| Amy Chanel

Cover reveal - Winter Wish, Raven Harbor 4 out SOON!

6/9/2017

I am sooooo excited! The day is almost here.
Winter Wish WILL be out in a few weeks.
I've been working so hard on giving Olivia her happily ever after, but there've been, um, complications...
I've written a teaser for you. More soon! xox Amy
Held captive by psychotic madman Clive Garo on a remote island, Olivia frantically schemes a quick escape. After getting a glimpse...

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Labor Day Of Love - Get Your Free Box Set To Celebrate!

9/3/2016

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A Prelude to a Kiss (or three)...

I'm super excited to announce that my box set is FREE this weekend!

Introducing Raven Harbor Lane. Prelude gives us a steamy sneak peek into the stories of three of Raven Harbor's newest heroines: Abbie Dutton, Charlotte Bannon, and Ariana Moon.

My brand new series of steamy short reads takes us into the lives of new characters and their romantic worlds that run parallel to the heroes and villains in my Raven Harbor Novels series. The Prelude Sneak Peek Box Set is available as a FREE download through Monday, Sept 5, 2016.

There will be more to come on Raven Harbor Lane . . . Get started here!:

bit.ly/PreludeFREE

Free this weekend!

Offer ends Monday, September 5, 2016

xox Amy

If you've enjoyed any of my books, I would LOVE it if you would leave a review at Amazon or GoodReads.
Thank you!

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'The Process' or how writers get the words down

8/2/2016

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I wrote my first book back in the last millennium. (Well, it was in the 20th century.) I was maybe 9-years-old and the chosen scribe for the enigmatic and whimsical Duchess of Winshaw. She was a woman of refinement and mistress of airs, who appeared out of nowhere in my room, gave a sharp pound to the floor with the ivory tip of her parasol, and ordered me to my desk. Then I think she said, "I shall brook no further delay." And the next thing I knew, she was dictating her life story to me.

It didn't occur to me then why she'd selected such a newbie for her autobiography. What did she see in me? Now I think maybe she appointed me because of my youth and gullibility. In hindsight I wonder if her stories weren't a tad farfetched.

Anyway, I faithfully hunted and pecked her words out on an ancient Underwood typewriter like the one left. (That isn't the Duchess, by the way.) To this day I'm still not sure how the typewriter arrived to my room. It just was. And when we moved away from that cute little craftsman bungalow and headed north to Alaska for a 4-year stint because my mother became a Government Agent recruit (another story to come), the old Underwood got left behind.

These days I’m flipped upside down and living below the equator, and my machine of choice is my beloved Mac Air. But I still reminisce fondly of that 19th century relic (meaning the typewriter, NOT the Duchess —she would have my HEAD). And it’s got me wondering: what do best-selling authors use to get the words down? What's their 'process'?

In this modern day and age of miraculous technological conveniences that avow to take away your difficulties, and promise you every advantage and more time to party, you might find the following accounts suspect. Who wouldn’t want to use the latest sleek laptop, genius app or dictation software? With anything else it would take years to finish a book. Right? But did you know that many top writers of our day don’t use the latest technology at ALL to pen their books? I didn't, but that’s indeed the case. And because of that, I decided to write this blog.

I was going to Google myself up some authors and write a: ‘Here’s a quick survey’ piece. I should know better than that by now, because I am endlessly curious about strange things and somewhat (?!) of a research addict. This list got long. Anyway, there are highlighted words along the way to take you to relevant webpages for images and more info. I've tried hard to edit myself within the post and added a few more links at the end. Check that out later if you’re interested.

It boggles my mind how any author could write on anything other than a computer. I'm not even a tablet fan. And my handwriting is worse than that of an over-caffeinated physician with Parkinson's, so longhand is completely out for me. Plus my experiences with the Duchess don't make me delight in the prospect of reverting to hammering on typewriter keys and the ensuing lever tangles. The mere idea gives me nightmares. Not to mention keeping track of all that paper!

But who am I to judge? These writers seem to have made their 'processes' work very well for themselves.

Danielle Steel
Author of more than 120 books (!) and counting, Danielle Steele has written them all on her 1946 German-made typewriter. She’s even given ‘her’ the very nickname of my cat.
From her blog: “My typewriter’s name is Ollie (an Olympia SG1, a German hand made table top manual typewriter, which weighs as much as I do. It is an incredibly fine machine. And I’m happy to say it’s older than I am).”

Other authors who use/used typewriters:

At 83, Barbara Taylor Bradford (A Woman of Substance) still writes on her IBM Wheelwriter. From her interview in The Telegraph: “Taylor Bradford gets up at 6.30 every morning and works at her typewriter without consulting her husband about her work or showing him a draft--until it’s finished. “You don’t need your husband to be a sounding board. He’ll tell me if he thinks something is not right once it’s finished.”
Jackie Collins (Lucky Santangelo books): Blue Bird Torpedo, Olympia Splendid
Jacqueline Susann (Valley of the Dolls): Remington Portable
Bette Davis: Remington Noiseless Portable
Isak Dinesen (Out of Africa): Corona 3
Jackie Kennedy: Royal
Helen Keller: Hammond
C. S. Lewis (Narnia Chronicles): Royal Signet #ES 14545 (read more about the restoration of his typewriter on La Vie Graphite)
Poet and activist Maya Angelou used an electric Adler typewriter

Jane Austen
Jane Austen wrote her novels with a quill pen and iron gall ink she made herself from the recipe of Martha Lloyd, Jane’s friend and sister in-law:

“Take 4 ozs of blue gauls [gallic acid, made from oak apples], 2 ozs of green copperas [iron sulphate], 1 1/2 ozs of gum arabic. Break the gauls. The gum and copperas must be beaten in a mortar and put into a pint of strong stale beer; with a pint of small beer. Put in a little refin’d sugar. It must stand in the chimney corner fourteen days and be shaken two or three times a day.”

She wasn't without her own writerly tribulations. Here in letters to her sister Cassandra, she laments about the quality of her quill pen.

“I must get a softer pen — This is harder. I am in agonies. ... I am going to write nothing but short sentences. There shall be two full stops in every line.” (Sept. 15, 1813)

“... as my pen seems inclined to write large I will put my lines very close together. ... The day seems to improve. I wish my pen would too.” (Nov. 3, 1813)

Neil Gaiman
Although he writes his screenplays on computer, the magically talented Neil Gaiman (proving it here: The Sleeper and the Spindle) writes his novels by hand (in these notebooks.) And, like Simone de Beauvoir, Gaiman uses a fountain pen. "It started in 1994 when I wrote the novel Stardust — in my head I wanted it to be written in the same way as it would have been in the 1920s, so I bought a big notepad and Waterman pen." Gaiman owns about 60 fountain pens which he also uses to do book signings. His minimalist methods on the page enable him to quickly eyeball his progress. “I like changing ink color each day. It shows me at a glance how many pages I wrote,”

The idea of putting pen to paper is romantic, don't you think? I remember those days when I wrote letters. A visit to the stationery store was one of my favorite things to do. I have to tell you that I have a fetish for stationery: colored pens, fresh and unwrinkled spiral notebooks, suede-y moleskins with their fuzzy-edged paper, even gold stars and glitter sticks. (What you lookin' at?)
I plot on paper. Scribble unintelligibilities to myself. But unless they disappear, I'll never actually write my books with anything other than a computer. And it was this post from Neil Gaiman's Twitter page that reminded why I should stick to using a laptop. I recognized myself.

“Today I actually looked in the fridge just in case that was where I'd left my pencil. It wasn't there. I've become a serial pencil mislayer.”

Pencils, my coffee cup, keys, the computer adapter . . .

Contemporary authors who write longhand. (Can you say: writer’s cramp!):

Amy Tan (The Joy Luck Club)—her early drafts
Jhumpa Lahiri (The Namesake)
Joyce Carol Oates (Pulitzer Prize Finalist)—though she does own a SCM Smith Corona Electra 220 typewriter
JK Rowling (you know her) plots in pen, it seems. Her Order of the Phoenix spreadsheet

Like Neil Gaiman, Stephen King also writes with a fountain pen. He began writing longhand after his 1979 car accident, when sitting at a computer had become too painful. In the author's note in his novel Dreamcatcher he wrote: “One final note. This book was written with the world’s finest word processor, a Waterman cartridge fountain pen. To write the first draft of such a long book by hand put me in touch with the language as I haven’t been in years. I even wrote one night (during a power outage) by candle light. One rarely finds such opportunities in the twenty-first century, and they are to be savored.”

Quentin Tarantino - "I'm not superstitious in my normal daily life but I get that way about writing, even though I know it's all bullshit. But I began that way and so, that's the way it is. My ritual is, I never use a typewriter or computer. I just write it all by hand. It's a ceremony. I go to a stationary store and buy a notebook - and I don't buy like ten. I just buy one and then fill it up. Then I buy a bunch of red felt pens and a bunch of black ones, and I'm like, 'These are the pens I'm going to write 'Grindhouse" with.” ‘ — Interview with Reuters.

George R R Martin (Game of Thrones) confessed on the Conan O’Brien show that he writes on “an old DOS machine that’s not connected to the internet.” We're talking the Pleistocene age of computers! He uses Wordstar 4.0 as his word processing system. “It does everything I want a word processing program to do and it doesn’t do anything else.” Like the evil autocorrect! He may have something there.

The late Barbara Cartland, writer of over 700 novels and step-granny to Diana, Princess of Wales, had a team to which she dictated her stories.

Of course, writers have only recently had the benefit of tablets, shiny laptops and intuitive dictation software.

Mark Twain designed his own notebooks: leather-bound, tabbed notebooks. Like one can do with modern-day agendas, he tore the tabs off each completed page so next blank one was easy to find. Also a fountain pen writer, he preferred the Conklin Crescent Filler. He chose it because the crescent on its barrel prevented it from rolling off his desk. In the 1890s when Twain’s rheumatism made it too painful to writing longhand, he tried writing using his left hand. But he eventually began to dictate his stories.

Dame Barbara Cartland
Photo: English society-photographer Allan Warren.

John Steinbeck was a pencil addict. "…this is my eccentricity, my pencil trifling … just the pure luxury of long beautiful pencils charges me with energy and invention." Apparently he used 300 pencils to write East of Eden. Perhaps this was a dawning moment for him when he wrote this to his friend and publisher Pascal Covici? Here's an excerpt about pencils (what else?) from Steinbeck's 'Journal of a Novel: the East of Eden Letters': “You know I am really stupid. For years I have looked for the perfect pencil. I have found very good ones but never the perfect one. And all the time it was not the pencils but me.”
He was also somewhat consumed by his affection for an electric pencil sharpener. I'll forever be enamored with binaural beats. Whatever it takes to get the words down.

Ernest Hemingway - In his Paris memoir, A Moveable Feast, Hemingway set a scene of where he wrote:
“The blue-backed notebooks, the two pencils and the pencil sharpener (a pocket knife was too wasteful), the marble-topped tables, the smell of cafe cremes, the smell of early morning sweeping out and mopping and luck were all you needed.”

Truman Capote had a highly personal process. From The Paris Review (1957):

“I am a completely horizontal author. I can't think unless I'm lying down, either in bed or stretched on the couch and with a cigarette and coffee handy. I've got to be puffing and sipping. As the afternoon wears on, I shift from coffee to mint tea to sherry to martinis. No, I don’t use a typewriter. Not in the beginning. I write my first version in longhand (pencil). Then I do a complete revision, also in longhand … Then I type a third draft on yellow paper, a very special certain kind of yellow paper. I don’t get out of bed to do this. I balance the machine on my knees. Sure, it works fine; I can manage a hundred words a minute.”

Zoinks! That’s 6,000 an hour! The green-eyed monster (could be a tortoise) in me wants to believe he was fibbing about his speed . . .

Amy

I hope you enjoyed this post! Got something to say about it? Leave a comment below. Or, if you don't want to be public, send me a note here:
http://www.amychanel.com/connect.html
I would love to hear from you.

____________________________________

LINKS

Neil Gaiman’s blog

In addition to the Waterman fountain pens both he and Stephen King like, brands Gaiman has also mentioned he uses are: TWSBI Diamond 540, Visconti, Pilot Custom 823 Amber, Delta Fluida, Lepine Indigo Classic.‘

Neil Gaiman writes his novels by hand (in these notebooks: https://twitter.com/neilhimself/status/758359841912086529

Stephen King interview with Bryant Gumble. Around minute 4 is where he talks of writing longhand.

John Steinbeck's Journal of a Novel: The East of Eden Letters
The blurb describes it: Part autobiography, part writer's workshop, these letters offer an illuminating perspective on Steinbeck's creative process, and a fascinating glimpse of Steinbeck, the private man.

Danielle Steel blog. But how she has time to write a blog . . .

The Truman Capote excerpt from The Paris Review is also included in: Conversations, By Truman Capote, M. Thomas Inge

Writers and their typewriters, the full list
http://site.xavier.edu/polt/typewriters/typers.html

Steve Soboroff owns the typewriter Truman Capote wrote his last three novels on. You can listen to an interview with him here on Off Ramp with John Rabe, from Southern California Public Radio
"Truman Capote's nicotine stained Smith Corona, with which he typed his final three novels. It's now in Steve Soboroff's collection of historic typewriters, which he uses to raise money for scholarships."

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“The story was writing itself, and I was having a hard time keeping up with it.” ― Ernest Hemingway

7/25/2016

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Tonight we're expecting a 'ciclón', or the onslaught of a severe weather front. Gale force winds, torrential rain, maybe lightning. Why does stormy weather spur me to blog?
Did the headline draw you in? Do you hear stories telling themselves to you in your head? I do. I believe many (most?) authors do. It's a strange and wonderful thing.
Just to be clear, I'm in no way comparing myself to Ernest Hemingway, but the sentiment in his quote above has been echoed by many a writer. The creative process of writing changed my life and gave me an inkling into what Hemingway meant.
What happened to me is that Olivia, my heroine in my book Spring Rush of my Raven Harbor Novels series, came to me on a walk one morning with my dog Henry. Just like that. Popped into my head and started telling me her story. It was like listening to the radio. I swear. And Olivia would show up day after day and take me on her adventure. One of the smartest things I've ever done was to listen to her! At that time, I would rush home to write down what I’d ‘heard.’ These days I usually don't leave the house without a pen and paper.
I also sing to myself on my walks with Henry. Loud as I like when we're in the far fields. I keep hoping to be the channel for songs, too. Bittersweet heartbreak with a whiskey chaser. A country two-step twanged out on a steel string guitar. I visualize Patsy Cline or Johnny Cash dropping a 'done me wrong' ballad in my ear. Nothing's showed up, yet. No songs to send off to Keith Urban. But I'll keep listening.

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The Romance of a Rainy Day

7/5/2016

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It's been raining pretty non-stop this week in Uruguay. The locals call this sort of weather 'feo' or ugly. For a nation whose flag features a happy yellow, 16-rayed sun, this damp stretch is downright unpatriotic. And we usually blame it on Argentina, the natural scapegoat in all things amiss, be it the weather, the economy or FUTBOL!
But for me? There's a moss-loving English woman living under my skin - very close the surface, I want to add. I thrill to this rare opportunity in my lovely little adopted country.

I try to keep my joy under the radar about such things when I'm seen in town. People already wonder enough about me, muttering to myself on morning walks in the 'campo' or countryside. That's the time when plots and intrigue flow with abandon through my brain and following along out loud helps me to keep up with things. My dog Henry understands my process.
Don't misunderstand. I don't want alllll rain, all the time. You may have seen the photos I post on Twitter and Facebook (like this one at the beach and this one). Surely they are testament of my fondness for fair weather, too. Not to mention, without the sun I would never have these pomegranate glories right outside my door.
So, on a happy stretch such as this, before the rains move back to Glocca Morra, I mumble my thanks to the gods of liquid sunshine and carry on with Mr. Darcy. To lure your into my grateful mood, I've shared a clip above of a favorite (and rainy) scene from a version of Pride and Prejudice. Then off to the campo we will go again, me and Henry, until our petticoats are six inches deep in mud. xox Amy

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What will you say to yourself in a year?

7/2/2016

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This morning Facebook has kindly let me know this photo (above) was taken 1 yr ago! There is this lovely café in the historical area of town where I go now and again. It has a killer view of the Río de la Plata (the world's widest river). It's a place I go to write or daydream.
Time goes so fast, yet that morning in the café seems forever ago. It was but a year. At that time I had two books out. Back then I think I felt like it was ONLY two books. (Ha!) I'd yet to publish the third in the series, Autumn Dreams, which came out 6 months later. Now I have 3 books out in the Raven Harbor Lane short reads series as well as the box set collection. I'm actually feeling quite proud of my accomplishments! Rightly, so, don't you think? *toothy smile*
So, my message to you is this: stay hell bent in the direction of your dreams. Step by step. The journey may seem interminable from where you now sit this morning (on the boardwalk, in your favorite hammock, on the bus) drinking your latte or tea. But guess what? If you keep steadfast on your path, you WILL get there.
What do I want to say to myself in a year from today? Congratulations! (then give myself a big hug!) I want to look back and know that I kept moving ahead, that I stayed to course and honored the dreamer inside of me. I have big dreams, you see.
And you? What would you like to say to yourself next July? Leave your words in the comments below! I'd LOVE that.
I wish you the most WONDROUS future. xoxox
Thanks for the reminder, Facebook! Life is grand.

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There's a New Story in Raven Harbor!

6/4/2016

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Book Cover Raven Harbor Lane, Ariana, by Romance Author Amy Chanel

I am thrilled to announced my new girl is out!

Ariana Moon has the world on a string. As the ward of a billionaire shipping magnate Cosimo Megalos, she wants for nothing. However, her guardian doesn't know about her relationship with his son. If he ever found out, Ariana could lose everything.
But Konstantin Megalos is entangled in her very being. He won't be satisfied until he possesses her soul. He would hunt the universe if she ever disappeared.
Yet, Ariana dreams outside the walls of the family estate. Hers is the heart of a journalist. And she struggles constantly to assert herself, to make the family who's made her one of their own understand that all she wants is her own career, one that has nothing to do with the family business.
When a stranger crosses her path, she doesn't realize he may be the key to her freedom.
Read a Sneak Preview here: ARIANA

Get Ariana Now... Amazon US
Amazon U K

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New sneak peek! Raven harbor lane - Ariana 1

5/24/2016

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Ariana

Chapter 1

His feet were planted wide. He blocked her path. Ariana couldn’t see his face, but she was familiar with the scenario. She’d just met the blonde woman he was standing in front of, and it appeared so had he. True to form his best game was on and he was endeavoring to introduce himself. But the woman looked like all she wanted to do was dodge him. Their exchange was brief. Ariana bristled watching him kiss her cheeks. She saw the blonde’s eyes widen when he whispered something to her, then a thin smile spread across her face before she nodded, shook his hand and beat a hasty getaway.
How strange. Usually women melted like butter before him—but not this one. She hadn’t given an inch, remaining cool, almost mechanical.
Ariana crossed her arms, watching him watch the woman leave. When he turned in her direction, she retreated into the shadows of the trees and took a deep breath before walking along the path toward him back into the light.
His face brightened over a clever grin when he spotted her. She knew what was going through his mind. She knew him so well. But there was no use pointing out the obvious. He’d just deny everything. And what claim did she have on him anyway?
She tried on a sweet smile. “You’ve met Charlotte then.” Cool as a cucumber.
“I did.” His black eyes twinkled like a little boy who knew he’d been caught. This was his favorite game.
“She’s attractive.”
“You’re jealous.”
“Hardly, Konstantin.”
“You were spying on me,” his smirk taunted her.
“I happened to turn the corner a minute ago and see you. I simply waited until you’d done.”
He pulled her into the stairwell nook and slipped his arms around her, “Koukla mou. S’agapo. You’re my jewel. You know it’s you I love.” His soft lips pressed to hers, then he pulled back and cupped her face in his hands. “Only you.”
She remained silent, her eyes steady and as blank as she could keep them.
“Why won’t you ever tell me you love me, too?” he asked.
“You know I’m only using you.” An ingenuous smile spread across her face. It was a lie she told herself but a necessary one.
“Don’t tease about that. I would do anything for you.” The press of his lips once again awakened her need for him, but she fought it back and worked her hands between them. “You always keep me at a distance, Ariana, and it hurts me.”
“We weren’t far last night.” Her eyes closed involuntarily at the memory.
He let out a soft growl. “I don’t mean in bed, my love,” grinding his hips into hers. “There I can never be close enough. But I want all of you; to own your heart like you own mine.”
She would never say it. She couldn’t. But her heart was spoken for. He had it. Yet she knew she’d never own his heart entirely. There were too many women in the world. She wanted to say the words—many times she’d come close.
His arms tightened their circle around her, his lips were at her ear. “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll have it, Ariana. I promise you that.”
She shivered. They lived on the tip of her tongue. But she was afraid that if she declared her love for him out loud, her soul would would fly out her mouth with the words.
“Before I forget,” he said, “my father wants you to have a dress made for the party. The designer will be here later.” He traced a finger along the bottom of her breast. “But these are mine, so make sure you keep them covered.” His hands continued, spiraling to the nipple, which hardened under the stroke of his thumb. The effect went straight to her loins, as always. He lifted her shirt and took possession of one into his mouth and she threw her head back as her breath quickened. The scenes of their reunion last night were fresh. He’d been so far away for too long, and feeling his touch again had sharpened her need, opening like a wound within her. She almost gasped when he pulled his mouth away.
“So you’re not taken by surprise, Ariana, I’m bringing Jennifer Lake.”
Just like that. Ariana’s gaze narrowed, but she held her tongue. She tried to wriggle away, but he held her firmly to him.
“It’s for show, koukla mou. You know that,”
My ass, it’s for show. It was par for the course.
He ground himself into her again, his cock hard and hot against her belly. She couldn’t stop her hips from bucking forward, hating herself for letting her lust override her anger at him. But she dug deeper inside and found the strength to push him away and storm off.
“Ariana, stop!” he pleaded after her.
Maybe he really believed he was just keeping up appearances, but she had no such illusions. It was the cost of having his devotion, but it angered her—anger directed mostly at herself for putting up with it. But she’d been in love with him for too long to change that.
“Bastard!” She picked up her pace out the driveway and rounded the stone wall onto the sidewalk, yelping as she collided with someone in her path. Her face bounced off a muscular, well-tailored chest. The surprise made her grab for her nose.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
With his chest pressed to hers, she felt his deep voice resonate within her. His strong hands gripped her arms. She blinked up at intense, dark brown eyes, familiar somehow. His olive-complexioned face was chiseled, clean-shaven. When he reached a hand for her face she became aware of the heat of his lower body. She waved him off and pulled away.
“I’m fine.”
But he’d taken hold of her chin, lifting it, searching her eyes for distress. A handsome smile spread across his face. “Yes, you are fine.” His breath was sweet.
She cursed herself for flushing and wrested her head from his grasp.
“What’s your hurry?” he asked, his tone still flirtatious.
“Nothing.” But she was drawn back to his eyes. They were magnetizing, and when his gaze slid lower she felt her cheeks warm.
“Then why don’t you slow down and enjoy the scenery? It’s what I do.”
She blushed hotter. His meaning was crystal clear and she found herself not minding. “So, tell me where you’re going so I can come find you later.”
Wouldn’t that serve Konstantin right? She was preparing a coy comeback when she caught sight of the ring on his left hand and her anger flared again. “Get lost,” she spat and shoved past him.

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The Most common words in poetry

5/23/2016

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William Shakespeare
From: http://mypoeticside.com/featured/poetic-wordclouds-these-are-the-most-common-words-in-poetry

William Shakespeare

Presented by My Poetic Side

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New Raven Harbor Release! Today!

5/20/2016

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Brand New Release today!

I am thrilled to say that the new short read series--Raven Harbor Lane--is coming along at long last. April was busy here at the little house on the campo. My parents were here visiting for a month and, well, I didn't get much writing done. We had to go to the beach house, and eat figs from the garden, sit under the Peruvian peppercorn tree... You know. Stuff.
So..., I am so excited to tell you that Charlotte's story is out today! I am fidgeting while I wait for the Amazon elves to churn the little cogs in the ebook machine and crank my baby out.
Here she comes...

Charlotte Bannon has been pursuing her dream of being a caterer since she was a teenager. After 10 years of grit and determination, it’s finally coming together. But woman does not live by bread alone. Whether she wants to admit it or not, she’s missing a man in her life. But like the spaghetti she threw at the ceiling when she was a kid, the ones she met never stuck around long. At 24 she doesn’t regret bedding those men but wonders if there’s ever going to be anything more.
Then she meets Nikos Petrakis. Is he the smoldering Greek god to match her goddess? The attraction grows with every meeting, and every moment they are apart she craves him—almost painfully.
Nikos is the man of her fantasies, and yet something haunts him. Is he part of Raven Harbor’s dark underbelly that she didn’t even know existed until now?
His shadowy side makes her second guess her feelings for him. Will she fight to keep him in her life or will he be just another man to fade to dust?

READ A SNEAK PEEK HERE: Charlotte, Book 1
Get Charlotte, Book 1, Here:

BUY NOW:
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