Maggie Plummer's Blog

Greetings, everyone! I hope this finds you in good health and hanging in here with this seemingly eternal pandemic.

Finally, my latest novel is out. It's on Kindle only right now, but the paperback is coming very soon.

It's called Eagle in Flight: The Jessie Morgan Series, Book 3 and it follows Jess as she escapes into remote northern British Columbia and Southeast Alaska. Traumatized by her ex-boyfriend's violent attack, she feels the need to disappear and take refuge in the off-the-grid North Country - where she hopes Twisty cannot find her.

Or can he?

Jess takes to the sea and to the rugged Stikine River, voyaging solo once again. She experiences true wilderness, has adventures on commercial fishing boats, and battles persistent post-assault fears. In Sitka, she joins a support group for battered women, and realizes that she is not alone in the struggle to heal.

I hope you'll check out this book, and all of my novels, available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle editions.

Once I launch this latest book, it'll be time to tackle Book 4, the final book in the series. Go, Jessie, go! LOL...once I'm finished with the series, I have no idea what I'll write. Probably I will be adding a few Jessie Morgan short stories, though.

Happy reading, and please stay safe!

Greetings!

I hope all of you are staying healthy.

Today is exciting: it's Official Launch Day for my new novel, WEBS IN THE MIST: The Jessie Morgan Series, Book 2. It's taken me about a year to write this one. That's faster than my other novels. Who knows? Maybe there's hope yet that I can become a more prolific novelist.

Now I begin writing Book 3 in this semi-autobiographical, four-book series. I find that it's a real blessing these days, working on fiction. It gives my mind a thorough, much-needed break from the news, i.e. reality!

I hope you'll take a break from the news by checking out my new novel, reading it, and leaving a review.

Thanks, all!

To sample or purchase: https://amzn.to/2Ww78sB

here, below, is a neat blog by a wonderful Welsh author!
down at the bottom, you'll find a link to Will's blog.
enjoy!


It’s a long way, from Tipperaryby Will Macmillan Jones on April 10, 2014

Today we should all welcome Maggie Plummer, who has leapt at the opportunity (all right, I prodded her with a sharp stick until she agreed) to come onto my blog and tell us all a little about herself.


She confesses her all (oo er):


Maggie Plummer is a writer and editor who lives in northwest Montana. Along the winding trail to becoming a novelist, she has worked as a journalist, book editor, book publicist, census enumerator, school bus driver, field interviewer, waitress, post office clerk, fish processor, library clerk, retail salesperson, Good Humor (ice cream) girl, fishing boat first mate, race horse hot walker, apple picker, and bus girl. (Yes, she realizes this wild and woolly variety of experiences would make a great memoir or novel. She declines to divulge the title she has already dreamed up.)





And as you are here, I presume you have a book out?


I do, indeed, Will. SPIRITED AWAY – A NOVEL OF THE STOLEN IRISH is a 60,000-word historical novel that paints an intimate portrait of 1650s Irish slavery in the Caribbean.


Here is a summary of the novel’s plot:


In May 1653, young Frederica (Freddy) O’Brennan and her sister Aileen trust a stranger on an empty beach in western Ireland, inadvertently placing themselves in the crosshairs of Cromwell’s notorious Reign of Terror.


Freddy awakens in the crammed hold of a slave ship bound for Barbados. Ripped from their loved ones, she and Aileen endure the voyage – only to be wrenched apart when purchased at auction by sugar plantation owners from different islands. Freddy faces the brutal realities of life as a female Irish slave on a seventeenth century Barbados sugar plantation. Amidst the island’s treacherous beauty, she must find a way to bear her cruel, drunken Master’s abuse.


Heartsick with yearning for her family, Freddy must reach deep inside herself for the strength she needs to protect her young spirit from being broken. As she struggles to survive rape, degradation, beatings, and the harrowing spectacle of her Irish countrymen being flogged and starved to death, she is buoyed by powerful friendships with her fellow slaves – especially the Native American kitchen slave with whom she works long hours in the plantation cookhouse. The two women risk severe punishment by sneaking food and medicine to the suffering Irish and African field slaves.
Eventually Freddy braves much more for the sake of love and loyal friendship.


Sales link: To sample or purchase the novel: http://www.amazon.com/Spirited-Away-Novel-Stolen-Irish/dp/1478140267


Other books in the series?



I am currently at work on this novel’s sequel, which I hope to finish writing this year.


What made you start writing?



I have been dabbling at creative writing since the 1970s.


What made me start writing this novel in particular was stumbling across this information?


During Oliver Cromwell’s Reign of Terror in the 1650s, a majority of Ireland’s Catholic population was either slaughtered, exiled to the west, or sold into slavery in the Caribbean. When I read that, I did a triple-take, amazed. How could it be that I’d never heard of that? Friends I asked hadn’t heard of this history either. The more I read about Cromwell’s Reign of Terror in books and Internet articles, the hotter my Irish-American blood boiled. I had to write something about this obscure yet pivotal period of Irish history.


That is how the novel’s main character, Freddy O’Brennan, came to be. With the exception of Cromwell, all of the characters in the novel are fictional. The story, however, is based on historical accounts of events that took place.


One of my favorite, and most intriguing, characters in this novel is Birdie Moss. In my writer’s mind, Birdie takes the image of a classic Indian lady.


Birdie is a Monacan Indian from the Piedmont area of what was then called the Virginia Colony. A key figure in the novel, she ended up in Barbados after being sold into slavery by an enemy tribe of her people. The Monacan are considered an “eastern Sioux” tribe. Since the 1600s, they have been pushed further and further west, up into the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.


In the novel, here is how my main character, Freddy O’Brennan, sees Birdie for the first time:
“Next to the pallet a petite dark woman squatted, one finger pressed to her lips, her wide-set brown eyes pleading for silence. Freddy froze. She’d never seen anyone like her. The curve of the woman’s eyebrows arched into a long, prominent nose. With her high cheekbones, it gave her the look of an exotic eagle. Her single black rope of a braid curled over her shoulder and hung down to the dirt floor. The white gown tucked up between her legs revealed bare feet that in the dwindling light were a rich, chocolate color…”


I hope those who read my novel will fall in love with Birdie Moss, as I have!


SPIRITED AWAY – A NOVEL OF THE STOLEN IRISH is my first published novel. I am also the author of PASSING IT ON: VOICES FROM THE FLATHEAD INDIAN RESERVATION, published in 2008 by Salish Kootenai College Press (Pablo, Montana).


My author page: http://www.amazon.com/author/maggieplummer


Some other things: SPIRITED AWAY is…



Winner, Missoula’s Choice Awards 2014
2nd Place, Best Historical Fiction of 2013, The Paranormal Romance Guild (PRG)
2013 Finalist, Best Indie Book Awards)


Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/Dl-XDBBy0BE


Actually, Maggie’s story drove me to pick up a life of Cromwell from my bookshelf for the first time. Written by John Buchan (the famous novelist The 39 Steps, Greenmantle etc) it isn’t a period of history much taught in schools in England and Wales. I knew of Cromwell’s famous sacking of Drogheda, but against the background of warfare at the time the behaviour of the troops -awful to our modern eyes- was normal for any army that had been forced by the defenders to fight with heavy losses through a defended breach in the walls. A largely Irish army under Wellesley was to behave much worse in Spain at Cuidad Rodrigo and Badajoz a hundred and fifty years later, for example. But otherwise I read of a hard and ruthless man, a religious fundamentalist who liked to use the Bible to justify his every action. We decried personal ambition as a sin, but arranged to be paid a salary of thirteen thousand pounds a year during his time in Ireland.* When recalled by Parliament from Ireland, he simply ignored the order for five months, and continued drawing his salary. In England, he once put down a ‘disturbance’ in his troops by seizing the three ringleaders, and making them throw dice for their lives in front of him. The loser was dragged outside and shot out of hand. When the twenty thousand Irish women Maggie alludes to reached the slave fields of Barbados, the first people they would have met in the fields were thousands of English slaves, deported there by Cromwell for the crime of being his political opponents (or supporters of the King) or of being poor or untrained levies in the King’s army. The trained soldiers he captured who would not swear allegiance to him, Cromwell sold overseas into the service of a foreign country – commonly the army of Republic of Venice who would pay well and were far enough away to prevent the deportees returning alive… Cromwell financed his army and later his political administration by exiling rich political opponents, seizing their wealth and selling their land and houses to the highest bidder. Starting as a minor politician at the start of the Civil War, he ended as the most important Parliamentary General and went on to use his army to enforce his personal political power, in effect running a military dictatorship for ten years. All this from a biographer who clearly liked the man as well. I didn’t. So not the nicest figure in history and perhaps it is no wonder that much of that period is kept out of the schools.


*In modern comparison, that is about thirteen times the salary of the Prime Minister of the UK, and maybe seven times the salary of the President of the USA. However you look at it, it was a frankly enormous sum, equivalent to over two million pounds a year. Paid for by taxation and land seizures.


To find Will's wonderful blog, go here:


http://willmacmillanjones.wordpress.com/

http://venturegalleries.com/blog/dream-review-of-spirited-away-literary-fiction-finalist-for-best-indie-book-in-2013/

This (above) is the link to find my novel's "dream review." It's my favorite fantasy book review, which I came up with, and it's "live" today at Venture Galleries.

What a fun, creative exercise in positive thinking!

Here's hoping that Steven Spielberg himself ends up seeing my "dream review" blog.

And here's hoping that all of our dreams come true.

...in The Kindle Book Review’s Best Indie Book Awards. 

Exciting news! They have it competing in the Literary Fiction category, which surprises me. But they don't have a category for Historical Fiction. 
Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish , which paints an intimate, compelling portrait of 1650s Irish slavery in the Caribbean, now has 83 five-star reviews on its Amazon page (a total of 164 reviews, with an average of 4.3 stars).  



In case you are not yet familiar with my novel, here is a description:
In May 1653, fourteen-year-old Freddy O’Brennan trusts the wrong stranger on an empty beach in western Ireland and inadvertently places herself in the crosshairs of Cromwell’s notorious Reign of Terror.
Freddy awakens in the cramped hold of a slave ship bound for Barbados. Ripped from her loved ones, she endures a gruesome voyage and a vile auction. Freddy, sold to the highest bidder, alone, and far from her beloved homeland, faces the brutal realities of life as a female Irish slave on a seventeenth century Barbados plantation. Amidst the island's treacherous beauty, she must find a way to bear her cruel, drunken Master using her as a breeding slave and kitchen drudge.
Heartsick with yearning for her family and the farm life she knew, Freddy reaches deep inside herself for the strength she needs to protect her young spirit from being broken. As she struggles to survive, she risks for the sake of loyal friendship and love.
Link: http://www.amazon.com/Spirited-Away-Novel-Stolen-Irish/dp/1478140267
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/Dl-XDBBy0BE
Enjoy! 
I should find out on Oct. 1 whether or not the novel has won its category. I will keep you posted. I'm just thrilled to be a finalist! Yippeeeekaaaayyyyyaaaaaayyyyy!

This is the whole idea. Wonderful!Perched on a bluff above the Pacific surf in Newport, Oregon is a unique 100-year-old hotel dedicated to book lovers. 

It's called the Sylvia Beach Hotel -- a nod to outstanding literature patron Sylvia Beach (owner of the Shakespeare & Co. Bookstore in Paris during the 1920s and 30s). 

I just love this place. Each of its 20 guest rooms is named for and cleverly decorated in the style of different authors. As you walk down the hotel's front garden path, it's a step back in time. There are no TVs, phones, radios, or wi-fi. Instead, there are books everywhere, author tributes, a cozy oceanfront attic library, fireplaces that burn real logs, spiced wine served in the library, an oceanfront dining room called "Tables of Content" that serves gourmet family style meals, a resident kitty, and a quaint gift shop. 

Some call it a bed and breakfast, because when you rent a room here, a full family-style breakfast is included. 

Situated in Newport's historic Nye Beach neighborhood, the hotel was originally called the New Cliff House. During the early 1900s, this was the honeymoon capitol of Oregon. The place is on the Register of Historic Landmarks.   

Here is what the hotel looks like from the beach, at twilight:



On the family business's website, co-owner Goody Cable has this to say about her beloved old hotel:

When you walk up our garden path to the front door, the old building will give you a big hug or spit you out, depending on what really matters to you! 

We've been open for 26 years , and the magic that happens at the Sylvia Beach continues. In the last year, we have created three new rooms --Amy Tan and Ken Kesey''s Cuckoo's Nest and Jules Verne--and have updated Herman Melville and the Library-Reading area. 

There are volumes of journals in all the rooms, including the library. In reading these guest books we have a pretty good idea of how people feel about staying with us. They share with us the peace and revitalization the view itself inspires. Not to mention the walls, the books, the photos, Shelly the cat, the art, the fabulous food, and the fellow guests. The frequency with which hotel guests make reservations for their next stay, as they check out, is the best indicator. 

This is truly a hotel for book lovers... It is a quiet place on most days. Except for the glorious storms. Then the wind howls, the building shakes, and the rain pounds down. Some days it's warm and sunny and the sky is bright blue. Some days there's morning fog. Some days the wind makes you stay inside and read! Some days are rainbow days, the weather just can't decide. The ocean is always present. (The hotel is on a 45 foot bluff right above the surf.) You move into the rhythm of the sea. Perhaps that's why time seems to slow way down, almost to a standstill.

There is a great beach right in front of the hotel. At any given time just a handful of people can be seen walking the beach. The Sylvia Beach Hotel has a particularly beautiful coastal panorama which includes the Yaquina Head Lighthouse. This view is to the north and is enjoyed by the majority of the rooms. These mid-priced rooms are affectionately called "Best Sellers." There are only three of the rooms that are directly over the surf. They are the "Classics" and they have fireplaces and decks. The least expensive rooms are the "Novels."  

 If you find yourself on the central Oregon Coast, check this place out. In fact, go to the Oregon Coast just to check it out. You won't be sorry. I hope this hotel stays in business forever. 

For more details, go to  
http://www.sylviabeachhotel.com/home.cfm?dir_cat=39281 

What a day it’s been. From death to taxes.

So good to finally get the income tax papers and payments dropped into the mail.
So sad to see a once-vibrant woman buried.
It’s one of those blustery gray days that make me feel reflective. I dug out a piece of writing that, while unfinished, is worth passing on here. I hope you’ll agree.  
Rainbow Canyon (Part One)by Maggie Plummer

           I caught sight of it in the rearview mirror, pulled over, and got out to stare. The narrow canyon I had just driven through was filled, cliff to cliff, with a luminescent rainbow. The roadside pines and firs were silhouetted by its glowing brilliance, and the river below shone with a muted reflection of the arc. 
        Inhaling the pine scent as deeply as I could, I tried to memorize the moment.
        Later, after everything that happened, I remembered that astonishing rainbow-filled canyon. I figure it was God’s way of telling me I was on the right road to the right place that day.                                               
                                                    *
            “Dad, I want you to calm down.”            I leaned over and put my hand on his sweaty forehead. His eyes were open but unseeing, his face ashen. His shallow breathing came in gulps.              “Dad.” I took hold of his trembling hand, which was cold and clammy. It had been a day of hospital hell, with one test after another, topped off with a clumsy, painful procedure during which the doctors had inserted a central intravenous device near my father’s collarbone.
             None of it had gone well. 
             Under the influence of generous amounts of morphine, Dad had earlier spouted agitated gibberish to us, something about there being cameras everywhere in this place, and how they were operating a prostitution ring.            “Did the doctor talk to you?” I tried to make my voice sound normal. Did he know?            Dad barely nodded, finally focusing and looking me in the eye. His chin quivered. “I’m one sick puppy,” he said faintly, his brown eyes darting away again.               I nodded and stroked his pasty forehead. “Yes, you are. Did the doctor tell you….?” I couldn’t say it.            He nodded again and took a deep, ragged breath, his eyes tearing.            “…that you won’t survive this…”            He kept nodding.            “OK, I just want to be sure you know what’s going on…” His hand shook. “Everyone is coming tomorrow, Dad, we’ll all be here…” I reached for a tissue and blew my nose, hard.            “They have cameras everywhere in here,” he began, his eyes again flicking around the room anxiously.            “Dad,” I said, my voice breaking, “I know you can do this. You’ve been going to church all your life. You know what to do.”            His eyes met mine again, this time panic-stricken, and he whispered in a shaky voice: “Mom.”            “You don’t have to worry about Mom, you know that. We’ll make sure she’s OK.” I squeezed his hand.            He nodded, breathing unevenly. Or was that a sob?
            I sat back, blew my nose again, and wiped my eyes. Could I get the words out? I wanted to talk to him about spiritual surrender. As the Chief Executive Officer of our big family, he had always been a control freak and a Rock-of-Gibraltar type provider. I wanted him to find a way to let go of that tight-fisted control and have a graceful death, a peaceful death, for his sake and the whole family’s sake. How could it be that a practicing Catholic like my dad didn’t know about spiritual surrender? It was beyond me. I took a deep breath.            “You’ll be shocked to hear me talking like this.” My voice again wavered to the breaking point. I couldn’t do this. Maybe I could. “Even though I don’t go to church, I think I have learned a little bit about spirituality…”            I leaned in again, to make sure he could hear me clearly. “What I want is for you to accept this, and be calm by the time everyone gets here. I want you to put yourself in God’s hands, just imagine yourself sitting right in His hands.” I cupped my hands to show him. “Say the Lord’s Prayer, that one line, ‘God’s will be done,’ say it over and over again until you feel it, until you are there. Just keep saying, ‘God’s will be done, God’s will be done, God’s will be done.’”            His chin quivered again and his breath came in small sobs now as he squeezed my hand. “How’d you get so damned smart?” he whispered.

Here it is Easter Monday, and high time I shared a "spicy" excerpt from my novel,

Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish  
http://www.amazon.com/Spirited-Away-Novel-Stolen-Irish/dp/1478140267

...which now has 143 customer reviews, including 73 five-star reviews and an average 4.2 stars. Exciting! On the Amazon page, you can read the first few chapters of the novel as a free sample.

And now, here is one scene from Chapter 17:

When Freddy returned the third evening, Kofi was squatting next to the outdoor fire, cooking. She could smell fish frying, and cornbread cakes. Her mouth watered. 

"Freddy," he said in his soft way, pointing to the bench in front of the hut. She sank down onto it and watched as he dished the food into calabash bowls. 

"Thank you," she said when he handed her the bowl. She had eaten mush earlier, but she gratefully gobbled the fish. How had he gotten his hands on this? The cornbread was delicious, too. 

"Mmmm!" She smiled, patted her belly and lightly touched the top of his head. 

He nodded and smiled, passing her a bowl of mobby. When they finished, he motioned for her to follow him inside. He went to the shelf and picked up a knife. The blade flashed in the light of a lit candle and she inhaled sharply. Kofi grabbed a papaya, chopped it in half, cut away the peel, sliced it into small pieces, and put them in a bowl. He walked over to where she stood and pointed at the babe. She untied the sling. As he carried the sleeping babe to the bed, Freddy held her breath at the sight of his massive brown hand cupping Laurie's miniature white back. 

Kofi picked up the bowl of papaya and led her to the corner of the shack most hidden from the open doorway. He sat, gently pulled her down onto a piece of burlap he'd placed on the floor, and fed her a chunk of juicy ripe papaya, gazing into her eyes. She giggled as some juice dribbled down her chin. She began to wipe it off but he stopped her, swabbing her chin with one finger and licking the juice from it. Mesmerized, she fed him fruit, wiped his chin, and licked her finger. He fed her more papaya, this time licking the sweet juice from her lips. She put more papaya in his mouth, watching his face for a moment before leaning in to lick his full lips. Impulsively she darted her tongue between his lips, and he responded by taking her mouth with his. She moaned and he pulled away to look at her questioningly. She pulled his head back to hers and took his mouth in a soft, bottomless kiss. Never had she known a kiss like this. 

He leaned her back against the corner and touched the skin around her eyes, kissed her eyelids, and said something in Ashanti. He kissed her eyebrows, ears, and throat. Unlacing Freddy's tight bodice, he stroked her belly. She relaxed, caught up in the feeling. He took his time, touching every part of her from her toes to the curls on her head. He combed her long black locks with his big fingers and caressed her skin lightly, almost tickling, with his palms. 

There was no need for words as she ran her fingers lightly down his two facial scars, kissing the end of each scar line. She studied his body with her hands, from his wide eyes to his narrow hips and high round buttocks. He responded by stroking her buttocks, unashamed of his natural desire. He lay her down and propped himself on his side, pulling her gown up and looking at all of her. He took off her gown and bodice. Nothing was hidden as he slowly explored her. 

"Freddy…" His voice rumbled in her ear as he touched a place that was extremely sensitive. 

She gasped sharply. What was this? She involuntarily arched her back and opened her knees. She could barely breathe as he went deeper, whispering in his soft language. In the dim candlelight she let the feelings intoxicate her. He waited for her to press herself into him, then made love with a passion she never knew existed. She rode wave after wave of emotional sensation as if in a dream. 

Afterward they lay together and drifted off, arms and legs tangled in an intimate twining of black and white. When she awoke the candle had burned out and the babe was beginning to fuss. She threw on her loose shift, crawled over to the bed, and nursed Laurie. In the moonlight she watched Kofi roll over and open his eyes. 

When she was finished, he took her hand, leading her out of the hut, through the terraced fields, and down to the white strand. He placed the babe between two large roots of a mangrove tree on the upper edge of the sand, where they could watch over him as he slept. 

In the pallid light of a half moon Kofi undressed Freddy, scooped her up, and carried her into the ocean. She pretended to protest, kicking her feet and giggling. He bathed her in the calm, slightly cool sea, caressing her breasts. She arched her neck, closing her eyes. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed when he lowered his head to taste her milk. 

She removed Kofi's loincloth and washed him with it, carefully avoiding his wounded back. She embraced him and kissed his lips, dumbfounded by the feelings stirring in her groin. Her knees buckled and he lifted her hips to him. She nuzzled his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist. His strong brown arms holding her hips, she lay back in the water. Her pale skin glowed blue in the moonlight and her long tresses spread out around her like black wisps of seaweed as she gladly surrendered to it all – the man, the ocean, the moon, and the stars. 

Later, they lay on the silver stretch of sand next to Laurie, holding each other and catching their breath. Freddy was exhausted yet exhilarated, incredulous over what was happening between them. They were as one with no words, melded together in profound harmony. This was how it was supposed to be. Nothing had ever felt so right. Kofi had nothing to prove. He was simply himself – confident and strong enough to be gentle. She felt like a real woman, not degraded but protected and utterly loved. What sweet irony, that Master had ordered them to mate. Had obedience ever caused such bliss? They may be slaves, but with each other they were completely free. This must have been God's plan all along, for her to love this fine African man.

Hey there, I just want to let you know that my book, Spirited Away - A Novel of the Stolen Irish, is now published as a multi-format ebook by Smashwords. This means that all e-readers, not just Kindle, now have access to the novel. 

As you might already know, the book is a 60,000-word historical novel that paints an intimate, compelling portrait of 1650s Irish slavery in the Caribbean. I hope you’ll take time to check it out at Smashwords, where you can sample a section of the book for free.

Here’s the link to my Smashwords author profile: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/vi...

Here’s the direct link to my book page, where you can sample or purchase the book: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view...

Won’t you also take a moment to spread the word about my book to everyone you know?
Thanks for your support!

Here it is late winter…February, that dull, gray month when I tend to have trouble lifting my head from the recliner pillow.

But!

This year something exciting is afoot: I have entered my self-published novel, Spirited Away – A Novel of the Stolen Irish, in the annual Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. Not only that, the novel has already made it through the first cut, called the "pitch round." That news came on Feb. 13, and it's a big deal. It means that my chances have improved – a lot! My novel has gone from one in roughly 2,000 General Fiction entrants to being one in 400 entrants in that category.

As I write this, my book's preface and first three chapters are being read and judged. On March 12, Amazon will announce this year's Quarter-Finalists. For unpublished and self-published novelists, there is a lot at stake in this competition: One Grand Prize winner will get a publishing contract with an advance of $50,000, and four First Prize winners will each get a publishing contract with an advance of $15,000. This year, Amazon Publishing is the official publishing sponsor, which to an author apparently means a faster publishing timeline, higher royalties, the ability to launch books in multiple formats (print, audio, ebook), and worldwide distribution.

This year's ABNA has expanded categories to include five popular genres: General Fiction, Romance, Mystery/Thriller, Science Fiction/Fantasy/Horror and Young Adult Fiction. Contest administrators say that they've accepted entries from more countries than ever before.

That becomes obvious when you hang out on the contest's discussion threads, where writers gather to bite their nails and agonize and obsess while waiting for ABNA results. I have been spending an awful lot of time on there, and have met writers from England, Australia, all around the U.S., Venezuela, and Canada. If you feel like checking it out, here's the link: http://www.amazon.com/forum/amazon%20...




While I'm at it, here's the link to my novel's Amazon page:
http://www.amazon.com/Spirited-Away-Novel-Stolen-Irish/dp/1478140267

Happy reading!