Friend Friday ~ Beware Lexical Ambiguity by T.C. Worthington

Don't you just marvel how some people seem able to take the simplest concept and make it sound sophisticated and complicated? Okay. Don't do that!


The title of my offering today refers to language, which is unclear, by virtue of being open to interpretation or having more than one meaning.


In many genres, especially mystery and suspense, one might not want to spell out every detail up front. It is, of course, fun to tease and leave a reader wondering what will happen next. Who is the culprit? Which lover will the heroine choose? How can the hero possibly save the day? 


However, too much obscurity or vagueness can leave a reader confused and frustrated. It can also lead to incorrect conclusions on the part of a reader, adding more confusion. That is never good.


Granted, some ambiguity may be influenced by context. Terms, descriptions, or other information might seem vague if used in one way, but clearer if used in another.
Unfortunately, not all authors are skilled in the use of ambiguity and not all plots or situations lend themselves readily to its use.


For the most part, authors should aim for clarity, and avoid leaving readers guessing at their meaning.


Frustrated readers often leave a book unfinished. Worse yet, they may return it for a refund, and might even post an uncomplimentary review. Those are three things no author ever wants!

Friend Friday ~ Rosanna Leo

Why I Love Paranormal Men

     I remember the first time a supernatural being turned my crank.  It was a delicious sensation and so new.  Don’t get me wrong.  I’ve been reading about ghosts and vampires since I was a kid, but Count Dracula and Nosferatu never managed to turn me on. 

     Count Chocula stood a better chance. 

     But then I saw the sublime Gary Oldman in the role of the afore-mentioned fanged nobleman.  Something changed in young Rosanna that day.  Something indefinable and wonderful was awakened in me.

     It was the first time a paranormal creature made my heart race for reasons other than fear.  Picture Gary if you will.  The velvet coats and top hats.  The brooding.  The pale skin and the broken heart.  Scrumptious.

     I’ve had a lot of time to consider it and have come to the following conclusion: there’s something incredibly appealing about the idea of an immortal man pining for me for an eternity.  With an undead lover, that is indeed a possibility.

     However, it’s not simply longevity that appeals to me.  Think of your favorite paranormal hero.  Generally he possesses other choice traits as well.  Superhuman strength is generally a given.  That’s a big plus.  Speaking as a woman who often has trouble opening jars, a hero with great brawn is a huge score.

     There’s also something to be said for lovemaking abilities.  Envision a Greek god or a centuries-old vampire or even a werewolf who ages at a slow pace.  These guys have been around the block once or twice.  It stands to reason that they might have picked up some interesting tricks for the bedroom…or graveyard, or your choice of venue.

     They’re also usually well-travelled.  I like that in a man.  I love the idea that my paranormal lover might have fought on the battlefield at Culloden or worn a toga in ancient Greece, or even danced at a Regency ball.  Think of the conversation!  If you choose to indulge in conversation, that is.

     As much as I adore the heroes of our modern world, I relish a tale with a sexy supernatural.  Be he Fae or were, vamp or god, send them all my way.

     I have a few good ideas what to do with them! 


New Release: Up in Flames

Buy Link Amazon

Juliet Baker is not looking forward to coming home after six months. Yes, the fiery brunette wants to make a go of turning her parents' farmhouse into a B&B. She’s just not looking forward to seeing the place where they died. To make things worse, she knows she'll finally have to face her cheating, firefighter ex-boyfriend.

Luckily, her sister has found Jules a boarder. Easy money, right? Not when she realizes the boarder is Captain Shane Gaskill. Not only is Shane a firefighter, he’s the town's hot new fire captain.

Jules is determined to hate all firefighters. After all, the men of that precious brotherhood protected her cheating ex. Shane, however, proves he’s different from the start. He's protective and kind, and she can't stop looking at his smoking, Viking-hot body. She learns, though, that Shane isn't so willing to love again either. He's been hurt, too. They both fight the sexual chemistry, and resulting tenderness, between them. But when a stalker begins to target Jules, they realize they can't fight their desire forever.

As the threats escalate, Shane and Jules are thrown together. The resulting passion overwhelms them.  But are they willing to trust each other and surrender to the flames of love?

Be sure to visit Rosanna's blog 

Friend Friday ~ Natasha Blackthorne

This week Friday's Friend is Natasha Blackthorne.


Blurb: Book one in the Regency Risks Series


He is her most dangerous temptation, the only man she has ever trusted and now he is demanding her submission. Dare she take the risk?


Emotionally scarred in the horrific accident that took her husband’s life, Lady Cranfield is imprisoned by her lingering terror of horses and carriages. Lady Cranfield longed to be closer to the fascinating Earl of Ruel. She sensed intuitively that he could teach her how to overcome the terrors that held her in bondage.


And now she’s willing to risk almost anything-her reputation, even her virtue-to find out. But what he proposes startles her.


When the shy, studious and socially awkward young widow approached him, Ruel instantly sensed she would be the sweetest, most submissive experience of a lifetime-if only he can gain her total and complete trust. He makes her a non-negotiable offer. His help in return for her submission and obedience.


But Lady Cranfield grew up neglected by her ducal parents, raised by servants and then later ignored by her handsome, charming husband. She’s learnt to protect her heart at all costs and she trusts no one but herself.


How can the jaded Earl of Ruel break through her self-protective defences and show her how to love when he has spent his lifetime avoiding that tender trap?


Reader Advisory: This is a work of historical fiction, it is not meant to be an accurate portrayal of or guide to how people recover from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is also not meant to be an accurate portrayal of modern BDSM or D/s lifestyles.


Excerpt


“Why did you run away?” His deep voice settled in her belly, rich and warm, like crème brûlée on a cold winter’s night.

“Because I wanted you to follow.” She tried to sound sophisticated and seductive, but her voice choked off on the last word.

Ruel placed his hand on the shelf above her head and blocked her path to the door. His tall, solidly muscled body leaned over her, surrounding her with the sumptuous, sinful scents of tobacco, Scotch whisky and something masculine and undeniably dangerous. A slow, sensual smile stretched his hard mouth.

He appeared different. Softer. More approachable.

At the change, her insides seemed to flip over.

“Well, sweeting, getting us off alone was a very inspired idea.” He touched one of her fallen ringlets. “I am bored to distraction with endless hunting and fencing.”

As he slowly wrapped the curl around two fingers, he brushed her collarbone. Fiery sparks tingled down her spine, so intense that she shivered and her nipples beaded, pressing against her stays. By some instinct she hadn’t even known she possessed, she arched her back, presenting herself for his assessment.

His eyes shone so vividly blue against his bronzed face that they resembled cornflowers. She swallowed tightly and wished for a long drink of claret. This more personal side of him suddenly seemed far more hazardous than his usually fierce exterior.

Well, no matter. There was nothing to fear. She would allow only as much contact as need be to get to know him a little. Since being torn from her lonely yet secure life in Ireland and thrust into society at age sixteen, she’d spent her time allowing people only as near as was comfortable. She was an expert at emotional evasion.

It should be easy to regain her control.

But now, as late afternoon sun rays played over his pale hair, turning it to the colour of winter wheat, all her carefully rehearsed words flew away.

Say something—anything—else he will think you’re a bird-wit.

An intimate smile, one that invited her to play, tugged at his mouth.

“In a situation like this, alone with a gentleman, it’s perfectly normal for a lady to feel some apprehension.” His hushed voice, barely audible above the piano and boisterous singing from down the corridor, accentuated their isolation. He brushed his fingertips over her cheek and his gaze became so piercing that she had to lower her eyes. “She will invariably ask herself if he will try to kiss her.”

She jerked her eyes back to his face. God, he couldn’t mean to—Not yet, surely… Peculiar, heated chills swept over her. She tried to take a step back, but found her arse flush against the bookshelf.

He leaned closer; so close that his Scotch-scented breath tickled her face. “And just in case you are wondering, Lady Cranfield—the answer is most assuredly yes.”

She should demand that he put his arm down so she could pass by and leave. She really should. But she couldn’t stop looking at his hard mouth and wondering what it would feel like upon hers. He was so close to her, his breath blew on her lips. If she moved but a fraction, she’d be kissing him.

Kissing him.

Dear God. Her breath began to come very fast and short. Her throat went tight with a suppressed moan.

His eyes burnt as brightly as aquamarines. He looked so fierce. If he kissed her, if he dared… Oh God, it would be so harsh. That cruel-looking mouth could express itself no other way.

Excitement rushed through her, sending tingles to every point of her body, even her toes.

But no, he wouldn’t. Not yet.

He kept leaning closer. He didn’t close his eyes. Instead, he seemed to focus all the harder upon her.

Heart pounding and unable to move away, she braced herself for his assault.

His lips brushed hers, barely. A gossamer caress.
He lifted his head.

It was done.

Ended.

And it hadn’t even begun.

He held her chin, appearing so cool, so unaffected. His kiss had seemed to sear her. An urge to put her fingers to her lips arose in her. She resisted it, for it would give away too much of how she was affected.

Never show your feelings.

He traced his thumb along her lower lip, slowly, deliberately, as he studied her with eyes that now glittered with something powerful and predatory. Heat pooled in her pelvis, low and spreading even lower.

She went weak all over, as if she’d lain in a sunny window seat for too long. Her knees almost buckled. She forced them to lock. To be strong.

It should not have affected her so profoundly. It had just been a peck—not a true kiss at all. William had poured out all of his skill upon her and hadn’t garnered even a tenth of the reaction in her that this man’s peck had.

Ruel traced her jaw line with his fingertips. Unthinkingly, she leaned in to his touch.

“Of course, once he has kissed her, then it’s his turn to wonder…” His voice sounded unnaturally loud to her ears. “How will she respond? Will she withdraw, or can he ignite some hidden fire?”

She sensed that he was toying with her. She’d didn’t understand flirtation—why had she imagined she could carry this ruse off? Was he making advances in order to have a laugh with Francesca and her simpering friends later? Hurt blossomed in her chest. She resented him for that. She ought to feel indignant, superior, uncaring—anything but hurt.

“Please don’t make sport of me.”

She cringed. Was that quavering, pleading voice really hers?

An infinitesimal pause. “Now, why on earth would I do such a thing?” His voice was as smooth as velvet.

“To please your vanity,” she replied, trying to regain her wits.

“Here.” He placed her hand to his chest. The contours of his muscles were hard, powerfully developed. Even more so than she’d expected. His body heat radiated through the satin and, beneath her hand, his heart beat was rapid and strong.

“Is that vanity?” He put a finger under her chin, giving her no choice but to face him. “Is it?” He gentled his grip.

The warmth in his voice settled over her like luscious hot chocolate. Melting her insides to quivering burgoo, rendering her speechless, unable to move.

“My dear, lovely Lady Cranfield, I am going kiss you again.”

Then he touched his mouth to hers, more firmly this time. Delicious, steady pressure. Her lips trembled and she clutched his lapels. He lifted his head. At the loss, a throaty, pleading moan sounded in her ears. Had it really come from her?

Clearly, now was the time for her to reassert some control over her reactions. To put him at a more comfortable distance.

“Kiss me back.” At the commanding edge in his voice, hot, sweet honey pooled in her belly.

No. Focus.

 What had she wanted to ask him? Focus? Dear God, what rubbish. She could scarcely remember her own name, much less anything else. What madness had made her think she could maintain control over him?

He traced her mouth with his tongue. Deliberately; lingeringly. This time she couldn’t hold back a moan. She had grown to dislike it when William kissed her opened mouthed. It had always seemed such an overheated, messy thing. But where was her coldness now? She was burning to know what it would feel like to know Ruel’s full kiss. She had to know—just once—or she would surely die.

Just once. Certainly once wouldn’t hurt.

Tentatively, tremulously, she opened her mouth.

He thrust inside, his tongue like a bold blade of flame as it touched hers. He tasted of whisky and something smoky, too sensual to be borne. Fire burst within her, spreading over her breasts. Of their own volition, her hands slid up his muscled arms and she gripped his shoulders and moaned again.
She twisted and pressed her breasts against his chest, trying to increase the sensation on her taut, aching nipples. However, her stays prevented it. Her frustration vibrated deep in her throat, another longer, more intense moan.

The sound startled her and, for a moment, it was as if she was staring down at the two of them. She didn’t recognise herself, but she couldn’t stop kissing him back. Couldn’t stop rubbing her breasts against him.

Who was this uninhibited strumpet? His breathing changed, growing heavier. He cupped her face with his large, long-fingered hands, angling her head. She went even more boneless and allowed him to move her as suited his wont.

He probed more forcefully with his tongue, went deeper, compelling her to open further, to melt against him more completely. He slid his hand to her neck and threaded his fingertips through her hair. He lifted the heavy mass off her neck. Cool air rushed over her nape. In one quick movement, he tightened his hold and, with gentle but firm pressure, he pulled her head back. Her shocked gasp came out as a mere whimper, muffled by his demanding mouth.

No man had ever handled her like this. She’d never even suspected a gentleman would handle a woman—even one of his whores—like this. If she had any sense left, she ought to be frightened, offended—enraged.

Instead, her nipples pebbled painfully and heat twisted through her insides.

He tore his mouth from hers. As she gasped for breath, a sense of loss hit her so intensely that she felt disorientated. She stood there, leaning against his hard body, panting open-mouthed, with her head pulled backwards by his grip.

He studied her and tightened his grasp, pulling more harshly this time. A violent shaft of desire stabbed her, womb-deep.

Warmth, and what looked very much like satisfaction, shone in his gaze.

He laid his other hand along her collarbone in what could only be called a blatant, sexually possessive manner. The skin crinkled around his eyes. He was smiling, ever so slightly. Something had just happened. She didn’t understand what it was. If only she could think, she would be able to reason it out. However, liquid warmth pooled in her lower pelvis and flowed out between her legs in a gush that came so suddenly she gasped. Her sex throbbed as if it were a beating heart.

Coherent thought was impossible.

He shifted and throbbing heat seared her, even through their clothing.

His erection.

Its long, thick, tubular weight was more substantial than William’s.

Ruel brushed his fingers against her back. Tugging, pulling.

Undoing her laces.

She froze and placed her hands on his chest. “Don’t.”

The gown slipped and she automatically clutched the dark purple silk to herself.

He took hold of her wrists, easily circling them with the forefinger and thumb of each hand. “Let the gown fall away.”

He used the voice. The one from the dreams she only reluctantly admitted to herself. The very confident, commanding tone that the nameless, faceless man used in her nocturnal fantasies. Her secret lover who would press her down and—

“I want you to remove the rest of your garments and then I want you to lie on that crimson divan and display yourself for me.”

She threw a glance at the divan, her favourite spot in this whole house. The image his words conjured—her, lying naked on the crimson velvet, open for his perusal—burnt into her brain. Her inner muscles contracted several times—hard. The folds between her legs swelled and grew slicker.

Of course, despite her wayward dreams, she didn’t really want to do something like that.

Couldn’t possibly.

She barely knew Ruel. Yet there was that innate sense that she could trust him. That she could give in to his whims and it would be safe. A secret shared between them. Temptation tingled through her, increasing with every beat of her heart.

Reckless.

She had never been reckless in her life. A trembling began in her legs.

She turned back to him. His features were tight with desire, his stare commanding and compelling. She wanted to be reckless with this man.

“The door is locked. The others aren’t going to come in here—the gentlemen are all occupied with fencing and the ladies are busy with their watercolours.”

She’d never allow herself the luxury of surrendering to this. For this was pure emotion and it would be giving him too much of herself.

“I won’t do it.” She had intended to make her tone resolute. That thready, pleading voice couldn’t possibly be hers.

“It would please me.” His firm tone sent a new wave of lassitude through her limbs.

Need twisted in her lower stomach and a fresh cascade of wetness slicked her intimate folds. It slid down her inner thighs.

Wait—How had they come to this moment? Where the devil was the reserve and sexual coolness that had driven William into other arms? This virtual stranger held some kind of special power over her. God. It was unthinkable. It was terrifying.
“No.” Her strident denial echoed jarringly in her ears.

He released her wrists.

She pulled the gown up high and clutched it tight. She wanted to run. She should run. But his large, strong body still stood between her and the exit. Would he really attempt to stop her if she tried to flee? Her heart pounded at the thought. Because she knew that if he put his hands on her and stopped her, especially if he did it as forcefully and firmly as he’d behaved thus far, she’d melt for him.

What a revelation! She’d never suspected such a creature existed in her secret heart, waiting for someone to come along and draw her out.

“You’d better leave now.” She pushed the words past her shaking lips.


Buy Link for A Measured Risk: http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=1608


Natasha Blackthorne's sites:


http://natashablackthorne.blogspot.com


My newsletter: http://groups.yahoo.com/adultconf?dest=%2Fgroup%2Femotionalevocativeerotic%2Fjoin


White Lace and Promises ~ Grey and Beth's passionate battle of wills continues. Coming Dec 26, 2011


Alex's Angel ~ He needs her to believe in him a lot more than she needs his protection. Coming Feb 28, 2012

Friend Friday ~ Don't Shoot Yourself in the Foot

As a avid reader and book lover, as well as an active editor, I have great respect for the creative effort of those who are able to express themselves well as they inform, amuse, thrill, and generally entertain me.


In the course of my work, I usually tend to proofread, edit, and correct mistakes that I find. However, mellow old farts like me tend to be in the minority in the literary world. In talking with colleagues, there are things that writers do which bother us all. Writers should beware of becoming lazy and careless, lest from excellent work over which they labored be rejected because of simple and easily remedied errors. 


These are just a few of the pet peeves editors have with authors’ works:

Stifling Your Muse

In poring over some authors’ fiction works, I am struck by what starts as a good premise degenerates into more of a essay or a report. Rules of writing are meant to help one express themselves clearly. They are not meant to inhibit or curtail authors’ imagination. Take a deep breath, dare to dream, and write from your soul. Does what you have written make you excited, sad, amused, or hot? If so, chances are that enthusiasm will be communicated to and felt by your reader.

Point of View

Are you really sure who is telling your story? If you are writing in the first person, remember that you cannot get inside of the head of other characters. In you are writing in the third person be careful of too many shifting, conflicting, and confusing points of view. While showing different characters thoughts and feelings it’s a good thing, especially with a smooth and logical transition, you don’t want to have your reader dizzy and disoriented from constantly switching back and forth.

Ignoring the Rules

Not heeding rules of grammar and punctuation can be a fatal with some editors and publishers. If your not sure, look it up. It matters. Literary license is one thing. Laziness is inexcusable. Fragmented or one word sentences for dramatic emphasis and effect are acceptable, provided they are not a recurring element. Otherwise, their use shout that the author has no grasp of basic writing skills, or respect for the reader.

Too Many Subplots 

Subplots can help generate suspense and add depth to a story. Too many of them however, merely leave a reader wondering what the heck is going on and why.

Yawn Time

Too much description and explanation, in lieu of action related to the plot, can bring a good story down in a hurry. Readers don’t really need to know every detail about every minor character. Don’t do it. 


There is a reason for a rough draft. While you should not edit and correct when you are first writing your story and letting your creative juices flow, do take time later to go over your work and ensure it’s the best it can be. 


Contributing friend this week is T.C. Worthington. T.C. is Editor-in-Chief of Southern Desires Publishing. He lives with his dog Barney, smoke cheap cigars, drinks good bourbon, and enjoys fishing. 

Friend Friday with Karen Cote' ~ Join the Fight!

This week's Friday Friend is Karen Cote', who is giving us facts on Diabetes, a growing epidemic.

What is Diabetes?

Diabetes is a lifelong (chronic) disease in which there are high levels of sugar in the blood.


Causes, incidence, and risk factors


Insulin is a hormone produced by the pancreas to control blood sugar. Diabetes can be caused by too little insulin, resistance to insulin, or both.


To understand diabetes, it is important to first understand the normal process by which food is broken down and used by the body for energy. Several things happen when food is digested:


A sugar called glucose enters the bloodstream. Glucose is a source of fuel for the body.


An organ called the pancreas makes insulin. The role of insulin is to move glucose from the bloodstream into muscle, fat, and liver cells, where it can be used as fuel.


People with diabetes have high blood sugar because their body cannot move sugar into fat, liver, and muscle cells to be stored for energy. This is because either:
-Their pancreas does not make enough insulin
-Their cells do not respond to insulin normally
-Both of the above


There are three major types of diabetes. The causes and risk factors are different for each type:


Type 1 diabetes can occur at any age, but it is most often diagnosed in children, teens, or young adults. In this disease, the body makes little or no insulin. Daily injections of insulin are needed. The exact cause is unknown.


Type 2 diabetes makes up most of diabetes cases. It most often occurs in adulthood, but teens and young adults are now being diagnosed with it because of high obesity rates. Many people with type 2 diabetes do not know they have it.


Gestational diabetes is high blood sugar that develops at any time during pregnancy in a woman who does not have diabetes.


Diabetes affects more than 20 million Americans. Over 40 million Americans have pre-diabetes (early type 2 diabetes).


Symptoms
-High blood sugar levels can cause several symptoms, including:
-Blurry vision
-Excess thirst
-Fatigue
-Frequent urination
-Hunger
-Weight loss


Because type 2 diabetes develops slowly, some people with high blood sugar have no symptoms.


Symptoms of type 1 diabetes develop over a short period of time. People may be very sick by the time they are diagnosed.


More of this PubMed Health Article @ http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0002194/


Thanks to Brenda Novak’s Annual Auction for the Cure of Diabetes, more monies are being raised to help combat this disease.


Here’s a message from Brenda on her auction:


So far, we have raised over $1.3 million–and hope to break $2 million in the near future. In order to make that happen, we are gearing up for another great year, so be sure to keep an eye on all the great items our generous donors are contributing. The auction will open on May 1st and run through May 31st. Make sure you register as a shopper so that you get all the notices that will be going out. You wouldn’t want to miss the fun–this is such an easy way for us to join together to make a difference!


I’ve had the pleasure of helping get the word out on Brenda’s Auction and I am overwhelmed at the prizes being donated for people to bid on. Come over and see a sample of the prizes, as well as links to connect to the auction at http://www.karencote.tv/writers-pen-for-charity-lounge


Now is never a better time to join the fight!


Karen Cote’
Romantic Suspense Author
www.karencote.tv

Friend Friday with Davin Kimble

Welcome to Friend Friday. My guest blogger this week is my good friend Davin Kimble.

For Love and Writing

Love.


There is still a part of me that believes that love is a mental dysfunction. The term ‘mental dysfunction’ is used to describe conditions that cause people to have disturbed thinking, behaviour and moods. Let me ask you, what sane person would go through the trials we go through for love? Only love can cause the mental break that would allow one to forget themselves. And after love is lost … Do we find ourselves as we were? No. We find ourselves irreparably altered broken and repaired, distorted in the image we have for ourselves. But we love anyway. Rarely by choice we find ourselves drawn and compelled to love. Love, some say, is like God. Omnipotent, all encompassing and larger than our understanding.


Writing.


There is still a part of me that thinks the drive to write is a mental dysfunction. Let me ask you, what sane person would go through the trials we go through to produce a good piece of work? Let’s not even debate a GREAT piece of work. Writing causes a different type of mental break than love does. Hell a mental break is almost required of you in order to write and write well. We take ourselves outside of reality and into a world that exists only in our minds. Then we torture ourselves translating what we see in that world onto the page. Once is never enough. Once we’re done with one piece, like addicts, we begin another, sometimes more than one at a time. It’s a lonely suffering but we write anyway one keystroke at a time over and over. But we write anyway. Rarely by choice we find ourselves drawn and compelled to write. 


Love and writing are like alcoholism, or drug addiction. They are mental dysfunctions that we find some sense of peace, some solace within. They make us feel both terrible and terrific at once. They fill us with dread and with desire. They are states of being that we both cheer and despair. 


I write for love and I write of love. Love inspires my writing and writing leads me to understand love. In order to be a good writer you need two essential elements, love and truth. If your writing is done in anything but love the reader will know it. If you fudge the truth your readers will know it and all your efforts will be for naught. Writers suffer for the love of their work a dual mental condition. I think I’ll coin it … Lufian Writian. Add it to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.

Davin Kimble lives in and writes from Stephenville, Texas. He takes every writing project as an opportunity to become a better writer. From pen pals, to blogging Davin is always looking for reasons to expand his knowledge of and skill with the written word. You can find him around the web under the screen name davinkwriter. His most recent published works include pieces in local Publishing house Twit Publishing’s PULP! Volumes 1, 2, and 3. He is currently working on two novels "Donovan,” a story about a 30 year old propaganda writer in a future war-torn America, and what is designed to be a four book series about the apocalypse. He also writes a blog that needs more attention The Kimble View Point. Recently enrolled in the Full Sail Creative Writing for Entertainment BFA program he is learning how to expand his story telling abilities into new mediums.

Davin Kimble

Writer/Editor - Creator