Friday, November 28, 2014

Flash Fiction Friday, 28 November 2013 ~ Painted Veil

It is Black Friday in the US and the buying machine is hard at work to get YOUR money today in America. But, it is also Flash Fiction Friday. So hold onto your shorts and your wallet. We have some dosies for you today.

A mere 100 words based on a photo prompt common to us all and selected by the Demon Admin with a demented, twisted sense of challenge. Who can even think when looking at this beauty? 

Enjoy ~  ☼ o√ ¸.¨¯`*..*˜"*°

The Painted Veil
He took her picture from his breast pocket, just above his heart. He stared at her long and hard. God, but she stopped his breath.

She was elegant, legs long and svelte, shoulders soft but strong, a huge heart and a small ego. And she loved him.

It was easy for anyone to say, in retrospect, what he could have done, even what he should have done.

It was not as easy to admit to what he actually had done. Not easy at all.

He unleashed himself on her; he broke her. He was not fit to walk in her shadow. 
© Muffy Wilson

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Thursday, November 27, 2014

A Taste of Thursday, 27 November 2014 ~ Surrounded by You

A Taste of Thursday and I am picking up with Taylor Savior the night before Talia's funeral and memorial service. Simon, his admin assistant and the party planner have been working well into the night to make sure that her "Celebration of Life" is executed according to her plans (and yes, she did plan her service as she had been sick for a year). Please leave a comment and then visit the participating authors to read an excerpt from their WIPs.

While it is Thanksgiving for those of us in America, not all of our wonderful friends celebrate the Holiday that is really uniquely American. But, in our celebration, we want all our friends to share in our bounty. So, in all things be grateful, as I am for you. 

"May you be blessed with the comforts you require and the abundance you desire." 

Happy Thanksgiving and Happy Holidays. 
Enjoy ~  ☼ o√ ¸.¨¯`*..*˜"*°

Surrounded by You
Talia had been gone for three and a half days now but from Simon’s bed for much longer. She had been in hospice for the last ten days but stricken again by cancer for the last year. While they had continued to sleep together, as long as Talia was comfortable, they had done little more than hold hands at night as they drifted off to sleep. He thought he was prepared; he thought he was ready to live a life without her, but the truth was - he simply was not prepared to live his life without her.

It was then, and there, in the late, quiet hours of the remains of the day that his eyes welled with tears and he said good-bye to his wife.

“I love you, Talia, and I miss you already. We both knew this day would come; but you were much wiser than I. You knew the bravado I wore like armor would begin to shed and drop with your final breath. And you were right, my love - you are always right. Now, alone with you in my heart, surrounded by you, I can cry.”

Simon was too tired to resist further and he laid his head on Talia’s pillow and left his tears to stain the satin that still held her fragrance. Simon said his farewell to his best friend, his confident, his wife and the mother of his children.

“I am not ready to live my life without you, Talia. I will always love you, darling.’

And Simon slept as he held her pillow to his heart.

Simon woke early with the shards of the night gathering their presence and receding into the warmth of the morning sun. In their retreat, the moonlit clouds deposited upon the grass teardrops of dew. Simon thought to himself, Of course, the moon misses her too. It was, however, no time for retrospection; there will be plenty of time for that in the lifetime ahead.

Now was a time for action, leadership and strength, not unlike in his business, but this time for his family. In all truth, he found a quiet comfort in structure and resilience. It was often like following a map and no real thinking was required. He considered it a reassurance, of sorts, to know what must be done and then do it.
His family would look to him for that, and more. And there would be a river of tears. But, he was ready, as ready as Talia could prepare him. He rose from their bed and, unlike any other day, he straightened the sheets and linens which was something Talia always did. He smoothed her satin pillowcase with tenderness more like a caress and became aware that repetition was a comfort and he would use it to help his family bear the painful burden of her death.
© Muffy Wilson

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Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Tantalyzing Tuesday Teasers, 24 November 2014 ~ The Specter of Incantation

Tantalyzing Tuesday and you know that means another picture, each of which is a selection of our choice, and a mere 200 words. I am working against a deadline so I am going to be brief.

I do hope you enjoy this sojourn into a centuries old love affair. If so, do leave me a comment and then visit the other participating authors. They are wildly creative, select fabulous photographs and love to entertain adoring readers. Please go visit the other participating authors at our author page or you can find them listed below as well. You, no doubt, will enjoy their pieces.

Enjoy ~  ☼ o√ ¸.¨¯`*..*˜"*°
The Specter of Incantation
The sun kissed the remains of the day and abandoned the long hours with a final radiant blush. Velveteen darkness descended across the sky and the moon coaxed the stars as they appeared shyly, one by one. This was the same moon and the same stars reflected in the night sky that you promised to lay at my feet for a lifetime.

I knelt outside and I prayed in the evening chill. I prayed to find my way to you. I summoned the influence of the Goddess over the moon and stars in an incantation of unrequited love.

The heavens collected the power of my love in a field of ignited, mesmeric flurry at my fingertips and I saw your face. I accepted the supremacy of our destiny and our hearts as your outstretched arms reached to hold me in an embrace.

I knew, then, that I could wait forever for your return. I knew, then, that the tides of time would turn and bring you back to me. I knew, then, that all the days of my life I would spend in your arms, loving only you in my dreams of passionate consummation as I waited.

Odysseus, my love……” I whispered. 
© Muffy Wilson

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Friday, November 21, 2014

Flash Fiction Friday, 21 November 2014 ~ Fall from Grace

Flash Fiction Friday is here again and I am not going to be late today! I love this photo. It says so much. What does it say to you? See if it speaks the same story to you as it may to one of the other authors, so be sure and have a ride over to read them.

I have all the authors participating listed below and links sprinkled throughout the post. Comments are encouraging, so please share. In the meantime, here is where this photo took me. 

Enjoy ~  ☼ o√ ¸.¨¯`*..*˜"*°

Fall from Grace
The wind and surf swept his stinging pain and replaced it with a numb darkness devoid of sensation. Even as the silent, fugitive thought rose, he knew it was his name he should be screaming into the bitter, grey current of pitiless air. He had done that which he detested most and the painful pretense had been released into the light. 

At his own hands, he had stabbed those he loved in the heart with shards of truth and spikes of lies trying to avoid his guilt. 

He was a black coward in the face of strength.

His fall from grace was complete.
© Muffy Wilson

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Wednesday, November 19, 2014

A Taste of Thursday, 20 November 2014 ~ The Waiting Arms of Angels

A Taste of Thursday and I am offering you a tender moment when Talia dies, surrounded by her family, from my completed work, Moonbeams of Unintended Consequences, submitted today to Decadent Publishing. Read all the wonderful author's excerpts from their WIPs.

Your comments mean so much to us, so please be kind and leave one before you rush off to read all the others. I have links to the author page all over the place as well as listing all my prurient partners one by beautiful one below.
Enjoy ~  ☼ o√ ¸.¨¯`*..*˜"*°
The Waiting Arms of Angels
Talia smiled and squeezed the hand of the man that touched her heart, enriched her life, had given her children. She closed her eyes, her breath carried a soft humming from her lips. She was beautiful, serene and calm.

“Bring my children,” she said in a whisper. Simon was racked with heart wrenching painful sorrow. He thought he was prepared for Talia’s death. But the saying, and believing and reassurance was nothing for the doing, for the being for this moment. He was not ready for her to leave him. He did not want her to leave him, even though he knew she had to, that she was going to die. He knew in his heart that the only way for her to be released from her pain was to be released from this life…to just let go…He had to let her go, but he couldn’t. He was afraid, he couldn’t…he did not want her to die.

The children came into her room, along with everyone else. They all shuffled over to the bed and she held their hands, loved them, exchanged stories and memories. They loved and consoled one another while Simon stood by trying to rally his strength as he listened to each one of them say good-bye to their friend, their sister, their aunt and daughter. Talia’s mother and father cried outright, with big helpless tears in waves of uncontrollable sobs, their loss so unbearable and painful.

Simon sat, in silence, beside his wife of fifteen years with his youngest daughter on his lap, weeping into his chest. His other two children came and went, moved about hugging other family members as they needed then returned to Simon’s side. The day passed into evening as the sun cast ribbons of gold, amber and sienna between the drapes Talia wanted left open. This was her favorite time of day, then end of the day that the family always came together no matter their busy activities during the day. They all came home - to her - every single day of their lives. He watched her as he knew she thought just that. He knew because he knew her, loved her and he was home - wherever she was. That was home. Her eyes opened to watch as the Sun died another night that the Moon might live and dance among the stars and glistening galaxies until morning when the Sun wanted her sky back. That is what she used to tell the children so that they would go to sleep and rest, like the Sun. He could not have loved her more than at that moment, the memory escorting her beautiful soul into the waiting arms of angels.

Surrounded in a loving embrace by all the people she loved, and who loved her, Talia’s mouth formed one last circular ‘O’ as she took her last breath with the setting sun, closed her eyes and exhaled.

“I love you, Tali. Let go. We are all home,” he leaned into her ear, his lips brushing her cooling flesh as she slipped away.

© Muffy Wilson
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Release Blitz ~ Christmas in the Cotswolds by Jenny Kane ~ 19 November 2014

Christmas in the Cotswolds
Jenny Kane
Christmas in the Cotswolds

A seasonal easy read romance, Christmas in the Cotswolds is Jenny Kane’s festive sequel to 
Another Cup of Christmas
(It can also be read as a stand alone story.)

Izzie Spencer-Harris, owner of the Cotswold Art and Crafts Centre, is due to host the prestigious Cotswold Choir’s annual Christmas carol concert in her beautiful converted church. Or at least she was, until a storm smashed a hole right through the chancel roof.
Days from Christmas, Izzie suddenly finds herself up to her neck in DIY, with her last dodgy workman having walked off the job. She does the only thing she can … calls in her best friend Megan to help.
Leaving Peggy and Scott to run Pickwicks Café in her absence, Megan heads to the Cotswolds for Christmas. Within minutes of her arrival, she finds herself hunting down anyone willing to take on extra work so close to Christmas. It seems the only person available to help is Joseph Parker – a carpenter who, while admittedly gorgeous, seems to have ulterior motives for everything he does …
With Izzie’s bossy mother, Lady Spencer-Harris, causing her problems at every turn, an accident at work causing yet more delays, and the date for the concert drawing ever nearer, it’s going to take a lot more than Mrs Vickers’ powerful mulled wine to make sure everything is all right on the night …

Izzie closed her eyes and counted to ten as the door of the Cotswold Arts Centre slammed shut.
There was no point in panicking. She simply didn’t have time for such luxuries if her converted church was going to be ready to host a Christmas carol concert by the renowned Cotswold Choir in nine days’ time.
Bored of being propositioned by men who weren’t remotely interested in her until they discovered she was a daughter of the gentry, Izzie had ejected the carpenter through her front door before he’d quite had time to work out just how insulting her rejection of his latest lurid suggestion was.

Now, her hasty tongue having deprived her of a desperately needed pair of tradesman’s hands, Izzie sat with a heavy thump onto the nearest pew. She knew she had to find fresh help, and fast. A task that wouldn’t be easy so close to Christmas.
‘Although,’ Izzie addressed the image of Noah, who smiled benevolently at her from his stained-glass window, as if grateful he hadn’t been smashed to pieces by the tree branch that had come through the top of the chancel and caused so much seasonal inconvenience, ‘I’m damn sure I’m not asking my mother to help out ever again!’
Reaching for the offending package of invitations that had arrived by courier first thing that morning, Izzie emptied it onto the table. The invitations were supposed to have been posted by now. As soon as she’d seen them, Izzie understood why her mother had left them to the last minute.
Unfussy, cost-effective, and with a medieval Christmas flavour in keeping with the spirit of the converted fourteenth-century church where the concert was to be held. That’s what she’d asked for.
What she’d got was decadent Victorian-style gold-edged invitations which weighed so much, Izzie was sure that posting them alone would break the bank. And if that wasn’t bad enough, her mother had done the one thing that she had expressively forbidden. She’d put Izzie’s full name on the invitations.
Lady Perdita Spencer-Harris had been unable to comprehend why her daughter didn’t want to use the family name to help sales. She simply didn’t understand that Izzie wanted people to come to hear the choir for its own sake, or because they wanted to see what she’d done in her art centre; not because she was a young and single female member of the landed gentry.

Miss Isadora Spencer-Harris
cordially invites you to a magical festive evening at
The Cotswold Arts Centre, Chipping Swinton
to hear the renowned Cotswold Choir’s
Christmas Carol Concert
Saturday 21st December
7 p.m. for 7.30 p.m. start
£25 per ticket
Refreshments provided
RSVP by 18th December to Harris Park

Wrapping her stripy woollen scarf more tightly around her neck, Izzie breathed warm air over her cold fingers. Deciding it wasn’t cost effective to heat the church this late at night just for her, she gathered up the invitations, and with one last check that the polythene sheeting would keep the rest of her chancel roof in place overnight, Izzie headed home.

Izzie scooped up three Christmas cards from her doormat. A smile replaced her frown as she opened the first envelope to see a cartoon robin wishing her a Merry Christmas. Inside, beneath the seasonal greeting, her friend Megan had written Must meet up SOON! I’d love to see your new art centre.
‘Should I?’ Izzie was sure her dearest friend from college would help. Megan always helped. Izzie addressed the picture of the robin, ‘But won’t she be hugely busy at Pickwicks café this close to Christmas?’
Switching on her laptop, Izzie started to hunt for a replacement tradesman to help repair her church roof. Half an hour of searching later, and her quest was looking increasingly hopeless by the minute.
It was no good, if she wasn’t going to be forced to ask her parents to bail her out – which was an ‘over her dead body’ situation as far as Izzie was concerned – she needed alternative assistance. Izzie picked up her mobile before guilt at disturbing her friend’s life at Christmas overtook her.
‘Megan, thank goodness you’re there! How can I put this … help!’

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With a background in history and archaeology, Jenny Kane should really be sat in a dusty university library translating Medieval Latin criminal records, before writing research documents that hardly anyone would want to read. Instead, tucked away in the South West of England, Jenny Kane writes stories with one hand, while working for a Distance Learning Company with the other.
Jenny spends a large part of her time in the local coffee shops, where she creates her stories, including the novels Romancing Robin Hood (Accent Press, 2014), the best selling contemporary romance Another Cup of Coffee (Accent Press, 2013), and the novella length sequels Another Cup of Christmas (Accent Press, 2013) and Christmas in the Cotswolds, (Accent Press, 2014)
Jenny’s next full length novel, Abi’s House, will be published by Accent Press in 2015.
Jenny Kane is also the author of quirky children’s picture books There’s a Cow in the Flat (Hushpuppy, 2014) and Joe’s Letter (Coming soon from Hushpuppy)

Keep your eye on Jenny’s blog at for more details.
Twitter - @JennyKaneAuthor
Jenny Kane also writes erotica as Kay Jaybee. (

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Out Now – Multi-Orgasmic: by Lucy Felthouse (@cw1985) #erotica #erotic #ebook #ku #kindleunlimited

~ Out Now ~ 
A Collection of Erotic Short Stories 
Lucy Felthouse 
#erotica #erotic #ebook #ku #kindleunlimited

A Collection of Erotic Short Stories

From the pen of award-winning erotica author Lucy Felthouse comes a collection of short stories and flash fiction sure to hit the spot.
There’s something for everyone nestling between the pages of this sexy anthology. From spanking to voyeurism, bondage to pegging, solo loving to ménage, with a sprinkling of femdom, maledom and magic, fans of M/F erotic stories will soon discover why this book is described as multi-orgasmic.
Enjoy twenty one titillating tales, over 52,000 words of naughtiness packed into one steamy read.
Please note: Many of the stories in this book have been previously published in anthologies and online, but three of the tales are brand new and never-seen-before!

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Private Jesse Bagnall glowered and muttered to himself all the way to the mess. He’d just been bawled out by Corporal Roxanne Grey—yet again—and he was getting seriously fed up of it. He knew he wasn’t perfect in the drill exercises, but then nor were any of the other guys. It was like she was singling him out and aiming all her abuse in his direction. Being shouted at was to be expected in the army—it was almost part of the job description—but Corporal Grey’s attitude was bordering on discriminatory, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Especially without looking like a total pussy.
Spotting some of his closest friends at a table towards the back of the mess, he caught the eye of one of them—Matt Kay—raised a hand in greeting, then got in line for his food.
Several minutes later he loaded his cup of tea onto his tray along with everything else and headed over to where he’d seen Matt and the boys. Hopefully they’d take his mind off the Queen Bitch. They were always game for a laugh.
“All right, lads?” he said, sliding his tray onto the table and taking a seat.
There were mumbles of assent.
“Yeah,” replied Ed Patterson. “You?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
Ed raised an eyebrow, and the other men turned their attention to Jesse, too. “Well,” Ed said, “that wasn’t very convincing. What’s up, mate?”
Jesse sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s the drill instructor.”
His friends exchanged confused looks. “Care to elaborate?” Matt said.
Not wanting to look like a wimp in front of his mates, Jesse changed his tone. But once he had, the anger took over him. “She’s a fucking bitch, that’s what!”
The confused expressions turned to surprised ones.
“I’m fed up of her treating me like a twat. I know it’s her job to bawl us out, but she takes it too far. I do my fucking best, work my arse off, and it’s still not good enough for her.”
He barely noticed the gazes of his friends shifting slightly, and carried on regardless. “She definitely picks on me more than everyone else. As though I’ve seen sitting on my arse when everyone else is killing themselves to get it right. She’s just being a complete and utter bitch. Bitch face fucking Grey!”
Matt cleared his throat, to no avail.
“You know what her problem is?” Jesse continued. “She needs a fucking good shag, she does. That might cheer the miserable cow up. Mind you, Christ knows what man would be brave enough to go there. She’d probably bite your cock off as soon as suck it.”
As the red mist of his anger dissipated, Jesse finally clocked the reactions of the other men around his table. They weren’t at all what he’d expected. Ed and Matt looked mighty chagrined, staring at a point over his left shoulder. Private Graham Pilgrim had actually put his head down and begun to bang it on the table.
A cold trickle of dread ran down his back, and he turned, wondering which of his superiors had heard his rant.
Fuck. It was none other than the target of his diatribe.
Corporal Roxanne Grey stood, her arms crossed, one high-heeled foot tapping on the floor. Her facial expression was as far from impressed as it was possible to be.
Coolly, she said, “Bagnall. Guard room, now.”
Jesse’s heart sunk into his heavy-duty boots, and he had to resist the temptation to drop his gaze to the floor. His buddies would never let him live it down. He had to do as the woman said otherwise he’d be guilty of insubordination, but he was going to do it in the manliest way possible.
Turning back to the table, he sneaked a quick glance at each of his friends in turn, hoping his expression looked irritated, not shit scared, which was what he really was. Standing, he left his lunch tray where it was and followed Corporal Grey out of the mess, across the yard and into the scruffy-looking building that was the guard room. God, the government really needed to put some money into this place—it certainly didn’t give off the air of tough professionalism that the personnel were expected to show.
Opening the door, Corporal Grey stood aside and ushered him in, before following him and shutting the door behind them and twisting the lock. The room was empty. She moved to sit in a chair, and motioned him to take another one.
“I suppose you know why you’re here?”
“Yes, ma’am. My unforgiveable words and actions back in the mess.” Now it was just the two of them, he could grovel as much as he felt necessary without worrying about losing face.
“Hmm. Yes. But actually, it’s more the reasoning behind the words that I’m interested in.”
“W—what do you mean?”
“You mentioned that you feel like I pick on you, more than I do anyone else during drill instruction. As though you’re sitting on your arse, I do believe were your words.”
Jesse fought the colour coming to his face, and failed miserably. “Y—yes, ma’am.”
“Do I really make you feel that way? Or were you just having a whinge to your mates? Tell me honestly, please.”
The anger had gone from her tone, and her expression was open, expectant. She really and truly wanted him to be honest. He opened and closed his mouth—not unlike a fish—a couple of times, before clearing his throat and attempting to form an answer. It didn’t help that, now she’d stopped screaming at him and was actually being quite pleasant, he’d come to the conclusion that she was hot. Even in her army uniform, she looked feminine, as though she was hiding a delicious body underneath all that olive green.
“O—okay then. Yes, you do. Ever since you turned up to drill us in preparation for the parade, you’ve made me feel like a useless sack of shit. I know it’s important, God do I know, and I want to get it right, but I really am trying my best. I’m giving this my all, and it seems as though it’s just not good enough for you. Some of the other guys are worse than me, and you don’t come down on them like a ton of bricks. Maybe just half a ton.” He smiled weakly, hoping she’d realise he was joking.
A tiny smile played at the corners of the corporal’s lips. “Would it make you feel any better if I told you why I’m doing it? Shouting at you more than the others, I mean.”
“Um, I guess it depends on what you’re going to say. I’m really not as shit as some of the other guys.”
“I know. But…” She got to her feet and moved to stand in front of Jesse. Leaning down and placing her hands on the arms of his chair, she continued. “Let’s just say I’m trying not to let my true feelings show. If people found out how much I want you, I don’t think it would go down too well.”
“W—want me? You want me?” His heart pounded, and his brain raced to keep up with what she was saying. Did she really mean what he thought she meant? Was there a way he could have misunderstood her words? He didn’t think so. “You mean, like, want me in the sex way?” He knew his phrasing was ridiculous, but he couldn’t think of anything better right at that moment. His brain was too fried.
Corporal Grey laughed, her blue eyes sparkling as crinkles appeared in their corners. It was adorable and sexy all at once, and Jesse’s cock surprised him by hardening.
“Yes,” she said. “I mean in the sex way. But I guess you know now why I’ve been behaving the way I have? Can you forgive me? I didn’t mean to make you feel like a useless sack of shit. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, I can forgive you. But only if you make it up to me.” It seemed his cock had taken over control of his mouth now, because as the words floated into the air, he realised he had no idea what he actually meant.
“Oh yeah?” Moving her hands to her hips, Corporal Grey adopted a saucy stance. “And how am I supposed to do that?”
Jesse cast his gaze about the room rapidly, hoping for inspiration. Thankfully, he spotted something that would serve his purpose perfectly. Standing, he gently pushed past her and retrieved the pace stick that was propped up in the corner. Designed for marking time in parades and similar, when it was open it formed a ‘V’ shape; closed it was just a wooden stick. One he could use to get his own back on Corporal Grey. And he really had to stop thinking of her as Corporal Grey, especially considering what he was about to do. She was Roxanne.
Turning back to her, he stifled a grin when he saw the look on her face. She obviously hadn’t been expecting that. Pointing to a nearby table, he commanded, “Pull your skirt up to your waist and bend over.”
She sounded nervous, and he didn’t blame her. Frankly, he was surprised she’d agreed. He was wielding quite an interesting weapon, and she was going to allow him to use it on her. Perhaps she was into a bit of pain. He’d soon find out.
Following her to the table, he waited while she summoned her courage, then lifted her skirt. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his close-cropped hairline when he saw the skimpy black thong that had been hidden beneath her drab skirt. It bisected lovely pale, round bum cheeks, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to pull the material aside and bury his cock in her warm depths.
First, though, Roxanne had some making up to do. “Ready?”
Pressing her hands to the surface of the table, she nodded quickly.
Jesse moved into the position he thought best and waved the pace stick around a little, to get used to the way it moved and balanced. He’d never spanked a woman before, never mind with one of these things. God knows why he’d even suggested it. She probably thought he was some kind of kinky bastard, now. Never mind, it was just a bit of fun.

Author Bio:
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 100 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline. These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. Find out more at Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at:

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