Ask, Accept, and Act

What I am about to share may be shocking and jarring. It’s personal truth I’ve kept locked away for nearly my entire life. I’ve only allowed a trusted few to truly know and understand this part of me—my deep, dark secret that’s sometimes even scary for me. I've never been comfortable with the word 'psychic.' It stuck in my throat like a chicken bone whenever I tried to say it out loud. Instead, I preferred less fickle words like quirky, highly sensitive, or ADHD to explain away my oddities, and do my work on the down-low. No one really grasped what I'd do. They just knew a sense of calm came over the room whenever I was present, and stuff got done in record time. Sure, some questions would pop up from time to time. I’d justify my knowledge of the supernatural by claiming research. Which is true, just not in a conventional sense. I know how energy works, because I can manipulate it, not because I’ve studied how to in books.
If you personally know me, I’m guessing you’re not really surprised by any of this. The shock comes from me talking about it so openly in a public forum. It’s a subject I’ve always skirted around, handing out salts and stones without ever really explaining why. So, what has changed?
Last week, I attended a business meeting after a dear friend of mine got excited about my new product line. In this group of awesome people I was asked what my biggest roadblock to success was. I didn't take time to come up with a clever response. I humbled myself, and blurted out exactly how I felt. “It’s hard for me to say the psychic word. I’m also struggling with feeling worthy of doing this work.” Some amazing things happened in that moment. First off, no one judged me. Instead, they were genuinely curious about my gift and how it works. I felt safe and supported amongst this group of mostly strangers as we talked out my problem and how to best overcome my fear. It was through this exchange that an angel stepped into my life and asked me to meet with her.
Within minutes of meeting Marge Bowen, I sensed the divine purpose surrounding her. I also knew she was sent to me in the right place at the right time. Marge is a certified Neuro-Energy Kinesiologist. Let me tell you a little about Neuro-Energy Kinesiology. It’s a communication tool encompassing many different mind/body therapy approaches. Stress in brain function is assessed. The nervous system, and muscle/meridian/organ systems are all evaluated. That’s on a physical level. On an energy field level this system diffuses thoughts, feelings, and beliefs. In a nutshell, it is capable of healing the entire whole of who we are.
My blocks ran deeper than just emotional trauma, which was why I couldn’t seem to just push past them. They were tied to my beliefs in the energy body regarding my worthiness and acceptance of who I was. When we began the session, Marge asked me my purpose. My purpose was openness. She asked me to lay on the table and set to work.
As I mentioned earlier, I am psychic. That means I can see the metaphysical realm just as clearly as the material plane. Experience is so very subjective. All I can share is my understanding of what took place for me in that comfortable little room. Colors swirled, chakras bloomed. The moment I laid down the entire space came to life. Marge pulled up spiritual control panels out of thin air. She entered data, and reset systems with the brush of her fingertips. I’m not even sure if this was a conscious thing for her, or if she’d tapped into a higher self that knew exactly where the keys resided. It’s something I plan to ask her about. When a panel flashed red, she’d stop to ask questions about past trauma. Together, we worked through the emotional blocks until I felt them dissolve away like aspirin in water. Marge made adjustments on her panels, pulled out various tools when prompted to do so and then moved on to the next piece until all systems operated to her specifications. The entire process took less than an hour. One hour unwound years of destructive thought patterns. Through my perception, it was truly remarkable and life-changing.
2017 was what I like to refer to as burning year for me. And yes, a year like this is as horrible as it sounds. I’ve experienced four of these in my lifetime. It can also be considered a life realignment, but I prefer burning. It describes the process feels in a clear manner. Basically, what happens is everything is burned away from one's life that doesn’t serve true purpose. The farther one has wandered of track, the more painful the burning process is. This one actually wasn’t too bad compared to some I've faced in the past. I had the presence of mind to seek guidance just as soon as my world went up in flames. Ironic, that I guide other people through the rebuilding process after a burning, but never have thought to ask for help before. I did this time. That’s big growth for me. The message was clear from the many sources I’d advised, but to accomplish the work described to me I had to get over my knee-jerk reaction to saying the ’P’ word. I was ready. I placed myself in the right place at the right time. Now I need to make a few things clear. I asked for help and it was given. I had to be vulnerable before the path presented, and I chose to accept it. When the way appeared, I acted, and it worked.
If you feel you are ready to move forward, too, I encourage you to visit Marge’s website and make an appointment:  http://margebowen.com/neuro-energy-kinesioylog/. If you are truly open to moving into the next space, you won’t be disappointed.
The pieces are clicking together and taking shape for me. Soon, I will launch my new vision through Angel-Hart Healing, a resource for psychic self-help. Stay tuned. Big changes are happening behind the scenes, including a new support website, handmade metaphysical products, and guide books I'm in the process of creating. I'm very excited about my latest transformation. I can't wait to share it with you.

Copper Reign Chapter

"Copper Reign" is on sale right now for $0.99! Native American folklore meets demon rock stars in “Copper Reign,” a fast-paced urban paranormal romance. Fans of “Supernatural’s” heart-stopping storylines and “Lucifer’s” dark wit will fall in love with “Copper Reign.” Temptation is known by many names, and he’s coming for her. (Free with Kindle Unlimited.)

Buy "Copper Reign" here.

Still unsure if this story is right for you? Here's a view of one of my favorite chapters. Enjoy!

THE PULL WAS SUBTLE AT first, like a shift in the wind pushing Nina toward an invisible opening. So much time had passed since the last time she’d sensed the switch turning ‘On’ to something greater than her existence—long enough to forget such things were possible. Still, the crisp coolness of the barrier or the sound of the chimes wasn’t surprising when she passed through to the other side.

****

THE TWILIGHT USED TO BE a source of comfort. She had played here often as a child, only now she stepped along the familiar trail with heartache twisting the pit of her stomach. Since her last visit, the vibrant path had all but crumbled into ruin. The once luscious gardens and beautiful forest were reduced to a barren landscape. Dragging bare feet, she slowed progress up the mountain as much as a sense of urgency allowed, grieving paradise as she travelled.

Time moved differently here—it was almost stagnant. She wondered if this world was a reflection of her inner self; if the loss she had experienced was mirrored by the rot and decay evident in every direction. All she had ever hoped for was gone, just as the water gurgling along riverbanks and the mighty oaks stretching to the sky were gone. Even the warmth of the sun refused to penetrate through the grey hue of crushed dreams. She would never find peace here again. Hadn’t her mother warned as much?

“The Twilight is his home. If you go there, Sinauf will come for you.”

And she was right. He had come, but not for her…

Is it possible to go back? Nina questioned. She’d been to the past before, but had never tried to interfere, but could she? The wind picked up in a low howl of protest as her hair whipped against her cheeks, but she ignored the warning, wondering if turning around would save her parents. Encouraged, she looked over her shoulder, but the trail had erased into blackness. The putrid odor of stagnant water wrinkled her nose as shrilled cries pierced her soul with terror. Death lived there—only death. Too afraid of what dwelled in the past, she Walked off the cliff, stepping from the edge as darkness enveloped the place where she stood. Never falling, her feet made contact with a lovely manicured lawn.

“I had a feeling you’d be wanting to see me,” Jenny Webber drawled out. The southern accent dripped off her tongue like liquid honey, so naturally any stranger would have believed she was born a Georgia peach, but Nina could see her long-lost friend behind the pretenses.

“Well, what’re you waiting for? C’mon in! I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you accepted my invitation.” Dissolving into vapors that would have put Scarlet O’Hara to shame, she widened the door and Nina bounded through, excited at the prospect of catching up. Then she remembered she was Walking. Jenny’s invitation wasn’t meant for Nina, but for the dark figure standing on the porch.

His face was lost in shadow. The only feature clearly visible was the fire-blue of his eyes. He must have flashed the redhead a smile, because Jenny melted like butter in a hot frying pan. The air all but sizzled as he fixed his burning gaze with unguarded interest at the green silk robe tied about her waist. The blatant display surely raised an eyebrow as he stepped out of the still, black night and into the bright, plantation home.

“I must admit, the circumstances that brought us together the other night were very entertaining. But when you called to say you would be willing to share even more about your friend’s unique abilities, and perhaps tell me where to find her…well, that titillating bit of information was completely irresistible. Of course, you already know all the best ways to tempt me. Don’t you, kitten?” he whispered, insinuation lacing his voice as he spoke in her ear.

The hair on the back of Jenny’s neck stood at attention. He didn’t touch her, but Jenny shivered with anticipation. Or perhaps it was something else that caused her to tremble as he slinked past and entered the lavishly furnished living room.

The mansion had been built on the ashes of Atlanta in 1887, a testimony to the South’s tenacity even in the midst of defeat. The original owner, Colonel Thomas Wheeler, had wanted to hear the sound of rustling silks as his four daughters danced at parties, and to see them brought up in elegance and luxury. Perhaps, he had hoped to drown out the sounds and sights of dying soldiers on battlefields. Perhaps, he had wanted to regain some of the grandeur they had all fought for. In this estate, at least, he had succeeded. More than a century later, giggling debutantes in formal attire still descended the polished wooden staircases, while perfect gentlemen waited at the bottom of the twin spiraled banisters to lend an arm in escort.

Jenny's dark visitor was a sharp contrast to the gentlemen who had formerly graced this house, as well as to the hickory hardwood floors and beige-toned walls. Light, neutral colors spoke of warmth and safety, while he was the embodiment of cool danger. His jet-black hair jutted past the length of his ivory jaw, blending seamlessly with his black trench coat, as if his hair was an extension of the leather. Even his designer jeans and Doc Martin shoes were varied shades of ebony, projecting the appearance of a dark, romantic figure, like Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights. The only hint of color was a rich, burgundy, button-down shirt made of the finest silk that peeked out from under his jacket. But it was more than just his appearance that set him apart. He held a dark appeal, and Nina suspected that he wasn’t even really a man. If he was, he certainly wasn’t a gentleman.

His legs, long and elegant, stretched out with commanding confidence as he walked across the front room and eased himself into one of the white suede sofas grouped together in the center of the space. Tapping his graceful fingers on an oak end table, he gave Jenny a slither-hither look that had all of her circuit boards overloading.

Nina could feel Jenny’s emotions as if they were hers. Undiluted sexual desire punched through her system as Jenny admired his striking, self-assured posture. She burned for him. So many sensations assailed Nina at once it was as if his presence filled the very air around her. Intoxicating was the only word to describe his effect. Intoxicating and addicting, like heroin. She knew that Jenny wanted him, and that she would sell out her old best friend for just one taste.

Jenny came through so clearly to Nina, while the other figure remained shrouded in obscurity. She tried to touch his mind, but his thoughts evaporated into smoke.

“Well, here I am, caught within your capable clutches. Are we going to play out your little game, or did you plan to simply gawk at me for the rest of the evening?” he asked. Nina could feel the taunting amusement curve the corners of his mouth rather than seeing it.

There was no Heathcliff now. The shroud around him shifted ever so slightly and his words carried more authority, like that of a dark prince staring down upon his lowly subject. “It hardly makes any difference to me, but you might feel uncomfortable when your father comes home. I don’t think he’d appreciate you dribbling all over the upholstery.”

Jenny cringed as his snarky observations hit their mark. Her father did tend to treat her like a pampered Pomeranian who couldn’t be trusted past the front door. Thoroughly chastised, she lifted her chin, annoyance flickering now in her dangerous eyes. Nina knew that look. Jenny had decided it was time for a shift in power. Floating across the room with the grace of a ballerina, she positioned herself directly in his line of sight. Her luscious, full lips parted in an appealing manner, practiced to perfection, as the tip of her tongue darted out to moisten them.

“There’s no need to worry your silly little head over that stuffed shirt. He's run off to D.C. for the weekend and left helpless little me here all alone. I don’t know what I'll do with so much temptation all around me… Any suggestions?” Her wanton gaze lingered momentarily on his bemused expression as she opened her robe coyly and let it slide to the floor.

Jenny averted her eyes as her skin flushed a bright strawberry on appealing cream. The light played off the red in her hair, complimenting her ivory skin and striking green eyes like a forest fire across a snow-covered wood. The air flooded with a heady mixture of berries and gardenias from the lotion slathered on her skin. Any man would have been reduced to incoherent babble at the sight of her…any man.

Jenny was playing a perilous game and Nina wanted to cry out a warning. No! You can’t win this time. He doesn’t follow the rules! But any alarm would have fallen upon deaf ears. It was only a movie to Nina, and the outcome wouldn’t change with a protest.

“Certainly, I could think of a few,” he said, traveling his eyes along the skimpy nightgown Jenny had barely managed to squeeze into. Green lace and satin hugged tight in all the right places. The dark aura around his body expanded out, wrapping around Jenny as his eyes touched the curves of her body. Moaning, Jenny’s breath came in ragged bursts as the heat of his gaze roughly raked along her skin, as if his hands were stroking everywhere his eyes touched.

But Nina could see what was really happening. Fingers protruded out of the dark cloud directed by his vision, searing and violating Jenny without a single physical encounter. The invisible foreplay intensified until her legs finally melted out like warm vanilla ice cream, reducing her to a puddle on the floor at his feet.

As he stared down at Jenny, Nina could feel contempt pulsating under his cloak, but she wasn’t prepared for the viciousness of his true nature. All she could do was look on in horror as he introduced his favorite kind of sex. With incredible ease, the shadow penetrated into Jenny’s thoughts, desecrating her most private and vulnerable sanctuaries. Ruthless, he ripped away her defenses, not even bothering to hide the rape he was committing on her mind. He found it entertaining to watch the terrified confusion play along the tremble of her lips as she tried to understand his intrusion.

Pushing harder, he pierced the door into her deepest recesses. In his excitement, the shield around his thoughts faltered, giving Nina a tiny look into his mind. The information he was seeking in Jenny was there, but he growled in frustration when he finally found it. The story she had told him was a lie! There hadn’t been any contact with the girl for years. A name written on the back of a tattered photograph was the only remaining tie. Anger surged through his system as the shadow leapt back, returning into a shroud around his shoulders.

“However, the false circumstances under which you have lured me here require a declining of your unappealing offer.” He leaned in close enough for his rage to creep along her neck, and Nina sensed his satisfaction as Jenny shivered from the sting of his words.

Reaching over her, he opened the end table drawer and removed a photo, faded with age. In the picture stood two girls smiling on a sunny beach, no older than twelve when the moment was captured. One was all fire, clearly a younger version of Jenny, and the other, causing him to catch his breath in excitement, was Nina. The bottom of Nina's stomach fell out as he read the handwriting on the back of the photo: Jenny Webber and Nina Douglas, Huntington Beach, CA.

“I don’t understand why you’re so worked up over Nina. So she said a special gift ran in her family. Big deal! My father thought she was a liar,” Jenny protested, dropping her fake accent. Her full, generous lips pouted as she pushed her curls away from her face. Swampy eyes swam with confusion as she looked at him. He stared back at Jenny with a detached coldness, her raw, violated emotions causing her to look away. Pulling her robe off the floor, Jenny fastened it around her waist again, attempting to regain a shred of dignity.

“I found the picture, and that’s why I called,” Jenny claimed, meeting his stare again in beautiful defiance. Standing to full height, her gaze carried a haughty quality you could only find in a preacher’s daughter wearing lingerie.

“I think your reason for summoning me is evident,” he scoffed. Discomfort crawled under Jenny’s skin, adding to his pleasure. “You wanted to use me, just like you have used everyone who has had the misfortune of crossing your path. When we first met, I found your lack of scruples endearing, but now I find it a little over the top and borderline pathetic. Something really must be done to rectify your character flaws.

A dangerous look flashed in his eyes as the shadow encompassed Jenny again, showing Nina a fleeting glimpse of his beautiful face. Fear licked through her senses as the reality of her friend’s situation clarified, sputtering her heart to a stop before starting up again at double speed. Jenny was trying to turn away from his malevolent stare, but the monster held her frozen to his gaze. Nina cried for Jenny to run, but her body remained fixed. A scream ensued from somewhere deep inside her, but it only passed as a tiny whimper.

“Nina.” He savored the name as it rolled off his tongue, looking at Jenny with ferocious derision. “I wouldn’t expect someone as ordinary as you to understand why she is exceptional. Even in this worn and faded image I can see her radiance glowing. She is an angel.” The last word was spoken in complete rapture, and Nina found herself mesmerized by the beauty of her name spoken in his melodic voice.

“This photograph was taken on Huntington Beach six years ago?” He didn’t expect a reply as he paced the room, caressing the tattered paper like it was a priceless treasure. “I had hoped for a more viable connection, but at least it's a start. Nearly three years have passed since I have felt even the slightest flicker of her.”

As he walked past the open drawer of the end table, Jenny caught a glimpse of her father’s gun, lying under the papers just a few inches away. If she could just reach it... Her hands shook with effort the as tears streamed down her cheeks, lining them with black mascara.

 “Do you want the gun?” he asked, barely glancing away from the photo as a strangled sob escaped her lips. “Are you sure? By all means, take it then,” he said, nodding his head, like an overindulgent parent allowing their child a cookie, as Jenny’s hand reached for the gun of its own accord.

“Please, don’t do this!” Jenny managed to choke out in a strained voice she didn’t recognize. Helplessly, Nina watched as the shadow forced Jenny’s hand to grasp the handle and slowly inch the weapon towards her temple. Blue eyes filled with hell’s fire stared at Jenny, feeding off of her fear like a delicious dessert while she fought the invisible force to keep her finger away from the trigger. “Please, please, oh God, please, no!”

“Now, there’s no sense bringing Him into this. He won’t help you. In fact, I’m not entirely certain that He exists anymore, and even if He does, why would He want to save you?” he asked with dispassionate interest. “You are no faithful servant or beacon of virtue. No, I think your salvation would be a waste of His time. There are much more admirable candidates, of that I assure you,” he said, his focus temporarily drawn to the photo again.

“I’m looking into your soul right now and there is nothing worth redeeming,” he went on. “You are a spoiled rotten, overindulged bit of plastic who has to buy her friends and drape them like jewelry. If your daddy wasn’t Reverend Webber—‘the face of family values’—I doubt anyone would even give you the time of day.

“You’re vain, and as shallow as a mud puddle. On top of all that, you’re insecure, needy, and quite frankly, useless in every way. I don’t understand how anyone can tolerate you for more than a few hours, even with your ample assets.” His words held a challenging quality, like he was begging her to contradict even one of his cruel statements. His razor tongue had hit the mark. All that he said was true and Jenny knew it, but Nina knew Jenny had plenty of good in her, too. Nina remembered the girl who had befriended her when nobody else would. If only Jenny could see herself in such a light. Given the chance, she could become that girl again.

 “So, why don’t we just get this over with?” Amusement danced within his eyes as the shadow descended, violating Jenny’s mind again, forcing her to see every shameful transgression she had ever committed.  The terror in her mind sharpened as though he were drawing it out, like infection from a festering wound. For the briefest moment, Nina connected with his thoughts and she understood his motivations.

There was enough hurt living in Jenny to feed him for days, but it would never fill his insatiable need for more suffering—and for vengeance. Most of his victims begged for death long before he was finished, but tonight he lacked the patience or the desire to toy with his prey. With a sickening raise of an eyebrow, a loud boom vibrated the windows and Jenny’s blood splattered over the white furniture.

Along with her body crumpling to the floor, Nina witnessed Jenny’s essence collapsing in on itself, until everything she had once been became concentrated into a dense ball tied to a thread of light. The silver cord shined in the darkness of death—the only tether to a failing body. Pulled taut, the string vibrated and finally snapped, and Jenny’s previous existence fell away as she ascended away from her earthly vessel.

Despite the horror of all that just transpired, Nina felt slightly exhilarated by the beautiful journey Jenny’s soul was making. Nina even felt a momentary stab of envy—to be free, to have nothing holding her. A golden light appeared in the darkness and a primal need pleaded for Jenny to soar into the brilliant spiral.

“You don’t really think that is what you are destined for, do you Jenny?” The shadow pulled her away from the light and her essence changed into a mockery of her physical form.

“No!” Nina screamed, grief overcoming sense. Jenny turned her head as if she could sense Nina standing there, but the darkness was pulling her spirit down into the depths of a prison governed by her killer. Nina no longer envied Jenny; her fate was far worse than death.

Still caressing the photo, the monster strolled to the entrance, quietly humming a melodic tune. Reaching for the door, he hesitated, as if he too could feel Nina’s presence. She held her breath, afraid to give him any indication as the shadow paused for a moment before joining its master. A sigh of relief rushed from her lungs as the handle turned, but his final words left her chilling and burning simultaneously.

“Nina, my angel, I’m coming for you.”

The Inner Storm

From the time I was a small, I’ve struggled with sailing. Born a lighthouse, I longed to be a ship. To achieve this, I had to deny my own nature. I struggled to grasp the simplest tasks—like battening down the hatch and holding steady. I watched other ships sail past me with the greatest of ease, and sat overwhelmed by a vast ocean between me and my dreams. I told myself that the opinions of ship-builders didn’t matter. I chose to sail anyway, but an undercurrent brewed beneath the surface, pulling me off-course at every turn. How could I not feel turbulent as I failed in every measure a ship placed value on?

On most days, the storm remained silent, but then I’d have moments when all of the previous turmoil would toss me into the rocks. I’d sit marooned, my mast broken, face to face with the same ocean taunting me. It was times like these when I would pose the same questions over and over and over…

Why have I chosen to travel these waters when I know I can’t keep up?  Haven't I experienced enough loss and heartache already? What made me believe that I had a snowball’s chance in hell of succeeding? In these moments I’d consider scrapping my boat for firewood, but the thought of being left behind was far more painful than starting again. Perhaps the first attempts were just the conditioning for what lied ahead. I knew one thing for sure: quitting was never an option, but I also knew that my vessel wasn’t good enough. I understood that I wasn’t a ship going in, but it didn’t change my impatience as I tore myself down board by board. Stranded in the center of the ocean with no compass to guide me home, I stared at the treacherous waves taunting me to try again. I began to build, and as the new me took shape I gained a new perspective. Perhaps I had reached my destination after all, and my goal wasn’t really an ocean away. I didn’t need to sail anymore, just shine.

I’d set out to build a ship, but in its place stood a lighthouse. This wasn’t what I’d wanted to be, yet I still marveled over the perfection of my purpose. A lighthouse is patient, resilient, and a symbol of hope. It was everything the world of ships had measured and found lacking. A lighthouse can’t sail, but without their constant vigilance ships run aground. The message burned clear. I needed to be what I was born to be. I needed to shine, to remember that I am stronger, and more steadfast than I had ever thought possible.

My light is crucial. It can change lives. It cuts through the darkness, to reach out, to shed a ray of optimism in a frightful world full of turbulent seas. I wasn’t meant to navigate those waters, and that was okay, because I was destined to light the way.

Ships, lighthouses, harbors, wind, and even the sea itself are all in this together, each playing a crucial part, but if a lighthouse is judging its value by its seaworthiness it will always feel incomplete. Every one of us have traveled dark waters, searching for something on the horizon to fulfill the constant pitching in our hearts. We think that seeking and comparing the speed of our vessels is key to quieting the storm that never stops crying out, “I need to go farther, be more, and move faster.”

This world has enough fast-moving ships. What we need are more lighthouses, and safe harbors. The flame of one candle can be seen for miles on the darkest of nights. It is a beacon of fortitude, peace and faith.

If you are a ship, please continue. But if you are weary of sailing turbulent waters in vessel that is taking on too much water, don’t be afraid to seek refuge. I can guide you into safe harbors where you can rest and rebuild. To do so is my purpose. What is yours?

Copper Reign: Book Club

When I first started work on the Heartstone Collection, I wanted to create a story with layers of depth that any level of reader could walk away from wanting to discuss what they’d discovered about themselves. On the surface, the first book, Copper Reign is a love triangle, but if you delve deeper into the core this story is a battle of personal truth. Nina starts out as a weak teenage girl full of insecurity and doubt, and grows into a woman so strong and assured that even the devil himself can’t touch her. It is a right of passage that reflects pieces of many of our lives, and sparks the debate of create or fate.

With all of this in mind, I hosted a dinner at my house with my first readers who just happened to be the neighborhood book club. I wanted to see what type of discussions sparked up from my manuscript, and see if I was on the right track. Unfortunately, little was said. They smiled sweetly, and said they loved my cute little story, and that was that. The real debate took place the next month when I wasn’t able to attend. I live in a very conservative community. Needless to say, there were strong feelings on both sides, but they were too polite to talk about their issues in front of me. I completely understood. I hadn’t explained that my father was Irish. There aren’t very many ways to offend me, but luckily rumors trickled back, and I couldn’t have been happier. I’d hit the sweet spot. Anything sparking that much emotion definitely had my readers thinking. That’s awesome! And what any writer, or book club hostess dares to hope for.

I’ve put together a discussion guide and recipes to help your Copper Reign themed book club be a success, and although my appearance shut down the debate in my neighborhood, I’d still be happy to video chat into yours, or even stop by if you live with a reasonable distance! Find me on Facebook and we’ll talk.

The Recipes:
Drink: Ocean Blues Punch (Sprite mixed with Blue Raspberry Kool-Aid).
Dinner: Shrimp Scampi (saute’ 40 medium-sized shrimp in 1/2 cup of butter and 2 tablespoons of garlic salt, serve with 1 lb of linguine, 2 medium sized zucchini saute’d 1/4 cup of butter, white chardonnay, and garlic bread) serves 6.
Dessert: Angel, and Devil’s Food Cake topped with appealing Strawberries on Cream (mix and bake cakes to boxed specifications, top both with strawberries and whipped cream).
Candy: Chocolate-Covered Cinnamon Bears
The music:

Nina
Bleeding Out—Imagine Dragons
Dark Paradise—Lana Delrey
The Lonely—Christina Perry
Down—Jason Walker
Never Let Me Go—Florence + The Machine

Nate
Come Home—One Republic
Car Crash–Matt Nathanson
Draw Your Swords—Angus & Julia Stone
Wrong Side of Heaven—Five Finger Death Punch
Closer—Kings of Leon

Sinclair
I will Not Bow—Breaking Benjamin
Love Me Again—John Newman
Just One Yesterday—Fallout Boy

Discussion Guide—Copper Reign

In Copper Reign, Nina and her mother face issues beyond our reality, but the way they cope with one another reflects countless parent/child relationships. For better or worse, why do parents feel the need to mold their children into something they’ve pictured?

At the beginning of chapter two, Nina confides in Nate, and instead of judging her for being different he asks her out. How hard was it to take that leap of trust, and why did she hesitate to accept his offer?

The best moment of Nina’s life is quickly snatched away and replaced with tragedy. It’s a common theme throughout the novel. How does Nina cope with adversity in the beginning of the story compared to the end?

After her parents’ death, Nina honors her mother’s last wish, and uses the amulet to lock away her gift. She is held in a holding pattern until the amulet fails, at which time all of her emotion comes flooding back. What do the walls of protection represent, and who is Nina truly facing when her safety crumbles?

Sinauf has discovered her name, and he’s coming for Nina. He’s the embodiment of everything she fears and desires. She’s drawn to him, even after she watches her best friend, Jenny kill herself under his power. This trope goes back to the beginning of women’s lit. Good girls can’t seem to resist the allure of reforming a bad boy. Why is that? And how do these types of relationships differ in actual life?

Nate is everything a girl could want, handsome, attentive, and fun, yet Nina continues to fight loving him. What do you think were the reasons she avoided her feelings, and what methods do you consider Nate’s most effective in overcoming this obstacle?

Sinauf (aka Sinclair Devereux) burns through Nina’s world like a wildfire, consuming her every thought. She’s tricked into betraying Nate, and turns him away. Why did she think this was the right course of action? Here’s a fate, or create moment to question. Would anything have changed if she’d chosen to stay?

Nina’s in hell, quite literally. It’s been revealed that Sinauf and Sinclair are only a couple of a thousand personas the Archangel Lucifer has used throughout his time on Earth. She’s discovered his plan to destroy the world, and her role. Instead of allowing him to use her, Nina decides jump, and her sacrifice opens the Copper Way. Going forward, what will this mean for their world?

After making the right choice Nina falls into Nates arms, secure in the knowledge that he belongs to her. But their troubles aren’t over yet. Discuss the lull before the storm and Nina’s growth through her worst fears coming to pass.

What do you think really defeated Lucifer?

Discuss the epilogue, and what comes next.

Cover Reveal: Copper Reign

Book covers are like an amazing recipe. Starting out, there are all these separate ingredients that are fine by themselves, but if they’re thrown in a pot together, or baked in an oven, they change on a fundamental level. Suddenly, the flavors meld in ways you never imagined, and sometimes, something richer and more decadent than you could’ve ever imagined emerges. This recipe is one of those instances. Lyndsay Johnson caught the essence of Copper Reign by orchestrating the basic themes of this story through her artwork. Then she weaved in subtle lighting and texture to bring this novel to life. All I can say, is this girl can cook a wicked cover!

Let me introduce you to Copper Reign, Book One of the Heartstone Collection:

The tale of Sinauf was a secret nineteen-year-old Nina Douglas’ ancestors kept hidden for generations. But after six-hundred years of concealment, their protection has failed, bringing Nina’s fate into light, and revealing an inescapable truth.

The dark god of legend is real.

Caught in an ancient war still raging in the modern world, Nina is confronted with Sinauf—the embodiment of all she fears and desires. Like a moth drawn to a deadly flame, she must resist the seductive charm of an alluring monster, or prepare for the destruction of an entire universe.

Temptation is known by many names, and he is coming for her

Stained Glass

I was raised in the disease of poverty.

Imagine, beginning at the bottom of a big, dark hole. Desolate, except for the light at the top, and the champions standing too high to reach. They claim that with the slightest bit of effort anyone can climb up. Ropes are thrown down and they cheer encouraging words, frustrated that no one is willing to meet them halfway, but another dynamic plays out below that only the people living it really understand.

To climb not only abandons a way of life, but also a way of thinking. It’s an uphill battle of tremendous weight that doesn’t end when you reach the top.

Twenty years ago, I personally took this journey, and everything I am today is molded through a shattered lens of two perceptions. read more 

Races and Ribbons

When I was ten-years-old, my school had field day. I never liked school events. My parents never came to them, and seeing my peers with their families was a painful reminder of the distance between our worlds. I didn't want to participate. What was the point? I wouldn't win. But my teacher insisted, pointing at a gunnysack. I stepped into the bag and up to the starting line. BOOM. We were off. I didn't try very hard at first, but I realized I had a knack for jumping. I jumped further and faster, and further and faster, and before I knew it, I'd crossed the finish line. They pointed at me and called out,"Six." Six! That meant I'd made it into the next round. I was so excited I could hardly contain myself as I lined up with my classmates. They counted us and there was one too many kids, but they couldn't decide who didn't belong. The refs agreed to go ahead and run the race with thirteen, but I didn't care. I was six, I'd made it. This was a pivotal moment in my life. I'd tasted success, and it suited me. I was as taut as a bow and ready to pounce. The starting gun fired, and I had never moved more quickly. I pushed further and faster, further and faster, further and faster. Once again, I crossed the line and turned to look back. Everyone else had ate my dust.

First place.

You'd think the story would end there, right? It doesn't. I got to hold my pretty blue ribbon for about five minutes. An irate parent claimed that I had cheated, that her son was sixth place and I had no business participating in that race. She ripped the ribbon from my hands and nobody made a move to stop her including the ref who'd named me six. He just stared at his shoes and refused to meet my eyes as I begged him to tell her that I had belonged. This moment was also pivotal. Two conflicting life lessons in a single afternoon, and never raced in field day to win again.

I didn't share this experience to have you feel sorry for me. Many of us have gone through similar trials, but I needed to explain this event to put the rest of this post in perspective.

One year ago, I released my first novel. Hard to believe it's only been that long, yet in some ways it's still surreal. So much growth has taken place since that little girl held her ribbon, but the fear of winning has never really gone away. Most of the time, I keep it hidden. On the outside I project the embodiment of confidence. It's been easy enough for people to believe because I'm involved with some pretty amazing people, and together we've accomplished some pretty remarkable things. But the only reason anything happened in my career was because somebody'd pointed at me and said, "Six." Their faith gained me opportunities not always afforded to debut authors, and I worked my butt off. Pushing further and faster than ever before, I proved their confidence wasn't misplaced. But inside I was ten-years-old again, waiting for someone to take my ribbon. With each new triumph, my feelings of inadequacy grew more weighted, because there was always another race, another way to be assessed and show that I was lacking. The stress of becoming a failure ate holes in my stomach until finally I reached my breaking point. Something had to change. I couldn't continue living in fear of losing everything I'd worked so hard to gain, but how could I possibly fix a flaw so deeply rooted in my psychological make-up? I stepped back to reevaluate, and here's what I discovered:

1) Taking a ribbon from a child may seem heartless, but that wasn't the woman's perception. More than likely she been wounded herself, saw her child hurting, and thought she was doing the right thing. Which leads me to my next point.

2) If something like that happened to one of my kids, I'd totally kick some ass, and how does that make me any different? The problem wasn't the actual conflict, but the feeling of isolation and not having any kind of support.

3) In the end I was holding on to the loss of a piece of material.

Any kind of trophy is symbolic, not the actual victory. My priorities were all screwed up by emotional responses to experiences that needed to be viewed logically. Irrational feelings had allowed some stranger who probably didn't even remember what had happened the power to control to my life, not only in that moment but for many others over the past thirty years.

With this in mind I spent the past few weeks making some tough decisions. I walked away from current my publisher, and in turn he decided to close his doors. We parted amicably, and I will forever be grateful for the run we had together, but if fear hadn't been my motivator I would've left months ago. I let go of my ribbon, but I am no longer scared of what that means. You see, I've lined up lots of times over the past year, and I have many great people supporting me. Really, that's the important part of becoming successful in any endeavor--hard work and the ties that form between like-minded people.

So I'm starting a new race. I'm preparing to go further and faster than ever before, but this time I'm lining up for all the right reasons. I might gain a shiny publishing contract, land an agent, or decide to be indie. Any way, it doesn't matter. Winning the race is more important than how you get there. Regardless of my choice, what I've accomplished will forever be mine to keep.

When It's Your Child

As a part of Secrets and Doors blog tour I volunteered to write a piece about why the Secret Door Society chose JDRF. Admittedly, I’ve been dragging my feet, not because I don’t want to share this story—I do—but it isn’t easy. Looking back on my reality of living with a T1D diabetic has stirred up emotions. The wound is still raw.

Nine years ago my daughter was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. Just like any other mother, I imagined this pretty little girl growing up happy and healthy. Chronic illness wasn’t even a blip on my radar, but six months after her eighth birthday all of that changed. My once sweet and loving child was suddenly angry and confrontational. She didn’t want to go to school, cried her stomach hurt too much, only to be laughing and playing an hour later. My father had died earlier that year, and at first I thought she was having trouble coping with the loss of her grandfather. I took her to the doctor, and he agreed that was probably the cause of her erratic behavior. He gave me the names of several counselors, but drew blood as a precaution.

I’m so glad he did.

Her test results came back a few hours later with a blood sugar reading of 637. A normal range sits at 100. We were lucky. We had caught it early enough to avoid ketoacidosis shock, a condition caused by high blood-sugar that can lead to coma. This was the optimistic phrase delivered to me, but I didn’t feel very fortunate as I drove 40 minutes to the hospital to place her on Diabetic protocol, stealing glances in the rearview mirror. She’d grown so thin. How had that escaped my notice? The signs were there. She was always thirsty. Just that morning I had scolded her for drinking too much in the middle of the night and disrupting her sleep by needing to pee. Later the diabetes signs were easy to see when I thought back on the weeks leading up to her diagnosis, but at the time I'd missed them because I didn’t have a clue what to look for.

When it came to diabetes, my only frame of reference was Steel Magnolias. I’d directed the play in high school and could still recite every line from memory like some kind of sick cosmic joke. One thing was for certain: I couldn’t stand the thought of my baby girl cast in the role of Shelby. Shelby died too young, too soon.

As her parents we carried so many hopes and dreams. With the diagnosis, the simple future we’d pictured for this sweet little angel was torn from us and replaced with fears of kidney failure, amputations, and blindness. I wished with all my heart the diagnosis would’ve been mine.

At the hospital we learned what protocol meant. The staff had to work quickly to rehydrate her and bring dangerous sugar levels down. My daughter was eight and didn’t understand. I can’t begin to explain how hard it was to watch a team of nurses hold my fighting child down and repeatedly stab her with needles, injecting her with life-saving insulin and testing her blood. At the time, all I could hear were her screams; all I could see was the look of betrayal in her big, blue eyes. I stood there, helpless. A mother’s supposed to protect, but all I could do was whisper I’m sorry over and over. Pain became a daily part of her life. Pain from testing. Pain from injections. Pain from the disease itself. Pain is hard, but for T1D kids, pain means life.

T1D is an autoimmune disorder where the immune system malfunctions and attacks the pancreatic beta cells that produce insulin. There is no proven cure at this time. It is estimated that over 5 million people in the United States are affected by this disease, yet it receives very little media attention.

I believe a cure is obtainable within our lifetime, but just like any other project, funding and awareness are crucial. That is why we decided to name the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation as the beneficiary for Secrets and Doors. No charity is closer to the hearts of many of our contributors.

My baby is seventeen now, healthy and happy like I had imagined—at least as healthy as any T1D kid can be. Parents of her peers are worried about college. I worry over prescriptions, rising medical costs, insurance premiums, and deductibles that have doubled every year since 2010.  (Thank you, Obamacare). I’m scared for her future. Just staring out in life as a young adult is hard enough without an added financial burden of a major medical condition that needs constant monitoring and medicine to survive. While the fear never goes away, I’m optimistic. She’s grown into an amazing woman, capable of overcoming any and all obstacles.

Please join us in our support of T1D research by buying a copy of Secrets and Doors. Just like my baby, many others have been robbed of their childhoods. Together we can unlock the door to a brighter tomorrow.

Open the door and unlock the secrets in eleven short stories from The Secret Door Society, an organization of fantasy and science fiction authors dedicated to charitable work. All proceeds from this anthology benefit the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation in their quest to cure Type One Diabetes (T1D).

In these pages you’ll discover a modern woman trapped in an old fashioned dreamscape, a futuristic temp worker who fights against her programming, a beautiful vampire’s secret mission disrupted by betrayal, a sorcerer’s epic battle against a water dragon, the source of magical mirrors—and more. There are tales for every science fiction and fantasy taste, including new works from award-winning authors Johnny Worthen, Lehua Parker, Christine Haggerty, and Adrienne Monson.

Join us in the fight against T1D as you peek into a world of magical and mysterious doorways—if you dare.

Buy your Kindle copy here. And thank you for your support!

Lyndsay Johnson Young Adult Author: Book Review and Author Interview: Copper Descent b...

Lyndsay Johnson Young Adult Author: Book Review and Author Interview: Copper Descent b...: Copper Descent is the first book in the Sentient Chronicles by Angela Hartley. It's a thrilling new take on creation stories that had...

Review: Fire of the Sea

 

Fire of the Sea- by Lyndsay Johnson

The first thing I noticed about this book was how beautiful the cover was. I've met Lyndsay, and I've grown to know her on a personal level. I've decided she’s a lovely human being. Of course I wanted to read her novel, but the artwork would’ve drawn me to the pages of a stranger. For one, the story’s about a mermaid! Not just any mermaid either, but a Meriad based on Norse legend. Think of Hans Christian Anderson’s tale, but placed in modern day and closer to actual Viking myths. You have the evil demigoddess, the Selurs, Silkies, and a princess of the sea who (of course) falls in love with a human.

Lyndsay’s writing was rich and as fluid as the ocean she was describing. Although I am familiar with the myths and could predict the ending, I was never certain of how I would arrive at the ultimate conclusion. The story is told from an intimate first-person perspective, placing you directly in the main character, Aeva’s head. You understand her fears and desires, and want what she wants.

All living sentient creatures desire a love so strong that they are willing to sacrifice half of themselves to be whole with someone else. They want to experience a draw towards another soul that is as tangible as the air we breathe. This is the power of myth, magic, and mysticism. The ancients had a brilliant way of explaining fate, destiny, and tragedy in a belief system that allowed gods to be just as flawed as the humans who worshiped them. Lindsay does an amazing job of capturing this element in her work. I give Fire of the Sea a five-star rating, and would recommend this read for anyone who has a love of myths and mermaids.

You can purchase Fire of the Sea at:

http://www.amazon.com/Fire-Sea-Lyndsay-Johnson-ebook/dp/B00JCZQUGM/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_img_7

The kindle version is only $0.99 for a limited time!

 

 

LYNDSAY JOHNSON grew up in the wide expanses of Texas, where the only thing stronger than the accents was the state pride. An over-active imagination, tale-telling father, and an encouraging librarian mother lead to her love of all things creative.

When it comes to books on her bedside table, young adult lit has always been a favorite (Blue Balliett, Libba Bray, and JK Rowling, to name a few). But it was actually an old, yellowing copy of Scandinavian Folk and Fairy Tales that planted a particularly relentless seed. Shapeshifters and sea nymphs began forming an idea that would eventually grow into Lyndsay’s debut novel, Fire of the Sea.

When she is not writing, you can find Lyndsay spending time with her family in the Rocky Mountains of Utah. She enjoys sitting in dark ­theaters, trying new gluten-free recipes, watching breaking storms over the peaks out her window, and secret naps.

R.J. Craddock - Author: Book, Music and Film Critic: Copper Descent by Angela Hartley - Book Review

R.J. Craddock - Author: Book, Music and Film Critic: Copper Descent by Angela Hartley - Book Review: “Copper Descent” is the tale of Nina Douglas, a Native American girl with a secret. She walks into the dream world, even though her mothe...

Nonsensical Essentials (and other such gibberish): Guest Post by Angela Hartley: Seven Gates, seven B...

Nonsensical Essentials (and other such gibberish): Guest Post by Angela Hartley: Seven Gates, seven B...: Today I have Angela Hartley here, telling us about her newly released novel Copper Descent and her writing journey. Seven Gates, Seven ...

View From The Crystal Ball: Copper Descent

Terra Luft interviewed me and wrote a review for Copper Descent. Check it out:



View From The Crystal Ball: Copper Descent: This is my first author interview as part of a cool thing called a blog tour. (Don't worry, I didn't know what they were either...) ...

A Letter to My Monkey on Her Seventeenth Birthday

 

            My dearest, sweetest Kiernen,

            First and foremost, I want you to know what an honor it has been to be your mother. I so admire your strength, cherish your heart, and stand in awe of your loyalty and sense of compassion. To know you is to love you. You are remarkable in every way, and truly a gift in my life.

            It’s hard for me to comprehend that my monkey is on the cusp of adulthood. It seems like only yesterday, you were a gorgeous blue-eyed baby cradled in my arms. So many images are running through my mind as I write this. How can I summarize seventeen years of cherished memories in words? You’ve gone through more than most people will experience in a lifetime of living. It would take a book, and even if I could write that story, it wouldn’t ever capture the essence of your Kierneness. You’re just too amazing for words, soldiering through hardships even I’ve struggled to face at times.

For the past nine years, I’ve mourned the loss of your childhood. I’ve been unable to take away your pain or answer the “Why me?” question. The truth is, I don’t know why. You’re old enough to realize that I don’t always have all the answers. I’m not in control of everything that happens in our lives, and I am human. No one knows better than I that I am far from perfect, but I do have faith that everything we experience is part of a plan greater than just ourselves. I believe in times of hardship we are shaped into something greater than we would have become otherwise. I know one thing is for certain. You have grown strong, and wise beyond your age, and I am proud of the woman you have become.

The hard stuff is already figured out. Now you’re just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up with you.  You’ve learned the value of honor and carry a strong sense of right and wrong. Mostly, you’ve discovered what really matters. The rest is just white noise.

I want you to know that it’s okay to have fun, and get your hands a little dirty. Live your life instead of watching from the sidelines. Sure, you might fall and scrape your knuckles, but then again, you may not. You’ll never really know unless you decide to play. Know that I will always be here, cheering you on.

I love you!

Mom

 

Copper Descent Interview

I had the pleasure of being interviewed by Erin Britt this week. Charlie ate my chocolate cinnamon bears, but we mostly talked about my upcoming release:

http://erinrbritt.com/2014/04/01/author-corner-angela-hartley/

Failing with Trees and Children

When my husband and I decided to start a family, we went into it knowing the path wouldn't be very easy. Parenting is a thankless job on a road full of disappointments and endless setbacks. Sometimes it's hard to keep trudging forward when I feel like I'm failing in every aspect, and then there are the days of elation that make all of the tears and sleepless nights worthwhile. I try to hold this course, but the stupid map never reads the same. Just when I think I've learned how to follow the compass, the center of gravity shifts, pulling the needle in another direction. I spend more time hopelessly lost than on point, but I'm a stubborn person with a one track mind. I'm their mom, and I'm committed to raising these little versions of us to be fully functional adults. Believe me when I say that I don't have all the answers. I screw up all the time, but I think sometimes this might be a good thing. It teaches them that I am human, and there is also some validity in this statement:

            Through failure, strength is gained, and in this strength, confidence grows.

Three flowering pear trees grow in our front yard. My husband and I planted them soon after we moved in. A year later, we discovered they didn't move very well when a truck backed into the first one and it laid over. I didn't think the poor little thing would survive the trauma, but seven years later it's not only living but thriving better than the other two. The smallest of the three sits in the middle. Protected and sheltered from the brunt of the elements it didn't need wander out of its comfortable little space.

As parents, our natural instinct is to shelter our children, but I think it's time to ask ourselves a very important question. Are we stunting their growth by doing so? I'll admit I'm guilty of going mama bear at times, but the challenge runs even deeper than that. Our schools have started carrying policies like 'no child left behind', sexual harassment charges are brought up on five-year-olds for a simple game of kissing tag, and youth competitive sports teams award mediocrity in fear of damaging self-esteem. Even the word self-esteem is so integrated into our society that we don't stop to reflect on its meaning. The definition is to hold yourself in a high regard. Think of the message of entitlement using this term is sending out.

I prefer to use self-confidence, which is faith in one's abilities. Children need to fail. They need to make mistakes, and then try again, and again, and again until they finally taste success, but why would anyone want to put forth so much effort if the reward at the end is exactly the same? This is the root of the problem. The difference between self-esteem and self-confidence isn't recognized in our youth, but they do realize when they gain something that isn't earned. It eats away and taints their perception of the world they live in.

Instead of enforcing this sense of privilege, we need honor true accomplishment. Allow them to travel their own crazy, imperfect paths with a comfortable awareness of their limitations, and a humble appreciation for their gifts. They will only grow as far as they believe they can reach, as far as we push them to thrive. Let’s back the truck up and bump them out of their comfort zones from time to time. Teach them solve their messy problems, and live with the consequences of those decisions. Hand them a compass that only works some of the time while they still have a guide to lead the way.

I truly believe that all children are resilient, and capable of amazing feats. They are the future of our world. I will encourage mine to screw up as often and spectacularly as I do.

 

A Tribute to Paul Columbo

Paul Columbo was significant to many of us, and I was deeply saddened to hear of his passing this last week. My high school existence wouldn’t have had the same topography without his friendship. He had a light in his soul and one of those personalities that always gravitated people in his direction.

For those of you who didn't know me when I was younger, I first have to explain that I was painfully back then. This will be a shocker to some of you, I know, but it is true none the less. I first met Paul at R&A Market in Helper when I worked at my parents’ pie shop down the street. He asked me out a week before my sophomore year began, I think mostly because his parents, Richard and Kathy liked me and prompted him to do so. I don't think I said more than two or three words that entire first date, but Paul didn't make it awkward. He filled the silence, talking about his ’57 Chevy, car shows, and football training. For weeks afterwards, I ducked around corners avoiding any contact. It wasn’t very logical, but this was how my adolescent mind dealt with most things, including crushes. I kept hidden until he had a girlfriend, and then (phew!) I could talk to him like a normal human being once again.

A few months later, Paul and his girlfriend broke up right before Preference. I still had a little crush and I decided this was my big chance! I would ask him to the dance, and I wouldn’t be a blundering idiot this time around. It was certainly a nice theory, but of course, it didn’t go quite the way I had planned in my head. I had to start out by making the experience as excruciatingly uncomfortable as I possibly could. You see, I wasn’t aware of ‘dance asking etiquette.’ Apparently, you’re supposed to send the question in a cutsie sort of way and wait for a reply a few days later, but not me.  No siree. This would have been too easy, and certainly couldn’t roll that way.  I decided to run up in front of all of his friends in Grand Canyon hallway and shouted at him like a person suffering from Tourettes. “Will you go to Preference with me?!” After a moment of shock, he smiled and answered “Yes.” We stood there in silence for a minute or so while Stephanie Jarvi laughed her butt off, and then I was like, “I think I’m gonna go now.”

Despite my lovely start, we actually had a really fun night, but never tried our hand at dating again. We did attempt to kiss a few years later, but it didn’t work. We both cracked up laughing so hard in the middle that my stomach stitched for days. We’d fallen into a brother and sister role, and mutually agreed that it was too bizarre to consider being anything else.

We lost touch over the years, but I am so grateful for the modern technology that has brought so many amazing people back into my life. It was fun catching up with him over the past couple of years. My heart is breaking for his wife, Christy and their four children. The pictures he’s shared show how much he loved them all. Even though I haven’t spoken to Rich and Kathy for a very long time, I still care for both of them. Words of comfort are eluding me, but I wanted to share this memory and say he was a really great guy who’ll be missed by so many. To all of those who loved him, you will remain in my thought and prayers.