands. His lips curved into a smile. Lucy folded her arms crossly in front of her and met his eyes.

‘Hi,’ he said, looking up at both girls.

‘Well, well,’ Lucy said coldly.

‘Hi. So, how are you?’ he said.

‘Why are you here?’ It took all her courage to keep her thoughts away from the last time she’d seen him. She’d been a whole person then, and he’d held all of her.

‘I, um, thought I’d come say hi,’ he said. ‘It’s been a while.’

She watched him cast his eyes nervously over her legs, her feet, the chair, the metal, the wheels.

‘What makes you think I even want to see you?’ she said.

‘Well, maybe you don’t, huh?’

‘Well, maybe it would have been nice if you’d showed up, say, eight months ago.’

‘I’m sorry, Lu, I was a bloody jerk.’

‘Are,’ she said fiercely.

‘I couldn’t face the thought …’ He looked around wildly so that his eyes didn’t rest for too long on her dirty, unmoving, bare feet.

‘Yeah, well, fancy that. Me neither.’

‘Come on, you two,’ Nel said. ‘Let’s move through this already. Craig, want a drink?’

‘Nah, I uh, was just popping in to invite … invite you round to my place on Saturday week. I’m having a party. Be great if you came,’ he said to Lucy, and she couldn’t help but notice how his eyes were fearful. ‘You, uh, look good, Lucy. Oh shit. Listen, come if you like, and Nel, you come too. I’ll be going,’ he said. He turned around. ‘See ya!’

His back was broad and hard beneath the flimsy cotton of his blue t-shirt. He plunged his hands into his pockets and his head hung forward, as if in defeat. Lucy didn’t realise that she was holding the arms of her wheelchair so tightly that her fingers were in a cramp. Then he was crunching along the gravel back to his truck and Lucy gave Nel a look of dark thunder.

‘What?’ said Nel.

‘Nothing. It’s nauseating, that’s what. Not a squeak from him all this time, and then he rocks up because YOU tell him to, oozing pity and … and guilt and obligation. Ugh, Nel. I know you meant well telling him stuff, but honestly …’

‘He still likes you, Lu.’

‘No he doesn’t.’

‘And you like him still.’

‘I do not!’

‘Sure.’

‘Nel, I’d rather be a stuffed kangaroo than go anywhere near him again. Now, which cabin d’you want? We need to grab it before Dad gets back with the guests so we can make sure they don’t take that one?’

Lucy Wright, sixteen and a paraplegic after a recent car accident that took her mother's life, lives in Queensland on a 10,000 acre farm with her father. When Lucy investigates strange lights over the creek at the bottom of the property, she discovers a mystery that links the lights to the science of cymatics and Scotland’s ancient Rosslyn Chapel.

But beyond the chapel is an even larger mystery. One that links the music the chapel contains to Norway’s mysterious Hessdalen lights, and beyond that to Saturn and to the stars. Lucy’s discoveries catapult her into a parallel universe connected to our own by means of resonance and sound, where a newly emerging world trembles on the edge of disaster. As realities divide, her mission in this new world is revealed and she finds herself part of a love story that will span the galaxy.

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Genre - Young Adult SF

Rating - PG

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THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ICE by @TheobaldSprague #Excerpt #Climate #Adventure

Four people, my three children and myself, who were separated more than a decade and a half ago were now being given the rare opportunity to reconnect and perhaps start anew. June 16, 2009, dawned with a deep blue New England sky. A fresh, morning breeze out of the northwest played about Bagan and gently bumped her up against what might be one of her last secure resting places for the next five months. Her tired crew quietly stowed last-minute items and double- checked deck lashings and safety devices for events and places no one could predict or, as of yet, imagine. As the small crew scurried about silently, an invisible transition was occurring. After waiting for two years, Bagan was now ready to lead the way into a vast and deadly unknown.

The docks at Goat Island were virtually empty. Those few who did saunter by took little notice of Bagan or her crew. At 11:00 a.m., 103 years to the day after Amundsen’s ship Gjoa left Oslo, Bagan’s 325-horsepower Lugger diesel engine was fired up in earnest and, with little fanfare, she slipped her lines.

As we slowly powered through Newport’s inner harbor, I picked up my cell phone and called Pierre Irving, a very dear sailing friend in Newport. Pierre and I had shared many hard-fought miles together, The Two Man Transatlantic Race in particular being some of our toughest. I wanted to call and simply say good-bye to him and his wife, Kathy.

Bagan made her way out of the harbor entrance, past Ft. Adams and Goat Island landmarks that I’d known and honored for years, landmarks that I was starting to realize I may never see again.

Not near his phone, Pierre’s outgoing voicemail message played. As it did, the enormity of what lay ahead of us hit me—8,500 miles through some of the world’s harshest maritime environment. The concept of navigating un- charted waters and as yet unknown perils to cross from the Atlantic to the Pacific swept over me and I couldn’t speak.

As Pierre’s voicemail beeped, my tears kept me from leaving the simplest of messages. I merely wanted to say that I’d see them in five months and wanted to wish them a wonderful summer.

I couldn’t.

The overwhelming thought of what my summer and fall held choked off any words. I wasn’t ready for it but unintentionally I’d severed the last connection to home and could only pray that we were ready for what lay ahead.

( TO WATCH THE OFFICIAL HD TEASER FOR “The Other Side of The Ice” [book and documentary] PLEASE GO TO: VIMEO.COM/45526226) 

A sailor and his family’s harrowing and inspiring story of their attempt to sail the treacherous Northwest Passage.

Sprague Theobald, an award-winning documentary filmmaker and expert sailor with over 40,000 offshore miles under his belt, always considered the Northwest Passage–the sea route connecting the Atlantic to the Pacific–the ultimate uncharted territory. Since Roald Amundsen completed the first successful crossing of the fabled Northwest Passage in 1906, only twenty-four pleasure craft have followed in his wake. Many more people have gone into space than have traversed the Passage, and a staggering number have died trying. From his home port of Newport, Rhode Island, through the Passage and around Alaska to Seattle, it would be an 8,500-mile trek filled with constant danger from ice, polar bears, and severe weather.

What Theobald couldn’t have known was just how life-changing his journey through the Passage would be. Reuniting his children and stepchildren after a bad divorce more than fifteen years earlier, the family embarks with unanswered questions, untold hurts, and unspoken mistrusts hanging over their heads. Unrelenting cold, hungry polar bears, and a haunting landscape littered with sobering artifacts from the tragic Franklin Expedition of 1845, as well as personality clashes that threaten to tear the crew apart, make The Other Side of the Ice a harrowing story of survival, adventure, and, ultimately, redemption.

( TO WATCH THE OFFICIAL HD TEASER FOR “The Other Side of The Ice” [book and documentary] PLEASE GO TO: VIMEO.COM/45526226) 

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Genre – Memoir, Adventure, Family, Climate

Rating – PG

More details about the author

 Connect with Sprague Theobald on Facebook & Twitter

Website www.spraguetheobald.com

@MargaretWestlie's #Excerpt from ANNA'S SECRET #Mystery #HistFic #GoodReads

Angus paused at the top of the rise that overlooked Anna’s house. Its setting was framed by the distant blue of the Northumberland Strait. The whitewashed house, trimmed in red, nestled in the hollow, flanked by the two barns and the workshop, also whitewashed. A long row of tall fir trees grew close behind, protecting the little farmhouse and its outbuildings from the vicious winter winds that could sweep across Prince Edward Island burying small houses, such as this, in drifts up to the eaves, and freezing a person to his very marrow. Angus shivered and hastened down the track.

I helped Ian build the big barn, and my father and my grandfather helped his father build this house, he thought. Anna planted those chestnut trees by the front door the day they were married. They’ve grown tall since then, but they’ve never produced nuts. A strange thing. He rounded the corner of the house and knocked on the door.

“Are you home, Ian?” He pushed the door open with the toe of his shoe.

“I am.” Ian’s voice sounded tired and far away.

Angus stepped into the sunlit kitchen, the bloody axe forgotten in his hands. His friend looked ill, weary-faced and worn, his eyes were red-rimmed and blood shot. His thick grey beard was still streaked with black and the hair on his head was grey too, except for the cowlick of black springing up from the front above his right eyebrow. He seemed rumpled and unkempt, and a little wild. He hunched his broad shoulders as if to ward off a blow.

“Where’s Donald?” asked Angus.

“Finishing the chores.” Ian was standing by the unlit stove, his hands busy shaving kindling off a stick of wood with the kitchen knife. “Have you found her, then?” He stared hard at the axe in Angus’ hands.

“We found her. Neil found her. They’re bringing her soon.” Angus followed Ian’s gaze, for the first time realizing that he still held the weapon. He almost dropped it in his haste to conceal it behind his back. “I’m sorry, I forgot to set this down.” His ruddy cheeks turned a darker shade of red.

“She’s dead, is she?” Ian stopped making kindling and stood waiting for the answer.

“She’s been murdered.”

Ian stood silently taking in the words. “It was bound to happen,” he said at last.

“Now why would you say that?”

Ian looked back at his friend, his blue eyes filled with tears. He blinked hard. “I knew about her from the very first time, and every time after that.”

“You didn’t…?”

“I suppose that’s what they’ll all be saying when the word gets around.” He sighed. “No, it wasn’t I, though I have more reason than anyone. Is that the weapon?”

“It would seem so.” Angus drew the axe out from behind his back.

“Whose is it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before. I suppose we’ll have to notify the constable. This thing’s too big for us. Though what good he’ll be, I don’t know.”

Ian stood in silence for some seconds, then said, “I was just making Donald and me a bite of breakfast. Will you have some?” He turned toward the stove.

“I wouldn’t trouble you at a time like this. I should be making you breakfast.”

Ian shrugged. “We must go on, and to do that we must eat.” He began preparing the meal.

Anna Gillis, the midwife and neighbour in Mattie’s Story, has been found killed. The close-knit community is deeply shaken by this eruption of violence, and neighbours come together to help one another and to discover the perpetrator. But the answer lies Anna’s secret, long guarded by Old Annie, the last of the original Selkirk Settlers, and the protagonist of An Irregular Marriage. Join the community! Read Anna’s Secret and other novels by Margaret A. Westlie.

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Genre – Fiction, mystery, historical

Rating – G

More details about the author

 Connect with Margaret Westlie on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.margaretwestlie.com