Happy Valentine’s Day! Can You #Help Me Out?

As you know,  I’ve been bombarding you with the news that ALL of my #Kindle books are free this week.

Today, I ran a Freebooksy promotion for Fireflies and it’s going like hot cakes!

As of this writing, the book is sitting at #100 on the Kindle top 100 Free list!

Did I mention today is also my birthday? 🙂

If Fireflies could make it to the #1 free Kindle book on Amazon, that would be the best birthday present I could get!

Please share with your friends and let me know you shared it, so I can enter you to win a free audiobook of either Fireflies, Hope From the Ocean or Ivory Dawn.

Here’s the link to go and download Fireflies right now!FREE BOOKSDon’t forget! ALL of my books are free this week!

Thank you so much for reading and sharing!


You’re Nobody ‘Till Somebody Loves You



Everything written here is true to the best of my knowledge. All of these statements came directly from my mother or other family members.

Ever since I was a little girl, I was told who my grandfather was, what he did for a living and why he wasn’t in our lives. It didn’t really matter to me as he had died when I was too young to even know what a grandfather was. As a small child, I never questioned or challenged this explanation. I never really thought about it much to be honest, until I was older and my mother and her family explained more to me about it and the who’s and why’s of the whole saga that was my mother’s birth and early childhood. I’m sure there’s even more to this story but I will share with you what was passed down to me, as this is the “rest of the story” as “they” say.

My mother was born on August 12, 1923 in Toledo Ohio. All of her mother’s family were nestled in the Alleghany Mountains in Nanticoke, PA and had been since shortly after they arrived in America from Cardiff Wales in the late nineteenth century. They were coal miners. They were hard working, honest, first and second generation Americans and proud of it.

My grandmother was ahead of her time. Perhaps even a little too far ahead when it came to a slightly younger but very talented young man, whom she apparently had quite an attraction to and whom obviously felt the same way about her. This younger man was an accomplished musician and was for the most part self-taught and yet as a teen, he worked in the Pennsylvania coal mines. Not for long though. He was on his way to bigger and better things. However, one night or day or afternoon in December of 1922, he assisted my grandmother in conceiving a child who would end up being my mother, nine months later.

Did I mention they weren’t married? Did I mention that it was relayed to me by my mother by way of her mother and later confirmed by me through passport records found on Ancestry.com, that this young man’s parents were not fond of the idea of him having a child out-of-wedlock and therefore, he suddenly came upon the opportunity to marry someone else and was on a plane to Europe in what seemed like a whirlwind, with a fabulous opportunity to study music?

Well good for him right?

My grandmother was single and pregnant in 1923. Not so good for her. Luckily, she was a lovely young woman and as it was explained to me, a very nice young man who was a friend, with an already established family business and an already established affection for my dear grandmother, agreed to marry her and give my mother a “name” as they used to say. However, my grandmother ended up leaving her little home town anyway and moving with an aunt in Toledo…where nobody knew her.

That’s just how it was done in those days.

From this point on, I only know bits and pieces but I’m sharing them with you now. My grandmother worked nights and sometimes days and nights and she boarded my mother with babysitters. Apparently, throughout the years, they moved around quite a bit and then finally ended up in Detroit, MI for a while. My grandmother always had diamonds, furs and beautiful clothes. My mother truly did not want for anything. If you’re wondering how my grandmother could afford all of this on the salary of a hostess or coat check girl in a nightclub, you’d be correct to wonder.

As I said, she was quite the “looker” and was never at a loss for male companionship but much of these “gifts” were coming from one source and as much as it may pain some people to know these things, just because you don’t want to believe something is true, doesn’t make it a lie.

My grandfather was not only subsidizing my mother and grandmother’s living expenses, he was seeing them fairly regular on his travels around the country with his band. He was even inviting them to come and “stay” in whatever town he was in at the moment; usually New York. He was writing some of his most famous songs – about my grandmother. How do I know this? I know because my grandmother, my mother, my mother’s cousins all knew him and knew the truth about my mother’s birth and they told me. None of these women have ever lied to me but unfortunately now, all I have are letters and memoirs of first hand accounts of these truths as they’ve all passed on.

My mother told me of once when she was very young, playing in the front yard of one of her babysitters and in her words. “a big black touring car pulled up and some men got out. Then, I saw a man on crutches getting out of the car and he began talking to me and telling me he had been in a very bad car accident. He asked me if I wanted to come and live with him. Just then, my babysitter came screaming out of the house and snatched me up! Later, I overheard her telling my mother that a man had come and was trying to steal me away.”

They moved soon after that.

The stories of my mother were so bittersweet. She never knew that this man was her biological father until she was twenty-one years old. They didn’t speak of these things in those days “don’t ya know.” She only knew him as my grandmother’s “friend from home.” When my Mother and Grandmother would visit, he’d take them back stage and introduce them…as a friend from back home and her child. My mother recalls some very unfriendly glances and a feeling of not being welcome on more than one occasion by a woman, who was most likely my grandfather’s wife and rightfully so I’d guess.

For my mother, the happiest days of her life were spent in Nanticoke, PA, where she moved when she was a freshman in high school. Detroit had proven to be a dangerous place for a single woman and young girl and my grandmother felt it much better for my mother that she finish school “back home” with her cousins. However, my grandmother missed the bright lights and the big city and moved on, leaving my mother with her sister Mae and her husband, to finish school with her cousins. It was the best thing she ever did for my mother.

Her father popped in and out of her life with gifts or little bits of money but still, she only thought of him as a family friend. He’d show up at her aunt Mae’s with his band and entourage for a good homemade meal and apple pie and then be on his way to New York or Philadelphia or wherever he was doing his next show. I think that took a lot of nerve.

When my mother was twenty-one, she was “in the family way” with her first child. Naturally, the prospect of becoming a mother herself led her to begin to ask questions of “what if?” Her husband had left to go fight Hitler so she again moved home to Nanticoke to stay with her Aunt Mae to await the birth of her first child. One night after dinner, she and her cousins and her Aunts were all cleaning up after dinner. As they all stood in the kitchen washing dishes, my mother was speaking to them about how much she adored this man and how all of her life she had wished he was her father. She of course had always worn the name of the man who gave it to her but she never knew him and I believe that deep down in her heart, she already knew the truth, even before her Aunt Annie spoke up abruptly, “I’ve had about enough of this! Russ Morgan IS your father!” Aunt Annie was apparently the family equivalent of Maury Povitch in her day.

Upon drying the dishes, my Mother, heavy with child took a walk to the home of the man who gave her a name and boldly knocked on his front door. She was coolly greeted by the woman of the house, who had apparently received a phone call in regards to my mother’s visit, while she strolled alone through the quiet Mayberryesque streets of Nanticoke to face her destiny.

“I know why you’re here. No. Tommy Davis is not your father. Russell Morgan is.” was all the woman said.

My mother was oddly relieved and elated all at once. Her heart and her instincts had been correct all along. All she needed was DNA proof. Unfortunately, the real Maury wasn’t available and neither was DNA testing. However, the resemblance, the support, the obvious continued affection toward her mother, the dance lessons, the backstage passes, the hotels and the intangible human connection rushed over her. She finally asked her mother. The answer was of course, “yes.”

My mother idolized this man. She adored him. She loved him. She worshiped him. She had his picture by her bed side. She listened to his record albums until the day she died, regardless of his abandonment and much worse. Even during the darkest bewildered hours of her progressing Alzheimer’s and dementia, she asked me to not forget to pick up the ticket’s for his show because he was coming to town.

Unfortunately, my mother isn’t listed in any bio, liner note or memoir. My mother has never been acknowledged by his “family” as a legitimate child or even a possible love child. She was even called an obsessed fan at one point when my sister and I took her to see her father’s band in the 80’s when they came to Baltimore on tour. Her father had long since passed away but the music lived on and still does to this day. I’ll admit, we were furious over this. All my mother wanted was to meet her younger brother. He was very polite and even posed for photos with her but he did not then, nor has he or any of his kin ever thought of her as anything more than that “obsessed” fan.

When my mother became bed ridden, I reached out to her brother and received several responses from his daughter. I was less than kind in my first e-mail but later apologized. I hadn’t stopped to think that perhaps they thought I wanted something from them other than just the acknowledgement of my mother’s birth. At her request, I forwarded post cards, photographs and whatever else I had. Yes, I even saved my mother’s hair brush in case they wanted that DNA after all.

I’ve recently had my DNA tested by Ancestry.com. Low and behold, a second cousin did as well and showed up as an “extremely likely” match. We share a common grandparent by the name of Russ Morgan. She may have no clue who I am or my entire side of the family but I did reach out to her via Ancestry. My hope is that with this new information…DNA which as far as I know cannot lie, my sweet mother will at last be given the acknowledgement she has long deserved.

I still don’t want anything from them. I just want my mother’s story told.

For the most part, I just told it.

Did I mention I have a son who is sixteen? He is extremely gifted in music and for the most part is self taught and has already started to compose his own music. He picked up a saxophone 18 months ago and joined his high school marching and jazz bands as a junior. He is a senior in high school this year and guess what?

He’s the Drum Major and the leader of the band. I only wish my mother was alive today to live this with us but I know she’s watching and she will eternally have backstage passes.

An Interview With Teagan Whelan of “Fireflies.”

My First Character interview for the series will be with Teagan Whelan, one of the main characters from “Fireflies.”
I’m really shocked that I was able to get her to sit down and answer fifty questions tonight but she was very interested in sharing.

1. What is your name?
Teagan Brianne Whelan
2. Why were you given that name?
You’d have to ask my Ma and Da. I have no idea.
3. Is there a nickname you’re known by? Do you prefer it?
They sometimes call me Teag for short but that isn’t really a nickname.
4. What is your birth date and current age?
I was born on October 12, 1865 and I’m currently eighteen years old.
5. What, if anything does your zodiac sign mean to you?
My what?
6. What is your height, weight and build?
I’m shorter than Liffey and taller than Patrick which means I’m about five feet two. I’m about average size for a girl my age though some think me a bit thin.
7. What is your hair color and style, eye color, and skin tone?
My hair is black like my Ma’s, my eyes are blue and I’ve a peachy complexion…with a few freckles here and there. My hair style is simple; up during the day and down in a braid at night.
8. Do you have any scars, tattoos, piercings? What do they mean to you?
No, no scars. The other things you asked I have no idea of.
9. How much pride do you take in your appearance?
Ha! As if I care! Well, I certainly didn’t care at all when I was younger but of course now I’m in medical school so I try to keep myself looking presentable. Of course Eli couldn’t give a care one way or the other. He fell for me whilst I was wearing my brother’s hand me downs.
10. How do you feel about your appearance? Favorite / most hated features?
What difference does it make after all as long as I can save your life?
11. What is your preferred style of clothing to wear?
Breeches, suspenders, boots and my hat.
12. Who are your parents?
Dr. Owen Whelan and Sarah Whelan.
13. Do you have any siblings?
I was afraid you’d ask me this. Yes: Liffey, Patrick, Brogan, Connell, Fagan and Ennis.
14. Who has been your greatest influence (parent, friend, idol)? Why?
Definitely my Da. He’s a wonderful doctor and watching him is what led me to want to be one too.
15. Where did you grow up? How do you feel about it now?
In a small town in Pennsylvania. I loved growing up there with so much space.
16. Where do you currently live (town, neighborhood, locale)? Do you like it?
At the moment, I’m living with my Aunt Kathryn in my Da’s old house in Center City, Philadelphia. I’m attending the University here.
17. What sort of a home is it (castle, apartment, cardboard box)?
It’s a small but beautiful mansion.
18. With whom do you live? How do you feel about that person / people?
I live with my Aunt Kathryn Doyle and she’s wonderful. She’s getting on in age now but I’d still prefer a chat with her than anyone my own age—besides Eli that is.
19. Do you have any pets?
No but Aunt Kathryn has dogs.
20. What is your current job title / social station / rank?
Medical student.
21. How do you feel about this role?
I was born to play it.
22. How do you think your colleagues would describe you?
Ha! Talkative, boisterous and dedicated I hope.
23. What has been your education / training for this role?
My Da mentored me back home.
24. What is your ultimate professional or life goal?
Just to be a great doctor and help people. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.
25. Who is your best friend? Describe them briefly.
That would be Eli. He started out my best friend and he always will be, although, I share just about everything with my sister Liffey as well.
26. How would you spend an unexpected day off?
Definitely exploring!
27. What sort of vehicle / transportation do you rely on?
We have a carriage but on nice days, I prefer to walk like my Da used to.
28. What is your favorite or most dreaded holiday? Why?
My favorite would be Christmas. That’s when we can go home and visit with the family. I don’t have a dreaded holiday.
29. Is your family currently close? Are they a source of support or stress?
Our family is extremely close. We’ll do anything for each other.
30. What is your relationship status at the start of the story?
I’m a young girl. My relationships are my family and my best friend Eli Morgan. We’ve been best friends since we were babes.
31. How do you feel about money?
We need it I know but honestly, some people worry far too much about it.
32. How would you treat yourself if you came down with the flu?
Plenty of fluids and bed rest is all one can do—and pray.
33. What is your most cherished possession?
My medical books.
34. How do you feel about being the center of attention?
Since I have a tendency to talk quite a bit, I suppose I like it.
35. What makes you blush?
Compliments I suppose.
36. How do you feel about romance at the start of the story?
Well, at least from my perspective there was no romance but I soon found out about it and it was lovely.
37. How do you feel about children? Do you have / want to have your own?
Someday I’ll have them but for now, I need to focus on my studies.
38. What would you like your life to look like in twenty years?
I’d like my own medical practice either in Philadelphia or back home. I’ve always dreamed of working side by side with my Da and my brother Connell.
39. What crisis are you facing at the start of the story?
I suspect my little brother Ennis is hiding something and I have to get to bottom of it. Little did I know I would end up right in the middle of it.
40. What makes this crisis such a challenge for you in particular?
Who wants to believe their little brother is touched in some way? Fortunately, I found out he was touched but not in the way I originally thought.
41. What would you never do, no matter the price?
I could never betray or hurt anyone.
42. What do you believe happens when you die?
Based solely on my own experience, I’d say you go somewhere lovely, like Heaven.
43. What makes your blood boil?
Injustice of any kind and when people won’t listen to what I have to say.
44. What was your first impression of the hero(ine)?
I love him. He’s my baby brother. He did get on my nerves quite a bit at first but then, when I understood him, we bonded in such a way that all I wanted to do was protect him.
45. What revelation surprised you most about him/her?
That he could heal the sick. He’s a miracle.
46. What defining adjective would you use to describe him/her?
As I said, he’s a miracle.
47. What was the most defining moment of your life at the start of the story?
Realizing what Ennis had done when he healed me. I didn’t want to admit or accept it but I couldn’t deny it. It was then I knew I had to protect him.
48. How would you define the word ‘love’?
Family. Love is when you care more for someone else than for yourself.
49. How have you evolved by the end of the story?
I’ve achieved my dream and fallen in love. I’d say that’s evolution.
50. Why should the reader care about your story?
Because I’m a trailblazer. I wouldn’t allow anything to stand in the way of my becoming a doctor. I refused to live out some traditional role that I knew I’d never be happy in. I faced quite a few obstacles but thank goodness I wouldn’t take no or maybe for answers. Doing this was not an easy feat in 1883.


Meet Jax Jillian, the Author of “Larkin’s Letters!”

Last September, I had the honor of being a part of the Baltimore Book Festival. Seated to my right was a lovely young woman from Pennsylvania, who’d traveled down for the day to take part in the author’s tent as well, meeting, greeting and signing books. Her pen name is Jax Jillian and she is the author of “Larkin’s Letters.”

Larkins Letters cover

Book Synopsis:
As Ryan Boone struggles to come to grips with not being able to keep a promise he made to his dying wife, Larkin’s Letters propels readers into the mind of Ryan as he struggles with frequent visits from her ghost and a series of letters she left behind. Ryan worked hard to become one of Hollywood’s most sought after actors, but no matter how busy or famous he became, he always remained loyal to his childhood best friend, Larkin James. When Larkin is diagnosed with leukemia, Ryan sacrifices his career to be by her side and in turn realizes how much he had always loved her. Throughout Larkin’s sickness, Ryan promised her he wouldn’t let her die alone. But we learn that not all of our promises are within our control.

JillAbout the author: Jax Jillian released her first novel, Larkin’s Letters, in June 2013, via Tate Publishing Enterprises.  The book was inspired by her love for modern day love stories, especially those written by Nicholas Sparks and James Patterson.   When she read Patterson’s Suzanne’s Diary to Nicholas, she got the urge to write her own love story.  She lives in Philadelphia with her husband and son and is currently writing her second and third novels.  Jillian also dreams to one day adapt one of her novels into a screenplay.

     Ryan Boone sat on top of the lightning-white sand dune underneath the darkening sky as the sun was starting to set over the New Jersey Shoreline.  This was the first time he came to this spot since…since…well, he still couldn’t believe what had happened.  It was late March 2013, and there was a crisp, chilly breeze in the air.  He should have brought a sweatshirt with him, he thought to himself.  Wearing only khaki shorts, flip-flops, and a gray Harley Davidson T-shirt adorning his 6’2” muscular frame, he was still used to those warm and sunny California springs.  The storm clouds were getting closer and closer.  It’s going to be a big one, he thought.
     There were about a half-dozen shrieking seagulls circling overhead, but there was something refreshing about the sounds of their screams.  It was a familiar sound, one that he grown accustomed to over the past year living here.  Ryan threw out some pieces of bread for his old friends.  “Sorry, I haven’t been here in a while,” he said.
     He looked out into the surrounding unsettled Great Egg Harbor Bay and noticed it was empty.  All the boats had docked due to the impending storm. But it was fitting.  He didn’t really want anyone around right now.  All he wanted was just him and these letters he held in his pocket.  As he grasped the envelope and pulled it out, he felt his hands shaking.  Why was it so hard?  Why couldn’t he just open it?  For the past year, he had been as strong of a man as any man could possibly be.  But now, this envelope, this piece of paper, was breaking him down.
     He started at the sealed envelope for a moment before placing it back in his pocket.  He noticed the corners had slightly folded over and the blue ink that read “Ryan” on the front had faded a little bit.  It had been two months since he got the letters, and it looked like they had been through a war, just like he had been for the past year and a half.  They had constantly been in and out of his pocket every day with his every intention of opening them, but he had yet to.  Every time he looked at them, he felt sick to his stomach.  He began to think about how he got to this place in his life.  The last two years had been the best years of his thirty-six-year-old life, but now he was in the darkest place he could ever imagine.  He was in hell, he thought, and he couldn’t imagine that a heaven even existed.
Website: jaxjillian.tateauthor.com
Twitter: @jaxjillian
Google+: Jax Jillian

Hope From the Ocean – A Peek Into the Lives of the Flynns


I wanted to share an excerpt from Chapter 3 of “Hope From the Ocean.”

This is but a sneak peek into the lives of the family Flynn and what makes them so special to me and to so many readers already.


By Christmas night, they were all stuffed fatter than the goose and huddled together for one of Loch’s tales. He was going to stick to the stories of the Bible but chose to veer from the course and snap them from their food-induced sleepiness with the story of Tír na nÓg.

“I love this story, Dillon,” Aideen whispered, sliding closer to him on the rug.

Dan watched from his usual place and reflected on the confrontation with Loch that morning. He wondered if perhaps he could be wrong about his eldest son and hoped whatever animosity Loch held towards Patrick would work itself out over time. Either way, he’d keep as close an eye as he could on the situation to make sure his stern words had taken root. For Loch to have the gift to express himself so genuinely and with so much expression and emotion, Dan believed there had to be more to the lad beneath his armor.

“Gather ‘round now all ye children, as I’m about to tell the tale of the great Oisin and the Princess Niamh. Find a seat, close yer mouths and open yer ears,” Loch declared, pulling up his chair. They scampered to their spots and pulled in together in a semi-circle in front of him, leaving him enough room to prance about as he told the tale.

Loch placed his forefinger to his lips and leaned in, hushing them to silence and in turn, capturing every eye—even Patrick’s. He paced back and forth before them, one hand behind his back and the other cupping his upturned chin, as if he were pondering something deep and wonderful. His preparations left them all in the agony of anticipation and it cleared their heads of any other thought, leaving them wide open and empty for filling as if they’d never heard the tale before. Loch made a final skim over his audience and settled into his chair.

“Close yer eyes now, children, and I’ll fill them up with a vision of a magical place called Tír na nÓg,” Loch whispered. “Long ago, there lived a young handsome hunter by the name of Oisin. Oisin would hunt with his father and his fellow warrior-hunters, called the Fianna. There came a fateful day, while huntin’ deer, when the leader of the Fianna spotted somethin’ comin’ toward them across the sea.” Loch was again on his feet with a hand above his brow as if he himself were standin’ on the beach and so he began to play each part:

“‘What is this I see?’ said Fionn, the leader of the Fianna. ‘It’s a horse! It’s a white horse gallopin’ over the sea!’” Loch exclaimed, gallopin’ about. “‘But wait! There is a rider upon the horse!’” He paused, his eyes wide. “‘Be still, my heart! It is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid me eyes on,’ said Oisin. There before them, ridin’ on the back of the white horse, was a young maiden with hair of gold down to her waist. Her golden tresses blew back and danced in the wind as she approached them. She wore a gown of blue to match the sky and it was covered in silver stars that sparkled in the sunlight. There they stood, unable to move until Fionn finally spoke up.

“‘Who are ye and where have ye come from?’

“‘I am Princess Niamh and I have come across the sea from my home on the island of Tír na nÓg.’

“‘But why have ye come here?’”

The children giggled softly as he spoke in the voice of each character, especially Princess Niamh.

“‘I have heard stories of a great hero named Oisin. I have come to bring him back to my home on Tír na nÓg to live with me and my family.’

“‘What is this place ye speak of? asked Oisin.

“‘Oh, it is a magical place! Flowers bloom all the year round, nothin’ and no one ever dies, all of yer dreams and wishes come true and most of all, no one ever grows old. I wish to bring Oisin back with me so that we can spend our lives together forever. Come with me, Oisin, and ye will see that everythin’ I say is true.’

“Oisin could not refuse the beautiful princess so he climbed upon the white horse with Niamh and bid farewell to his father and friends but not before tellin’ them that someday, he would return and share his story of life on Tír na nÓg,” Loch said, placin’ his hands over his heart. “Off they flew over the sea, off to Tír na nÓg. When they arrived at the island, Oisin blinked and blinked at the wondrous sights. Niamh’s father the king had prepared a huge feast to welcome him and they spent their days together, sharin’ the many joys and offerin’s of the island. Until…” Loch paused, scanning their eyes and making them wait as long as he could before continuing.

“What happened, Loch?” shouted Dillon, who’d of course never heard this story before.
Loch chuckled along with the other children. “Well, I’m ‘bout to tell ye just that! Even though Oisin loved Niamh and Tír na nÓg, he had a sadness in him, for he missed his home and his father. He missed his friends the Fianna and huntin’ with them. One day, Niamh asked him:“‘Oisin, what is botherin’ ye so? This is the happiest place in the world yet ye seem sad’

“‘I want to go home and visit my friends and my family and ye must help me. I miss them very much!’

“‘Ye may return on my horse to visit but the moment yer feet touch the soil of Ireland, ye will be lost to me forever. Ye can never again return to Tír na nÓg.’

“Niamh was very sad and worried but she wanted Oisin to be happy and she hoped he would heed her warnin’ and not set one foot on Irish soil. Oisin climbed onto the big white horse and off they flew across the sea to Ireland. When they reached land, Oisin remembered not to get off the horse. He had only one problem,” Loch said, acting as a man who was pondering the meaning of life.

“I know! I know! He forgot that a day on was like a hundred years!” shouted Aideen.

“Exactly! He forgot that even though it only seemed he’d been at Tír na nÓg a few days, in Ireland, three hundred years had passed. All of his friends and his family had long ago died. His home was in ruins and everythin’ had changed so much that he was lost.”

“Oh no, Loch! What did he do? What did he say?” cried Dillon.

“Well, I’m about to tell ye that. He walked about on that big white horse until he came upon some men in a field who were strugglin’ to move a very large stone. Now as ye can imagine, Oisin was like a giant to the men, especially sittin’ atop that big shiny white horse. The men all backed away as Oisin and the horse approached the stone and…” Loch paused, taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, shaking his head.

“Oh Loch! Please!” Dillon cried out again.

“Oisin wanted to help the weak men because he knew he could move that big stone with no trouble at all. So he leaned over as far as he could to reach the stone and with a flick of his hand, he sent it rolling.”

“Oh, good for Oisin,” Dillon shouted, raising his fist in the air.

Aideen pulled at his arm, pushing it down and holding his hand tightly.

“What’s wrong?” Dillon asked her.

“Ye have to wait for the rest,” she whispered.

And so do you my friends…myBook.to/HopeFromtheOcean 

Compass Book Ratings-Blog Tour Stop



A big thank you goes out to Compass Book Ratings!

Check out their review of “Fireflies.”