Children and Young Adult Author | Official Website
Author: Ellwyn
I live with my loving husband, two children and dog in Philadelphia, PA. I discovered my passion for writing in second grade when I had to write a book report for school. I was so excited to write the report, until my mother told me that I had to write about someone else's book and not my own story. I became indignant and decided that once I finished the book report I would most certainly write my own original story. I have been writing ever since!
My self-published book Chris Kringle's Cops was a Finalist in The Reader's Favorite Book Contest for 2016. I am so happy to share this story with you.
My picture book Kamyla Chung and the Creepy Crawlies was given a 5 Star rating by Reader's Favorite Book Reviews in 2017.
A step-by-step guide to navigating dating and finding love on the World Wide Web, written by someone with firsthand experience on the topic, and who has also tested the theory on a number of case studies and through research. Authored from a female perspective, directed to a female audience, although potentially an eye opening and helpful read for a male reader too.
This book is not about making you a better person, nor is it a self help book. It is about changing your mindset when embarking on singledom and internet dating to not fear it, by equipping you with the understanding of people’s actions and motives.
Throughout the book you will be guided in setting up your online profile, picking your match, the all important art and the do’s and don’ts through every step of courting someone, all the way to going forward with your ultimate love match!
Reading this book will bring you confidence and or at least clarity. It will make you think about your past experiences and open your eyes to see where they may have gone wrong, and more importantly to ensure the same mistakes don’t happen to you on future experiences.
Long gone are the days of meeting a potential partner in a bar or at a music festival or at parties.
You might be lucky enough to do so, but as time goes on and you get older, or as you and your potentials rely more on technology to meet someone, or as you lose the skills to do so by becoming accustomed to technology, the chances are getting thinner.
There will be fewer parties with fewer single people, or there will be more awkward interactions at these parties, or your friends will grow old and become tired of attending music festivals and going to bars.
Also, let’s face it: as we get older, the music at venues become too loud and we simply just want to have a good conversation, good food, and good wine which brings on more occasions like dinner events and dinner parties.
These are the least likely type of events to meet someone, unless you are lucky enough to be set up by a mutual friend.
So, you might find yourself single and at a loss. Maybe it simply might be that all your friends are in relationships and you have no one to go out with.
This is where online dating comes into play. Online dating has such a bad stigma, but if you look at it at another way, whilst your friends are becoming old and boring or are in relationships and/or just don’t want to go out anymore for whatever reason, you have an infinite number of potential new people to meet and play with who are in the exact same boat as you.
About The Author:
I successfully found love online using historical principles, understanding people’s motives and actions, listening to the right people, as well as trusting my own instincts.
I am now married and a mother. I am a business woman with a very successful business, built from extensive networking and relationship management experience. I have received professional mentoring and coaching, which has helped me achieve all of this.
Ten years ago, Reagan’s friend died in a tragic accident. But what if it wasn’t an accident?
The morning after a raging college graduation party, we found Lanie Martin lying at the bottom of a ravine, her neck snapped in a fatal fall. And I’m not proud of what came next.
Before we called the police, we covered ourselves. Cleaned up from the blow-out at Ella’s cabin in the Adirondacks the night before. Got our stories straight.
Ella begged me not to tell the police what I saw. She insisted that it was an accident—and we all went along. What did I know? I was plastered that night, and large chunks of that evening are missing for me.
But now, in my postpartum state, memories are starting to return, and I can’t help but feel that they might be connected to the soul crushing depression I’ve been experiencing. Is it guilt? Or do I know more than I think I do?
So when I receive Ella’s invitation for a ten-year reunion at her family camp—a gathering of remembrance and healing, she’s calling it—I know I have to go.
Are the memories I’m struggling to recover the key to my moving on? To being able to take care of my infant son and stay married to the perfect man?
Or are they a death sentence for me, too?
“The Unforgetting is a great read filled with tension on every page, stunning twist after twist, and a mind-blowing ending that you’ll never see coming. Highly recommended!” – R.G. Belsky, author of the Clare Carlson series.
“The Unforgetting is a riveting, twisty, slow-burn atmospheric thriller that will delight and disturb, in the best possible ways. Highly recommended.” Douglas Corleone, international bestselling author of Falls to Pieces
Gyrating to the rhythm of the blaring music, I want to be one with the flames. They dance in a way I envy, shooting up and down in sharp angles, casting shadows over the partiers, giving them a ghoulish look. Some of the people I know. Many I don’t. We twist and writhe and merge with the music.
Nirvana.
So fitting.
The smell of burning wood permeates my nostrils, mixing with reefer and patchouli oil. Embers float down like sparkling rubies in the twinkling night sky. A red-hot one lands on my shoulder. I bat it off, singeing the hairs on my hand, but I don’t flinch.
This is what the afterlife must feel like. When you become a bodiless bundle of energy, no longer tethered to the corporal world, free to roam around the atmosphere.
A blood-curdling scream comes from…somewhere.
Something bad is happening.
But we don’t stop.
We can’t stop.
We keep dancing and laughing and soon the flames are too hot and it’s not fun anymore and I think maybe, just maybe, that was my scream I heard in the woods.
Giveaway
$20 Amazon
Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!
Bonnie Traymore is the award-winning, Amazon best selling author of page-turner mystery/thrillers that hit close to home.
Her books feature strong but relatable female protagonists. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time.
She’s an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.
When it comes to his seven-year-old son, new lodge owner Mack Fisher has a lot to make up for.
Fortunately, the small Wyoming town of Adelaide Creek provides the perfect fresh start—that is, if he can avoid the distraction of Erin Hunnicutt’s warm brown eyes.
The free-spirited musician has a way of bringing out the best in everyone—especially Mack. When they’re thrown together unexpectedly to help their town, sparks fly and a dangerous secret is uncovered.
But searching for the answers only leads them to fall deeper for one another…and starts Mack wondering if there’s room for one more in his new family.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt:
Mack grinned at Erin. “Admittedly, an awkward introduction. But you’ll have to overlook it.” He put his hand to the side of his head. “I can barely think straight.”
Erin frowned. What did that mean?
“I’m awestruck,” he explained, his grin widening. “It’s not every day I come face to face with a woman who’s a talented musician and also a restoration expert who brings battered and charred wood back to life.”
Without thinking, Erin returned the smile. “Now you’re making me blush.” It was true what he said. She’d built her work life around wood restoration, but making music was her favorite hobby. Although those things weren’t making her cheeks heat up. That had more to do with Mack’s deep, smooth voice and how her stomach fluttered looking into those amused blue eyes. She’d always had a soft spot for a neat—but not too neat—beard.
“As I recall, Mack, you don’t live in Adelaide Creek, but here you are, celebrating the grand opening of the restored town hall with the rest of us. And on Valentine’s Day, too.”
“We do too live here.” Liam stood up a little straighter and lifted his chin a notch. “In a bunkhouse. Real cowboys lived there a long, long time ago.”
“That’s right, kiddo.” Mack spoke to Liam with a laugh in his voice before turning to Erin.
GIVEAWAY:
Virginia McCullough will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner.
Award winning author, Virginia McCullough writes romance for the Harlequin Heartwarming line, and FINDING HIS WYOMING SWEETHEART is Book 4 of her Adelaide Creek series.
She also writes women’s fiction and nonfiction on a variety of topics. Virginia’s characters could be your family, friends, or neighbors, and all her stories offer hope, healing, and plenty of second chances.
Drawn to water, she almost always sets her stories on a body of water, from oceans, lakes, rivers, and the winding Adelaide Creek.
A ghostwriter, book doctor/editor, coach, and experienced workshop presenter, Virginia is a wanderer, but currently lives in Northeastern Wisconsin.
When she’s not writing, she’s walking on trails near her home or in some faraway place. She reads, streams series, hangs out with other writers, and daydreams about her next adventure.
Welcome back to the Skeleton Crew. Bring your knitting needles, a good strong brew, and plenty of snacks. You’re going to need them.
A Merry Murderous Midwinter
The Skeleton Crew Paranormal Cozy Series Book 3
by Dahlia Donovan
Genre: Paranormal Romance, Cozy Mystery
Welcome back to the Skeleton Crew. Bring your knitting needles, a good strong brew, and plenty of snacks. You’re going to need them.
Gender-fluid, autistic vampire Hyde Snodgrass is living their best life with their bookshop, cats, and witch girlfriend, Teresa Vega. The colours of autumn are beginning to blend into winter. An ordinarily joyous midwinter is spoiled by the arrival of their estranged family.
When their murderous uncle is found dead in front of their shop, Hyde finds themselves unwillingly dragged into the investigation. Accusations swirl around South Myrddin. It takes a village to untangle the mystery.
Can the true killer be unmasked in time to save them?
Will there be anything to celebrate in the coming Yuletide season?
Welcome back to the Skeleton Crew. Keep your knitting needles sharp and have a strong brew in hand for their next adventure.
Life for gender-fluid, autistic vampire Hyde Snodgrass has never been better. Her cosy village bookshop is thriving as is their new relationship with witch and taco bus owner, Teresa Vega. Autumn is in full magical tilt in their corner of the Scottish Highlands.
Everything is beautifully perfect right up until a tainted meal ends with Hyde sick and someone dead.
The police immediately suspect the restaurant owners. Hyde and Teresa find themselves drawn into yet another investigation, trying to save their friends from arrest and themselves from a murderer. The situation becomes even more complex when family feuds become tangled in the midst.
Welcome to the Skeleton Crew. Bring your knitting needles and a good, strong brew.
Gender fluid, autistic vampire Hyde Snodgrass runs Between the Leaves—a cosy village book store. Their life revolves around books, all things autumnal, and the two cats who rule their world. The shop also plays host to a weekly knitting group called the Skeleton Crew.
When one of the leaders of the village coven fails to show up for the weekly knitting meeting, Hyde finds themselves investigating a horrific murder side by side with their long-term crush, Teresa Vega.
Suspicion immediately falls on other members of their group. Hyde and Teresa struggle to find answers to the growing list of questions. It’s made all the more difficult when the killer has them in their sights.
Can working together spark the romantic flame within them?
Will they solve the mystery before death comes too close?
Dahlia Donovan wrote her first romance series after a crazy dream about shifters and damsels in distress. She prefers irreverent humour and unconventional characters.
An autistic and occasional hermit, her life wouldn’t be complete without her husband and her massive collection of books and video games.
Since the 14th century, Robin Hood has proven to be one of the most enduring and versatile folk heroes. Medieval historians believed Robin lived during the 12th or 13th century but despite decades of intense research by contemporary scholars, solid evidence has never been found.
Until now.
Logan Daggett, son of Donald Daggett, well known CEO of one of Australia’s largest international corporations, has his 21st birthday celebrations disrupted by a family tragedy, the revelation of his mother’s decades-old secret—and a birthday gift of a collection of centuries-old family heirlooms. This series of events contrive to change the course of his life forever.
Accompanied by his two closest friends, the young Aussie sets out to uncover the truth behind the accident that irrevocably changed his life, and to research the authenticity of the priceless heirlooms, completely unaware of the adventure and dangers lurking around every corner.
During the course of their journey they uncover irrefutable evidence that causes further turmoil among the family, spark controversy among medieval scholars worldwide, and the potential of sparking upheaval to a country’s history and creating conflict between two nations.
Liam Cadoc’s stunning debut to historical fiction sweeps readers into a ruthless world where greed and corruption threaten to deprive a nation of historical riches and the world of the truth behind a legendary hero. This is Book 1 of a 2-book set.
**On Sale for 25% off at Smashwords with code PUHT7**
Cadoc endeavors to create a feasible balance of historical fact and fiction into his writing in order to meet his obligation, as an author, to his readers. To that end he spends a large part of his conceptual writing on researching the world in which the characters will inhabit.
“I’ve always had a fascination with history, particularly the medieval period of England and the Arthurian Legend. Though my genre is historical fiction, I hope that my readers will come away with a better understanding and appreciation for how people survived and endured before the inception of the basic luxuries we take for granted each day.”
Retiring in 2016, he then spent 9 years working on THE ARCHER’S DIARY, his first historical fiction / modern thriller adventure novel. Most of that time was devoted to in-depth research.
He penned his first fiction while in high school and was quickly recognized by the English staff and his class for his vibrant imagination. He was also a talented artist and, after graduating, followed a 45+ year career as a graphic designer in the publishing industry compelling him to put aside writing for a number of years.
Would you rather be an amazing artist or a brilliant mathematician?
Would you rather lose your mother or your father?
Would you rather roast to death or freeze to death?
It’s a silly game hosted by a substitute teacher, an exercise in exploring the workings of the teenage mind.
Twenty-three students make their choices, and the game is forgotten—until the chosen scenarios start coming true. Classmates Ava, Blake, and Charlie are determined to track down the mysterious teacher and persuade him to end the curse.
But the clock is ticking, lives hang in the balance, and the foe they seek is more menacing than they could imagine.
Kimberly Baer is an author and professional editor who was born and raised in Johnstown, Pennsylvania, a town marginally famous for having endured three major floods.
She even lived there during one of them. She enjoys power-walking on days when it’s not too hot, too cold, too rainy, too snowy, or too windy. On indoor days, you’re likely to find her hard at work on her next novel or binge-watching old episodes of Survivor, her favorite guilty pleasure.
Kim has had her nose in a book practically since birth. Her first story, written at age six, was about a baby chick that hatched out of a little girl’s Easter egg after somehow surviving the hard-boiling process.
These days she writes in a variety of genres, including young adult, middle-grade, and adult romantic suspense. Her books are published by The Wild Rose Press and have won several awards.
Behind Closed Words: Exploring the impact of miscommunications and misperceptions within families, delving into the chaos that ensues, even when driven by love.
White Picket Fences
Behind Closed Words Collection #1
by Kyle Ann Robertson
Genre: Women’s Fiction
White Picket Fences is a heartfelt family drama fueled by an honest story of motherhood, written for those of us caught up in our own self-searching journeys.
The one thing Julie Cahill knows because of her transitory upbringing as a military brat is that she never had a hometown. So she has made sure her kids would grow up in one forever home, in a forever neighborhood, with lots of forever friends. Yet her dream of a permanent hometown has her feeling fenced in.
Set in the Delaware Bay area, Julie has achieved her dreams but struggles with having to accept invisibility, underappreciation, and being taken for granted by her family in trade for her unconditional love.
Her guilt over not being available for her family on that one fateful day has her challenging karma by tightening her grip on her daughters and husband, ultimately pushing them away.
My father’s voice echoed in every movement of the second hand from the vintage desk clock he had passed down to his grandson. “Time. Heals. All. Wounds. Give. It. Time.” I was pretty sure there was not enough time in the universe to surmount the death of my son.
I summoned strength by running my hand over the collage of superhero posters: Captain America, Spider-Man, the Hulk. After today, the walls would be bare. The slight leathery, sport-locker smell of the light-blue room elicited visions of my darling son. And so, between therapy sessions, grief groups, and the several books I’d read on loss over the past year and a half, I digested my pain in a void forever in my heart. If it wasn’t going to get any better, then I had to learn to live in the now with my grief and help my family heal. I could understand that Curtis would never come home, but I couldn’t accept that he was gone forever. I called the incident an accident. Surely, an eleven-year-old dying from a brain aneurysm could be nothing but a mistake.
Curtis’s dearest possession, a team-signed baseball, rolled between my fingers and brought a smile to my face. On the hottest afternoon of his last summer, Curtis hit a home run in the ninth inning of his Majors All-Star Game. He tied up the longest, most boring, 1–0 game. He single-handedly brought a small stadium of zombies back to life. The echo of his laughter above the awakening crowd and his smile as he slept that night were forever locked inside my heart.
Draped over his karate trophy at just the right angle, I could easily read “Most Valuable Player” on the medal Curtis received from that game. The tears I had been holding back fell as our eight-year-old golden retriever entered the room, wanting his morning walk.
Was he looking for Curtis too? Plopping on the corner of the twin bed, I ruffled the puffs of fur behind Roger’s ears as he settled at my feet. “I know, Rog. I know.” Together we shared the loss, which was no less today than it had been yesterday or all the yesterdays before then.
I picked up book number eight of Darren Shan’s CirqueDuFreak, making sure the bookmark was secure where Curtis had left it. I smoothed out the wrinkles I had created in the superhero duvet cover and flipped the matching pillow, exposing the lump of Curtis’s hidden “Doggie.”
From inside the pillowcase, I pulled out the threadbare stuffed Doggie Curtis never slept without. But after one embarrassing sleepover with a few baseball buddies, I found Doggie tucked deep inside the pillowcase. Close by but hidden. Had everything not happened so fast in the days after Curtis’s incident, had I time to think about it, if I could have thought at all, I would have placed Doggie in the casket with Curtis.
“Come on, Rog. Let’s go for your walk.”
Roger sauntered in front of me down the long hallway. I paused at the door to my art studio as the early morning light illuminated the painted canvas on my easel. I would get back to my latest com- mission as soon as I cleared my thoughts and got through this first step toward my family’s new normal.
Silence came from behind the twins’ closed bedroom door across the hall. The twins were either still asleep or understandably tucked under their weighted comforters to delay the start of their day.
By the time Roger and I made it to the sidewalk, pink and purple light seeped through the grays, but the sun hadn’t quite snuck above the horizon. I now walked Roger every morning and under- stood why Curtis never complained about this one chore.
The boost of energy from the brisk stroll, the silent moments for clear thought, and the apparent joy it brought Roger was a great way to start every day.
Although Roger stopped and smelled every yard, his tail never failed to wag. If only it were that easy. Stop and sniff and move on. I needed to move on, but not back to where I was before Curtis’s incident. Life had gotten stale, and as good as Michael was to me, I thought I wanted more, but I was wrong.
The day of Curtis’s passing, I had taken some time, just a few meaningless hours, for myself. Time to catch up with an old friend, one visit. It wasn’t intended to be a secret. It just wasn’t anybody’s business.
Curtis’s death pushed me closer to my empty nest sooner than I’d ever wished and was not what I imagined when I said I was tired of being Mom and Mrs. just for an afternoon. Would things be different if it weren’t for my selfishness and for not appreciating what I already had? I’d apologized to the universe every which way since then.
I kicked a stone. It bounced and rolled down the sidewalk in front of me. Roger chased it down, sniffed, then snorted, not pleased with his discovery. As we walked, the neighborhood came alive. Lights switched on. People brewed coffee and brushed their teeth. Across the street, Mrs. Amberly rocked on her front porch, sipped coffee, and watched me with consideration. Old Mr. Pender stepped out in his bathrobe, shot up a quick wave, then searched the ground as if the newspaper at his feet had disappeared before his eyes.
Mary Simon herded her three small children into her minivan. I caught her eye, but she looked away, overreacting to her oldest child climbing into the back seat. It had been more than eighteen months, and still, people felt the need to avoid me. But I understood. How many times could a person say, “Sorry you lost your son”?
Not So Little Things
Behind Closed Words Collection #2
Tina Edwards loved her childhood and creating fairy houses, a passion shared with her father, a world-renowned architect. But at nine years old, she found him dead at his desk and is haunted by this memory.
Tina’s mother abruptly moved away leaving Tina with feelings of abandonment and suspicion. Raised by her loving, wheelchair-bound Aunt Liddy, her father’s sister, 33 year old Tina has become a miniature room artist and cherishes the control she has over her life in Northeast Georgia as she works hard to please her beloved dead father’s wishes of following in his footsteps in art and history.
At the same time Mr. Jake Martin, all six-foot three of him, with a heavy southern drawl and winsome dimple, hires Tina to build replicas of the original rooms of his own family’s Victorian mansion purchased to turn into a B&B, Tina’s estranged, dying mother re-enters her life with family secrets that must be told.
Amid their research for Jake, Tina and her assistant find out that stories from his past were unfounded and prove that miscommunications and misperceptions passed down through families create unwarranted, painful separations, echoing Tina’s life story.
In the split second the door was open, I locked eyes with the thin woman, her hair wrapped helmet-like in a scarf. Even with dark circles around her sunken eyes, the tube in her nose leading to a white box hanging off her shoulder, and the ridiculous-looking floral housecoat-type dress, I recognized Mary Jane Edwards instantly.
“Tina, come on, open up.” She pounded with more strength than I thought possible. “Is this any way to treat your mother?”
“Go away. You’re good at that. Just go away,” I said under my breath and leaned on my side of the door. The battle line was drawn. I refused to let the woman who abandoned me when I was nine years old walk into my life like no time had passed.
“Tina, I’m not leaving until we talk,” Mary Jane said as she wiggled the door handle.
You’ve got to be kidding me. Stretching and loosening my jaw, I backed away from her insistence. What on earth could she want from me after all this time? I stared at the door, shaking my head as if the action itself would send the woman away.
“Come on, Christina, we need to talk,” she said with a crack in her voice as she wiggled the door handle and tried to force the door open.
With deep breaths in through my nose and then eased out through my mouth, I slowed my hammering heart, a technique I’d learned through years of therapy. But the long-buried memory of being dropped off at Aunt Liddy’s house for an hour, only for it to turn into forever, ached all over again.
“You haven’t had a word to say in over twenty years, and I certainly have nothing to say to you… and don’t break my frickin’ doorknob.” I yanked open the door.
Holding on to the doorframe, Mary Jane took a step forward. “Thank you.”
Squeezing my eyes to expel visions from the last time I saw her, I allowed one word to exit my mouth. “Speak.”
“I’m not going to talk to you in this hallway.” She gripped the hanging white box as if using it for balance. “May I come in? Please?”
Still, the nine-year-old in me refused to budge.
Mary Jane took a breath. With her attempt at more words, she wheezed, which led to chesty coughing.
I winced as this woman, who was practically a stranger, dug a tissue from the purse hanging off her arm. She hiked up the strap on her shoulder, swung the white box to the front of her hip and adjusted a knob. After several deep inhales, she relaxed.
Aunt Liddy would have been horrified had she seen me treat anyone like this, let alone my own mother. Truth be told, my behavior was appalling, even embarrassing, but what was I to do?
With my aunt’s loving parenting, strategies from a knowledgeable therapist, and emotional support from my bestie, Nissa, I had painstakingly put in place a life that honored my late father, blocked out my estranged mother, and propelled me into an existence all my own, one I thoroughly enjoyed. I owed it to all of us not to go down this rabbit hole.
But I had already stepped on the trigger. The steel jaws had snapped, trapping me between head and heart. With thoughts of hashing things out and never having to see her again, I resigned myself.
“Just this once.” I lowered my shoulders and prayed I wouldn’t regret letting her into my home. L’Air du Temps, the scent of my youth, passed by ever so slightly as Mary Jane entered.
With my forehead pressed against the closed door, I took two deep breaths and got ready for battle. I pulled a rubber band off my wrist, piled my long brunette curls into a bun on the top of my head, and reminded myself that my difficult childhood had very little to do with me and a lot to do with the woman sitting on my couch.
I peeked at the clock: 9:30 a.m. Was it too early to open a bottle of wine? Whipping around, ready to face my past, a loose curl fell down the side of my face. So much for being Miss Tough Guy.
Mary Jane seemed out of place, sitting slumped and focused on her breathing in my living room, which reflected the mid- century home my father had built for her where she always dressed picture-perfect, behaving like royalty.
Seeing her now, in her unbecoming pink floral housedress in contrast to my sleek, custom-built, 1920s-inspired, fluted-back, Art Deco couch bewildered me. Who was this woman interrupting the ethos of my condo?
Even with a mildly warming heart, I couldn’t let go of my veil of protection. “Talk.”
She began. “I know it’s been a long time, and we have a few things to work out.”
“Will you sit? Please? I need to explain a few things I thought Liddy had told you long ago. I’m surprised she never…” Mary Jane’s cough snuck up on her again, but I still refused to sit.
Aunt Liddy? I paced, waiting for Mary Jane to get her cough under control. She had no business bringing Aunt Liddy into this. Liddy was like a mother to me. She had raised me from the age of nine.
Liddy took me to buy my first bra. She listened when I lost my first crush and cheered me on when I graduated from high school and college, then moved into my own apartment as I attempted to enter adulthood.
“Aunt Liddy?” I questioned once Mary Jane’s cough subsided. “You, Mom. Let’s talk about you. I saw you last year at Liddy’s funeral. You didn’t stick around long enough to talk to me.”
I paced, unclasped my tense hands, and glued my arms to my sides to keep them from flailing in anger. “You know what? This isn’t going to go anywhere. You need to leave. I can’t do this. I don’t need you to tell me we have to talk because I know there’s nothing to say.” I marched to the door and yanked it open.
“Tina, I know showing up like this is a shock, but I don’t know how much time I have left to straighten things out with you. I have lung cancer. I’ve quit my job and would like to be with you during the experimental treatment I’ve signed up for.”
I froze. Oh, no. No way. No way will my mother do this to me. Mary Jane could not come into my home and drop a bomb of this caliber. The walls of my carefully assembled life began to crumble.
“Shut the door, Tina. We really need to talk.” She pulled a large folded manilla envelope out of her purse and laid it on the coffee table.
About the Author
Since achieving her Creative Writing Certificate from Emory University, Kyle Ann has authored the children’s book series ” Nissa The Woodland Fairy.” as writer BB Walsh. is the CWO (Chief Writing Officer) of the blog IF CORKS COULD TALK. And now her first novel WHITE PICKET FENCES with more to come.
Kyle Ann’s a retired Physical Therapist Assistant with most of her education coming from raising four children who are all out of college, happy in their own space, and paying their own bills! She spends as much time as possible reading, writing, golfing, gardening, and enjoying a glass of wine with friends and family. KyleAnnRobertson.com
