Category Archives: Book Blitz

Book Blitz: ‘Oblivion’s Child’ by Tommy B. Smith

Title: Oblivion’s Child

Series: Black Carmenia – Book 2

Author: Tommy B. Smith

Publisher: Raven Tale

Genre: Horror

About the Book:

The storm came down, incredible in its fury. When the clouds parted, even the sun’s brilliance could not dispel the darkest spaces to persist. 

Nine-year-old Zander sees the outlines of the monsters in the darkness. Against his mounting fears, he cannot elude them, nor escape the madness of the day when his mother tried to drown him in the bath. 

She never gave him a true name, only a Z with X’s behind it, and promised him to the void. 

For Zander, his grandmother, and his catatonic Aunt Helen in their beachfront house on the Florida shoreline, the tide has shifted—the tide of a turbulent cosmic sea, its dark currents murmuring chaos. 

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The restless fear had returned. Above and around me, the crates’ and boxes’ visible contents assumed sinister appearances in the faint illumination of the nightlight’s glow.  

The outline of a rotund, furry creature with a bulbous banana nose looked down on me from the top of a crate. Protruding from one of the cardboard boxes, a scrawny figure with a top hat gawked.  

Tricks of the mind? Was I dreaming or awake?  

The edge of panic lingered near. Heeding the strange but comforting end to my grandmother’s last tale, I mouthed an invitation to the baku.  

Minutes ticked past in darkness. I remained alone and without further doubt, awake.  

Because I couldn’t sleep and my thoughts kept tilting toward my fears, I thought about getting up. The barrier of darkness separated me from the rest of the house. My grandmother rarely turned the living room lamp off, and if I could make it that far, I would have the television to myself, provided she had gone to bed. That meant a reprieve from my uncertainties as long as I kept the volume low and didn’t wake her.  

I only had to elude the darkness. Being so young and full of energy at the age of nine, I hoped to outrun the terrors in the dark, but had to muster the courage and be quick.  

My first few barefoot steps were soft and silent in sneaking toward the dark doorway. From the wall, the nightlight reassured me. When I faced the darkness again, my fear closed in, but I ran and sprang through the other side of the doorway.  

Keeping my landing soft, I hurried across the hallway into the living room. From beside her chair, the white ceramic lamp remained on, shedding soft illumination across the room.  

I found a seat on the couch, scooted to the back of it, and remained near the lamplight until my earlier idea of television resurfaced. To my misfortune, switching on the big wooden box and dialing the volume down low brought nothing but static and white noise.  

For a long time I sat huddled near the television, but couldn’t ignore my fear or resist a glance toward the dark hallway which connected the storage room where I slept and Aunt Helen’s bedroom. As I stared into the blackness, Aunt Helen’s unconscious murmurings wormed into my mind again. It puzzled me to remember the garbled utterances. My fear grew in realizing I couldn’t forget. Those uncanny syllables had twisted into my psyche, threatening a flood of incomprehension, panic, and madness.  

 I looked from the darkness to the lamp again, its burning bulb shrouded in the soft-white lampshade. In my effort to quell the rising fear, a new thought occurred. In a dimmer corner where another opening led past the bathroom to my grandmother’s bedroom, a wooden stand supported a bowl of potpourri and the kerosene lamp.  

I sprang to my feet and rushed toward it. My grandmother never lit the lamp as far as I knew but I couldn’t conceive of a better time to make use.  

The stand’s tiny wooden drawer held a pencil, a few paperclips, and to my immense relief, a matchbook. I removed the kerosene lamp’s glass chimney from its brass burner and set it aside.  

When I struck the match, its head flared. The wick took a moment to accept the flame, but soon began to burn.  

Wielding the slow-burning kerosene lamp, I made cautious steps to the vinyl-tiled kitchen, where a hasty search through the white drawers uncovered the narrow blue flashlight. A flick of its switch brought a firm beam of light against the kitchen wall.  

It made an easier alternative to the kerosene lamp, which I blew out after returning to the living room. Smoke coiled up from the extinguished wick, overcoming the scent of the potpourri. I replaced it on the stand with its glass chimney back in place.  

I felt safer with the flashlight in my hand. With it, I might be able to sleep again.   

Its beam broke the darkness of the hallway. I paused there and considered checking in on Aunt Helen, out of curiosity more than anything else, because her faint babbling had dominated my thoughts in the silence. The flashlight opened a pathway to her bedroom door where I stopped to listen and peered in.  

She didn’t speak, but lay on her side, eyes open, looking right at me with a smile on her face. 

About the Author:

Tommy B. Smith is a writer of dark fiction, award-winning author of The Mourner’s Cradle, Poisonous, the short story collection Pieces of Chaos, and the forthcoming Black Carmenia series. His presence currently infests Fort Smith, Arkansas, where he resides with his wife and cats.

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Book Blitz: ‘The Sweet Spot’ by Rochelle Allison

Title: The Sweet Spot

Series: Tanlines

Author: Rochelle Allison

Genre: Contemporary Romance / New Adult

About the Book:

It’s summertime in Santa Cruz, and for Wren Angelos, that means slinging ice cream and counting down the days until college starts. It’s shaping up to be a summer like any other until a casual DNA search finds the man that might be her father.

Luca Cardoso’s entire life is a balancing act. Between studying in California and working in Brazil, he must decide whether to follow his passions or stay on the path his father has laid out for him. But living in limbo is starting to lose its appeal, especially when he meets Wren on the boardwalk and sparks fly.

Wren’s not used to people sticking around. Luca’s always got one foot out the door. Will their trust issues keep them apart, or can they find the sweet spot of love?

The Tanlines trilogy is about a trio of UC Santa Cruz roommates and the guys they fall for. While the characters are connected, each book is a standalone.

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About the Author:

Born and raised on the beach and in the sun, Rochelle Allison has been living in her imagination since she was a little girl in the Caribbean.

Nowadays, Rochelle lives just outside of Atlanta with her one true love and their kids. When she’s not making up stories, she can be found hiking in forests, swimming, having coffee with friends, playing Wordle or taking pictures. She can almost always be found with a book…and chocolate.

Most of all, she loves love. A little salty, a little sweet

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Book Blitz: ‘Grace through Fire’ by Jessica Berg

Title: Grace through Fire

Author: Jessica Berg

Publisher: Red Adept Publishing

Genre: Contemporary Romance

About the Book:

During a buffalo photo shoot, wildlife photographer Nikki Lancaster snaps a picture of an odd man who later follows her to her car. She races away, only to have a vehicle run her off the road and leave the scene of the accident. When the first officer on the scene is DCI Agent Xavier Palinski, her ex-fiancé, Nikki figures things can’t get any worse.

She’s wrong.

Days later, Nikki discovers a dead body in that same area. After search teams find the bodies of three other women, Nikki suspects she hasn’t just photographed a crazy tourist. Instead, she’s captured a serial killer on film.

Chafing at the ridiculous safety measures forced on her by Xavier and her family, Nikki can’t escape the feeling that safety is an illusion. Eventually, the evil she encountered will not only haunt her dreams but will destroy her, her family, and any glimmers of a second chance at love.

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About the Author:

Jessica Berg, a child of the Dakotas and the prairie, grew up amongst hard-working men and women and learned at an early age to “put some effort into it.” Following that wise adage, she has put effort into teaching high school English for over a decade, being a mother to four children (she finds herself surprised at this number, too), bask- ing in the love of her husband of more than fifteen years and losing herself in the imaginary worlds she creates.

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Book Blitz: ‘Grimm Diagnosis’ by Matt Golec

Title: Grimm Diagnosis

Author: Matt Golec

Genre: Fantasy / Folklore

About the Book:

After an accident strands Dr. Robert Henry Lang in a medieval land without surgical supplies, medicines, or even hot running water, all he wants to do is find a way home to present-day Seattle. But Rob can’t ignore the medical needs all around him, so he begins seeing patients. Before he knows it, Rob’s services are in high demand.

He hires an office manager, Hans, who never goes anywhere without his bag of bread crumbs. He negotiates a work contract with the Fair Godmother, the leader of the town’s professional guilds. And he falls for his bodyguard, a former hood-wearing redhead who still delivers baskets of food to forest-dwelling shut-ins. Without meaning to, Rob makes a home for himself in this strange place shaped by Grimm’s fairy tales. But as threats from Rob’s old world creep into this new one, he’ll be asked to make choices that could upset not just his own life, but the lives of everyone around him as well.

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If anyone is interested reviewing the book please contact the author direct:



Early in the morning and barely out of bed, Dr. Robert Henry Lang struggled to ignore the noises coming from the waiting room he’d set up on the lower floor of his medieval townhouse.

“Patients,” Hans said, appearing from nowhere and startling Rob. “They’re growing restless and debating whether to eat the cat.” The whippet-thin Hans was light on his feet and prone to hovering just out of Rob’s field of view. 

Rob dipped his fingertips in a washbowl and began to clean the sleepers from his eyes. “Bathroom. Coffee. Glasses. Then patients.” 

Hans grabbed a rag to scrub Rob’s face as a parent might with a child, though Hans was several years younger, and inches shorter, than the doctor he served. “There’s no time for a bath. If you want the privy, the line’s three deep and hasn’t moved since the rooster began crowing. I still don’t know what coffee is, but I’ve put a cup of boiled water on your workbench.” 


“Which I’m sure is long drunk by now. I realize you’re the doctor, but I don’t see the purpose of these ‘clinic hours.’ Sick people should stay at home where they belong. You’re supposed to visit them, not the other way around.” 

“It’s a work in progress,” Rob said. “Glasses?” 

“By the washbowl. And may I raise the issue of our pantry’s honor? I believe it’s being violated even as we speak.” Hans fingered the bag of bread crumbs he kept tied to his belt. “Robert, I can only be in one place at a time. I suggest we hire a guard, someone fat and well fed, to keep your patients from eating us into the street.” 

“No guards, Hans. We have plenty of food.” 

Hans shook his head. “Not anymore we don’t.”

“Well,” Rob said, “we have plenty of money to buy more food. Okay?” Hans did not appear ‘okay’ with much of anything at the moment, but Rob’s finances remained secure. Months ago, when Rob had first arrived in this strange land, the king’s wizened Chancellor had been mesmerized by Rob’s digital watch. He’d drawn Rob into one of the castle’s storage rooms, filled with broken spinning wheels and three wooden chests of the small, medium, and large variety, and offered to trade one of the chests for the watch. Rob’s choice, of course.

Rob’s digital watch was barely worth 20 bucks at Wal-Mart, and as he was new and didn’t want to offend anyone, he’d politely agreed to trade it for the smallest of the chests. The Chancellor wailed at his choice, and when Rob opened it up he discovered why: it had been stuffed full of gold.

Rob didn’t ask what was in the other chests, and the Chancellor didn’t tell, but the king’s chief advisor had kept his end of the deal. After Rob ran the Chancellor through the watch’s basic functions, he’d rolled the chest out of the castle in a wheelbarrow. Since then, Rob hadn’t had to worry about money to buy food to eat, or clothes to supplement the jeans and cotton shirt he’d arrived in, or a townhouse where he could set up shop, or anything else he wanted. 

Almost anything else.

“That golden chest of yours isn’t bottomless,” Hans said. “And we aren’t a charity.”

“Like I’ve told you before, we sort of are.” Rob ran a tiny brush around his teeth and spat into the bowl. “But I don’t want to get into this again. Not so damn early.” Rob stuck his glasses on his face and squinted into the rectangle of polished metal hanging above the bowl. The reflection showed a beard that, despite a few patchy spots high on his cheeks, Rob liked the looks of. He certainly liked it better than the scratchy, scrape-jobs he saw on some other men’s faces. Despite the lack of cartridge razors, a surprising number of locals shaved, and Rob’s beard had become one more thing that set him apart. Which was okay, Rob figured. After all, he wasn’t exactly from around here. 

Rob was reaching for the beard scissors, made by a blacksmith he’d hired to craft medical equipment, when a wooden crash, a cat’s howl of fury, and a string of incomprehensible swear words sloshed up from the floor below. 

“Patients?” Rob asked Hans. 

“Patients,” Hans nodded. “And right away, if you care about having any breakfast left to eat. Or dinner, for that matter.” 

Rob walked down the steep stairs and pushed open the heavy wooden door to his front room. Inside, feathers hung in the air while Rob’s elderly cat squared off against a chicken he guessed was payment for his services. The chicken perched atop a broken stool while the old cat circled, searching for a way to get at the chicken without being pecked in the head. 

Far from being alarmed, his patients were egging the animals on, like spectators at an interspecies fight club. Rob ignored the animals for the moment and scanned the human beings: The man with the broken arm needed attention, but if Rob had to set the break, the man’s screams might scare the others. He’d ask Hans to take him out back for a stiff drink, which should loosen him up for Rob’s probing hands. 

The mother with the swollen ankle was resting comfortably and conversing with her children, so she could wait. The old man with the spewing cough sounded terrible, but he probably wasn’t going to get any worse in the next few hours. There wasn’t much relief Rob could offer for bronchitis exacerbated by a lifetime of open fireplaces and soot-filled air. 

The fellow clutching his chest worried Rob. There weren’t any reliable tests he could run, so he’d be forced to rely on guesswork, the laying on of hands, and a superstition-fueled patient history. On the bright side, he was shouting for the chicken to get back in the fight, so whatever was wrong with him wasn’t likely to prove immediately fatal. 

Still, everyone needed his help. Rob swore at himself for not having gotten out of bed earlier. 

Finally, he pointed at a woman with a finger-sized shard of wood jammed into her upper thigh. Her face was drawn and pale, but she looked like she’d weathered a few childbirths, so Rob guessed that she’d be brave when he removed the shard and sewed her leg shut. 

“Ma’am, let’s begin with you, please,” Rob said, shooing the cat into the back room with his foot. “Hans, pull the curtain and boil some water while I help her over to the exam table. And will you see what’s going on with that chicken?” 

The doctor was in. 

Many hours and many patients later, Hans shuttered the front window, blocking the late-afternoon light as well as the faces of those who’d lined up to either seek medical treatment or watch those who had. Entertainment in town was scarce, and although Rob didn’t like it, his drop-in clinics had become must-see TV. 

“Clinic day is over!” Hans shouted, peeling back fingers from the window frame so he could bolt the shutters. “Come back next time, unless I can convince the doctor to stop this nonsense. House calls tomorrow, for payment. Money, no livestock!” 

Rob leaned back, resting against a rough-hewn wall. “Hans. Don’t do that.” 

“Robert, we just worked a full day for nothing. Less than nothing, because we lost a nice stool, half the bandages and most of our food.” Hans grabbed a straw broom and angrily swept cinders from the stone hearth into a pile on the hard-packed dirt floor. 

Rob raised his eyes to the low, blackened ceiling. Although his chimney was better than a hole in the roof, as he’d seen in too many of his patients’ homes, the house never wholly cleared of smoke. To make matters worse, Hans seemed compelled to keep a fire going 24-7. Even now, a log lay smoldering in the hearth. “We got a chicken,” Rob said. “And a blanket, which we can wash and turn into slings or bandages or something.” 

“That’s not enough. And nobody paid us any money.” 

Rob sighed. “I told you, we’ve got money.” 

“For now,” Hans said. “But what happens when we’re cold and hungry and your grateful patients are nowhere to be found?” 

“We could survive on the food you’ve squirreled away for a month. Maybe longer.” Rob reached into the pocket of his well-worn jeans, fishing out a handful of silver coins. “Here, take these. We’re doing fine.” 

Hans scowled, looking embarrassed, but he grabbed the coins. “I wasn’t asking for money.” 

“It’s your salary. You don’t have to ask. That’s the point.” 

“All those people that come here. It’s too much.” Hans stood the broom by the hearth and fixed Rob with his tiny blue eyes. “You can’t fix everyone, you know.”

Rob threw up his hands. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe you’re right. But I think you just don’t like seeing other people eat our food.” 

“Robert, it’s not theirs to eat!” Hans said. “They should get their own.”

Rob laughed, although he couldn’t say whether he was laughing at Hans or just falling into exhaustion. Hans had grown up the poor son of a woodcutter, making him hyper-sensitive to food and money. He’d also been the one to find Rob, laying in the middle of the forest and damp with his own vomit, upon Rob’s arrival in this world. After a cautious introduction, Hans had helped Rob to his feet and guided him to nearby medieval town that wasn’t close to anything Rob recognized as civilization. Though Rob’s comfort level with his surroundings had grown by giant steps since those shaky, first few weeks, Hans continued to assist the doctor in his personal and professional business.

Rob walked the small man to the door where Hans bobbed, half-in and half-out, like a pet wanting to go outside but unsure about the weather. 

“Paying customers tomorrow, all right Robert?” Hans said, tugging his cap down on his head. 

“All right.”

“I fed the donkey for you.” 

“Thank you.” 

“And if you decide to eat the chicken tonight, don’t do it in front of the rooster. He’ll crow his head off and won’t stop until he passes out.” 

“I remember,” Rob said. “Good night, Hans. Say hello to Greta for me.” 

Rob closed the door, sucking in a breath of quiet air before returning to work. Trudging upstairs, he grabbed Galen’s ‘On Anatomical Procedures’ and a volume of Oribasius’s ‘Medical Collections,’ a pair of ancient—at least from his perspective—medical volumes he’d borrowed from the abbey library. The books were ridiculously heavy; the librarian had bound the hand-written texts in oak and fitted them with iron rings for shackling to his reading tables. In a world without printing presses, books were precious objects indeed. 

Although Rob hated lugging the clunky tomes around, he hadn’t brought his paperback ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ with him, so these books, as primitive and contradictory and just plain wrong as they could be, were all he had. Rob dropped the books on his goose-feather mattress, watching the fleas spring up in the air like trampoline artists. No matter how many times he shook out his blankets, the fleas always came back, and Rob had learned to live with them. His body hardly reacted to the bites now, with just the tiniest of red bumps that drew an occasional scratch. 

A rust-colored mutt peeked out from behind the bed.

“Just me,” Rob said. “Go back to sleep.”

Rob had inherited the dog, along with a cat, rooster, and donkey, when he took possession of the townhouse. While they were too old to do much other than sleep, he’d grown used to their company and occasional bays, brays, and animal songs. 

Rob wrestled open ‘Collections,’ carefully turning the thick, fibrous pages until he found an anatomical cutaway of the torso. A patient he’d been treating had a mass growing in his abdomen. Rob couldn’t tell whether it was a cyst or cancer, but if it didn’t come out, it’d be the size of a basketball by Christmas. If the patient survived that long. 

Using his finger, Rob traced the hand-colored drawings, silently navigating the layers of muscle and tissue. Real body parts looked so much different than they did in books, especially the slick, shiny tubes that made up the gut. To complicate matters, he’d trained as an otolaryngologist—an ear, nose and throat specialist—and although he was an experienced surgeon, he hadn’t cut into anybody below the collar bones since his first year of residency.

Which was the least of his worries, given that he lacked anesthetics, proper instruments, or a sterile operating theater. First, do no harm, Rob reminded himself, just as the front door banged open and then slammed shut. 

“Zev?” he called out. “Zev, is that you?” 

Powerful footsteps attacked the stairs, hitting each step hard and square. Rob dragged the book from his lap. Not Zev, he thought; his cousin’s sneakers didn’t make that kind of noise. Certainly not Hans. That only left . . . 

Magda the Red slammed through his bedroom door, nearly knocking it off the frame. She was tall—not as tall as Rob, of course, but tall for this world—and strong. He could almost hear her shoulder muscles twitching. 

She looked angry, and the braids in her dark red hair snapped, whip-like, against the crimson hood that draped against her back. As was her custom, she wore a tunic that barely fell below her hose-covered knees, a veritable mini-skirt in this conservatively-attired town. An axe hung from her belt, and tall leather boots covered her legs to the top of her calves. 

“You,” she said, her lips trembling. “You son-of-a-bitch!” 

“Maggie?” Rob said. “What’s going on?”

“Stand up,” she growled.

“What? Why?” 

“Because I’m not going to punch you while you’re sitting on the fucking bed!” 

“Punch me?” Rob stood up, whereupon Maggie slammed a fist into his stomach, dropping him to the floor. “No hitting,” he wheezed. 

When his eyes cleared, Rob saw tears running down Maggie’s splotchy face. “I’m pregnant, damn you! Pregnant!” she shouted, and then stormed out as quickly as she’d come. Bam-bam-bam-bam down the stairs, boom-BOOM went the front door, and she was gone. 

The dog lifted its head, glanced at Rob, then returned to sleep. 

Clutching his stomach, Rob dragged himself up onto his bed. He lay there for some time, recovering from Maggie’s unexpected blow—or blows, if one counted the punch and their pregnancy both. 

And he did. He surely, certainly did. 

About the Author:

I’m a New England-based freelance reporter, teacher, and board game designer.

I’ve written news and feature articles for publications such as the Valley News, Boston Globe, and Upper Valley Life.

I’ve taught writing and reporting classes at Colby-Sawyer College, Seattle Community College, and St. Michael’s College.

I’ve lived mostly in Vermont and Maine, though I spent some formative years in Seattle, and I went to grad school in Berkeley, California.

Finally, I co-designed the board game Penny Press, which won the Tabletop Deathmatch design competion and was published by Asmadi Games.

It’s a bit of a mix of things, now that I look at them all in a list. But do I enjoy the variety, and they give me a certain flexibility. Plus, they all share a common storytelling element.

Which makes sense.

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Book Blitz: ‘Painting Stars’ by Bea Teal

Title: Painting Stars

Author: Bea Teal

Genre: Women’s Fiction / Contemporary Romance

About the Book:

When a security expert returns to her childhood home after a tragedy, she finds safety where she least expects in Bea Teal’s warm and witty debut novel about love, loss, and the family we create.

I was raised to steal. But when I was forced to choose between family and betraying the man I admired most, I was left estranged from my parents and sister. Now, I work to ensure that everyone has the kind of safe home I never did.

My sister’s sudden death has me returning to the small Michigan town I ran from. And there’s a surprise waiting for me: Levi, a six-year-old nephew I didn’t even know I had, who is now my responsibility. Thankfully—or not—my childhood neighbor and first love, Noah, and his caring parents are around to support me. 

He’s a capable and uber-honest mechanic, an unconventional soccer coach, and even more charming than I remember. He’s the guy with raven hair, Bambi eyes, and dimples who makes it too easy to fall in love. Which I did—before he married someone else.

When a client’s foolish scheme lands me in jail and Levi’s future is threatened, the only person I can turn to for help is the man who broke my heart. But help from Noah comes with strings attached…

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“Pretending to be something we aren’t isn’t fitting in. How long can the pretense last before it destroys us? Conforming to what society deems acceptable is foregoing the things that make us special and unique in the first place. Take Liam, for example. I can’t guarantee that other people won’t make fun of him or hurt him if he goes down the street wearing a skirt. Because they probably would. He knows it, I know it, and there’s not much I can do about that. I can’t give him this freedom all the time, not yet. What I can do, however, is give him something so he can be himself. A temporary outlet to vent his repressed feelings. I don’t want him to give up his hometown, his family, his friends. I don’t want this to be the place he runs from. I want it to be the place he can come back to.”


“In life, we lose enough as it is. We lose patience, faith, hope, loved ones. Time and car keys. In a game, I want to gain something. How’s making another person miserable supposed to make me feel good about myself? That’s a hollow victory. And what is a victory for the mainstream, anyway? Besting your opponents? Nobody can win it all. There will always be someone stronger, smarter, faster; you name it. Wanting to be the first, the undefeated in every situation, that’s what leads to disappointment. In order to avoid that, one could be tempted to play dirty tricks to gain the upper hand, but nobody trusts a cheater and the highest step of the podium can be a lonely place indeed; so, in the end, is it worth it? In our team, we’re always winning because nobody wins. Not at the expense of someone else, in any case.”

About the Author:

Bea Teal is an Italian author. When she isn’t writing, she’s teaching Italian as a Second Language, reading, or traveling. The inspiration for Painting Stars, her first book in English, came from the time she spent in Michigan as an exchange student. She lives on the shores of Lake Maggiore in northern Italy with her husband.
She’s happy to hear from readers, and you can write her at:,
but please consider that English isn’t her first language! 😉

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