Dani Collins's Blog, page 69

Cheers!

A fun post for New Year’s Eve:

Canadian Whiskey Makes A Comeback from CBC’s Radio West.

Everything you’ve ever wanted to know about Rye Whiskey.

And here’s a great song about Rye Whiskey from A Good Canadian Boy, Corb Lund.

Have a safe and happy night.

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The Kiss That Changed Everything

If you’re visiting from the iHeartPresents site, welcome!

I wrote this prologue for the release of my debut Mills & Boon Modern No Longer Forbidden? The scene is not included in the book, but is a pivotal point between Nic and Rowan so it makes a nice bonus for those of you who have read the book and is a bit of a teaser for those who haven’t. I hope you enjoy it:

Why was it, Rowan wondered, that being drunk made you want to dance and yet it made dancing so dangerous? She had a fuzzy memory of trying it once when a schoolmate had snuck a bottle of gin into the dorm. One torn tendon later, she’d sworn off dancing when drunk.

Therefore, even though she had an urge to twirl and run and leap, she only swayed to an internal rumba as she drained the last of the champagne from its bottle.

And went in search of Nic.

Way in the back of her mind a small voice said, Bad idea, but an inner fire burned along the pathways of her blood. It had nothing to do with the alcohol in it. This afternoon, he had walked out of the weight room as she had walked in. Sweaty and sullen, he shouldn’t have been so sexy, but a pulse of excitement rose to beat in her throat just thinking about how masculine and fresh-from-the-fight he’d looked.

And she was so tired of him looking at her like she was the biggest nuisance on the planet! Men came onto her all the time, if he didn’t know. Why didn’t he seem to notice she had all the right equipment?

She’d ask him, she decided, as she sauntered down the path from the pool area to the beach.

A warning flitted through her again as her heels sank into the sand, but it was blown away by the wind off the water and the sheer power in Nic’s profile as she spotted his solitary figure in the moonlight.

So enigmatic. She wished this feeling she had to be near him was simple lust, but it was so much more. When she was away at school, or he was away collecting facts on foreign strife, she thought about him. When she knew she was coming home to Rosedale, she started conniving ways to cajole his father, Olief, to invite Nic to join them here.

This time the excuse had been her twentieth birthday. Nic hated crowds and her friends found Rosedale too quiet so this evening had turned into a simple gathering of their disjointed, unofficial family.

She pondered how grossly they fell short of what she’d once imagined they could be. If Olief had relatives back in Sweden or Norway where he’d been born, Rowan didn’t know about them. His relationship to Nic’s mother was another mystery, but the woman must have been Greek. Her son carried the contrasting moniker Nicodemus Marcussen.

For reasons she didn’t know, Nic and Olief had been estranged until six or seven years ago, just before Olief had started seeing Rowan’s mother, Cassandra. Rowan had been the one to coax Olief to invite his son to the island the first time, eager to make for herself the nuclear family she’d always craved.

No one had embraced the idea. Her mother had never had a maternal moment in her life so hardly warmed to Olief’s grown son. Olief and Nic remained taciturn around each other, and Nic seemed to think Rowan and her mother were temporary fixtures no matter how many times Rowan tried to make him see the deeper connection between their parents.

The sad truth was, she hadn’t been able to grasp the idea of Nic as a brother either, not once she’d laid eyes on him. Her feelings for that remote man standing with his shirt rippled by the wind were the furthest thing from sisterly.

Kicking off her shoes, she sashayed toward him, unable to keep from laying on the sass and cheeky confidence that were her best cover for moments of insecurity.

“That raging party of mine getting to be too much for you?”

Nic’s head barely moved in acknowledgment of her arrival, but everything about his demeanor hardened. The slant of his mouth pulled into a dismayed line.

“It’s past your bedtime, isn’t it?”

She hated when he was dismissive and patronizing like that. Her sensitive core took the kick, but a tougher part of her deflected the sting, stood taller, and demanded he see her as a woman.

“Maybe,” she purred, sliding her hand along his forearm where his sleeve had been rolled back to his elbow. “If I had company.”

She had his attention. He didn’t move and she couldn’t really see his face, backlit as it was by the moon. She only sensed his gaze honing in on her while his arm became hot marble beneath her touch.

“Go back to the house, Ro. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk,” she argued.

Before she knew what was happening, that he could even move so fast, he had her crushed to his chest and locked in his arms.

His mouth opened wide over hers in a hard kiss that was nothing like the sweet, tender, tentative kisses boys had offered her in the past. It was nothing like the passionate, leading ones men tried on her.

This was possession and taking and punishment. His fist pulled in her hair, holding her still for the thorough plundering of her mouth as he thrust his tongue in. His stubble scraped her skin and his pinning arms made it hard to breathe.

Even as her heart swelled with joy at being so close to him, she realized he was being mean on purpose. It scared her enough to struggle.

For a terrifying second, he continued the kiss, refusing to release her. Her heart stopped and she wondered exactly what kind of monster she’d come up against. Real fear made her desperate enough to try lifting her knee between his legs.

He shoved her away from him so abruptly she barely stayed on her feet.

The back of her wrist came up to her bruised lips, pressing away the tenderness he’d left there with his rough kiss. No blood. He wasn’t a brute, but he’d been making a nasty point.

“That’s what happens to girls who get drunk and put themselves at the mercy of men,” he rasped. “You should know better, Ro.”

“Oh, I asked for that, did I?”

“You wanted a reaction out of me, didn’t you? Or are you going to say you really want to go to bed with me? Sorry, but I’m not into children who don’t think beyond getting drunk and throwing themselves at the only man available. Grow up, show some self control, and maybe I’d be interested. Now be a good girl and toddle off to bed.”

She felt exactly as immature as he was implying. She couldn’t even admit she did want to sleep with him. He’d demoralize her further. Laugh at her.

Oh, she hated him. Genuinely, truly hated him.

And she very much feared she was going to cry. Like a silly little baby.

“You know where you can go, Nic?” she managed in a strained snap. “To hell.”

She stumbled away, made clumsy by anger, champagne, and the cold lumps of sand breaking under her feet. With her breath hissing furiously, she wasn’t sure if she actually heard what he said behind her.

It sounded like, “I have my own key.” His flat tone was depressed enough to make her falter, but she wasn’t going back to check on him. He’d made it abundantly clear he had no use for her.

She passed Olief on the way back to the house. Good luck getting two civilized words out of him, she thought with grim fuzziness, and went directly to her room to pack.

Paris. It was drizzly and lonely, but she’d take it over seeing Nic again.

But when she rose early to catch the ferry, head pounding and stomach tender, she didn’t have to avoid him. He was already gone.

For some stupid reason that disappointed her.

Grow up and get over him, she told herself. It was past time.

She would. This time she would forget about him completely. She wouldn’t ask about him, wouldn’t nag Olief to invite Nic to join them. With luck, she’d never have to speak to Nic Marcussen ever again.

Of course she does speak to Nic again. She inadvertently draws him to Rosedale where they wind up stuck there alone and Rowan finally learns what sort of demons he lives with. A little older and wiser, she’s also a lot harder for him to dismiss.

If you’ve read No Longer Forbidden? I hope you’ll look for Nic’s sister’s story, which I’ve almost completed. Adara and Gideon have their own demons, but their marriage is saved once they confront them.

I don’t know yet when it will be released, but if you scroll all the way to the bottom of this page and sign up for my newsletter, I’ll keep you in the loop. And please tell me what you’d like to see when I write about Nic’s younger brothers. I have some ideas, but would love your input.

Happy New Year!

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Writers’ Forum Magazine Interview

Writers’ Forum Cover

I was already having a great day yesterday.

My sister and brother-in-law had stayed the night as a mini-Christmas celebration and to toast for my new contract with Mills & Boon. (French Martinis – très magnifique). Despite moving a little slowly and the weather looking dicey, they ambitiously took my kids Christmas shopping for the day, leaving me with an empty house and pursuit of my new deadline.

The writing itself went very well, partly because the internet was acting up, i.e. no distractions. But I did chance Twitter at one point and this is what I saw from @MillsandBoonUK:

We loved your article in Writers’ Forum @DaniCollinsBook! “Don’t quit five minutes before the miracle” – beautiful! x

Given that I’d been stalking Writers’ Forum Magazine for weeks, trying to figure out when my interview would come out, and had convinced myself it wouldn’t be until the new year, I was thrilled. Eager to see it, I subscribed to the app.

At this point I met a few challenges. It looked easy enough to download the Writers’ Forum Magazine App–and a good investment frankly. Every writer is thrilled to have an excuse to geek up and invest in a How To Write resource.

However, I recently had a call from the efficient people at American Express who informed me my card had been compromised. This would be the card I use for all my online purchases, thus I had to update my account info before I could proceed with the app purchase.

Of course, the minute I opened my iTunes account to do that, it told me I was due for an update. Doesn’t everyone love dropping everything to read a license agreement? Agree, yes, please…you’re holding up a narcissist here.

Yay! New credit card number is in, app is downloaded and the first issue is included so just pick that one and… wait. Register a new account with new credentials–better store that in the password vault right now because I’ll never remember it otherwise–okay finally! Issue downloads.

And it looks great. I’m so thrilled that my longtime friend and fellow author, Kay Gregory, thought of me when speaking with her friend and magazine contributor, Glynis Scrivens. I wish I could post a link to the article itself, or even a screenshot, but I don’t have license to.

My photo is on the cover (Issue #135), however, down in the bottom on the left. (Thanks Sarah Wyatt Photography.)

After all this hoop jumping, I was pretty high and wanting to share with links and tweets and blog posts, but the internet fully died at that point which was fortuitous. It forced me back to Gideon and Adara (Nic’s sister from No Longer Forbidden?)

I can’t wait to share their story with you either, so I’ll stop here and get on with writing it. Have a safe and happy holiday season.

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Sample Sunday – No Longer Forbidden

From No Longer Forbidden, Book Of The Month on the Mills & Boon website:

Nic was still letting Rowan’s remark eat at him the next morning and he couldn’t fathom why. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t heard variations of it from other women, one in particular. I didn’t think you’d care.

He turned his mind from that excruciating mental fracture, knowing no amount of backtracking and trying to prove he did care could bring back the loss he’d suffered then.

No, he had concluded over the years that there was a deficiency in him that portrayed him as not needing what others did: a home, family, love. And since he had been denied those things all his life, he had learned to live without them. He didn’t need them. It was a closed loop.

So why did he feel unfairly judged by Rowan’s, I wish you had some feeling of having a home and family here? Even if he wanted to be different, he couldn’t. The thought of trying to change made his hands curl into fists and a current of nervousness pulse through his system.

“I’m going for groceries!” she shouted from the bottom floor, startling him from his introspection.

Good, he thought, needing a reprieve from the way she upset his equilibrium. “Check the insurance,” he responded in a yell.

“Okay. Bye!”

He let out a sigh, forcing himself back to his desk and the work spread over it, dimly aware of the distant hum of the garage door then the growl of a motor—

She wouldn’t.

Leaping to his feet, he shot open the window in time to see his vintage black convertible, top down, slithering with the speed of a hungry mamba up the curving drive. Tucking fingertip and thumb against his teeth, he pierced the air with a furious whistle.

The brake lights came on. Her glossy head turned to look back at the house.

Nic pointed at the front steps and met her there a few seconds later. Rowan chirped the brakes as she stopped before him, staying behind the wheel while all eight cylinders purred like its namesake in her lap. Glamorous Tiffany sunglasses obscured half her face, but her mouth trembled in a subtle betrayal of nervousness before she sat a little straighter and gave him a lady-of-the-manor, “Yes?”

“What the hell are you doing?” He hitched his elbow on the top of the windscreen from the passenger side.

“You said to check the insurance. Mine’s up, but this one is still valid.”

“So is the hatchback.”

“This is more fun.” She pulled out one of her cheeky grins, trying to cajole him into indulging her.

He narrowed his eyes, determined not to fall for her act the way the rest of his sex did no matter how engaging she was. “And you know that how?” he asked.

Her nose crinkled. “I might have taken Black Betty here for a spin once or twice before. But I always fill the tank.” The assertive finger she lifted fell. “Today that could be a problem though. I took the petty cash from the kitchen, but it wasn’t much.”

“You are utterly shameless, aren’t you? I’m speechless.” Unaccountably, he had to suppress an urge to laugh.

“Okay, well could you, um, step back while you ponder what you’d like to say?”

“Get out of my car, Rowan!”

“Oh, Nic, don’t be like that,” she coaxed, leaning toward him so the chunky zipper of her flight jacket gaped open and showed him the dark plum line of her scooped shirt plastered low across her breasts. Pale globes swelled out the top.

“Like what?” He tried not to get distracted. “I know you. You’ll start looking at a basket of puppies and won’t notice the rain’s started again.” Was he any different? A monsoon could blow in at this moment and he’d still be fascinated by those puppies.

She caught him ogling. He wasn’t exactly being discreet so it wasn’t a surprise to lift his gaze and find a smug grin of womanly power widening her lips. In the way of all beauties who recognized the advantage of their appeal, she assumed it was legal tender.

“I’ll put the top up at the first spit, I promise.” She slipped the car into gear.

He shook his head, as much at himself for revealing his weakness as at her for thinking she had him where she wanted him. “No.”

“Look at this gorgeous morning.” She gestured expansively at the broken clouds scudding across the brilliant blue sky. Streaks of sunlight bathed the rain washed landscape in pockets of gold. “Doesn’t it make you want to feel the sun on your face and the wind in your hair?”

He never allowed himself to be susceptible to Rowan’s appealing enthusiasm. Old reflexes crowded a refusal onto his tongue. Park the jag and use the hatchback. I have to work. Work was the one thing he did care about. It was always there and, since it was all he would ever have, he was making a legacy of it.

But a damp, sweet breeze floated across his face, hinting at spring. It turned his mind to the instinctive pursuits of the season, the mating season. His blood warmed with male appreciation of the youthful female smiling up at him with such guile.

Seduce her, whispered on the air.

At the very least, he should remind her that batting her lashes had consequences. “Give me the keys,” he said on impulse.

“Oh, Nic!” Rowan cut the engine and flung open the driver’s door. As he came around to her side, a long thigh in tight green jeans stretched out. Tall boots planted firm with temper. “Why do you have to be like this? You’re just like everyone else who thinks they own my life. No, Rowan, you can’t possibly have five minutes of enjoying yourself. Take the housekeeper’s hatchback because that’s what you are now. What do you gain from these power trips, huh, Nic? What?”

She stood before him in the V of the open door. The full impact of her tough, piqued magnificence hit him like a truck. He’d thought to play her at her own game, but the stakes were high. It took everything he had to hold out a steady hand.

“I get to drive. Are you going to stand there and sulk or move to the other seat?”

“You’re coming with me? To the market?” Her stunned surprise was mostly hidden by her sunglasses, but he got to watch her elegant chin drop and her glossy lips part. The urge to kiss her edged him into her space.

“Wouldn’t you like company? I have my wallet.” He felt for it.

She shook back her hair, taking a second to eye him warily. If he hadn’t felt the weak sunshine before, he got a full blast of fireball heat as they stood facing each other. The attraction built in exponential waves of silence, bouncing back and forth, compressing with super-nova potential for explosion. Excitement for the chase swelled in him like a wind catching a sail.

“Of course.” Her winning smile was meant to disarm and it did.

His abdomen tightened, but when she made an abbreviated move to slip around him, he stayed exactly where he was. He wanted her to brush up against him.

The barest hint of nervousness diluted her bravado before she stated airily, “I guess I’ll crawl through.”

She planted her knee in the driver’s seat and offered him a breathtaking view of her wiggling backside while she maneuvered into the passenger seat. Righting herself, she inquired sweetly, “Will you be warm enough without a jacket?”

“Plenty,” he drawled, jeans feeling as snug here as they were there. This was insane. “The market and back,” he stated as he dropped behind the wheel. “I have a corporation to run.”

“I know and I appreciate you doing this.” Her hand grazed his bare wrist as he turned the key. All the hair stood up on his arm. “I want us to be friends, Nic.”

His insides turned over with the engine. She had to be kidding. Dislodging her touch, he reached across to steal her sunglasses so he could see her as clearly as she saw him. He wanted to watch her comprehend they’d come too far for any more pretenses.

“The extent of the attraction between us doesn’t seem to be penetrating for you. We’ll never be friends, Ro. People with this much sexual desire between them can’t be.”

The undisguised stare of masculine intent from Nic started a pull in her belly. Rowan resisted with a clench of her stomach muscles. Through a night of tossing and turning, she’d absorbed that Nic didn’t keep his lovers in his life. He was ruthlessly throwing her out of her home. She absolutely shouldn’t have an affair with him, but here she was, unable to resist flirting with him when she could see, at last, that she had an affect on him. Insidious thoughts crept in that she might be able to persuade him against his plans for Rosedale if she got close enough to him.

Being close was heady, but frightening. She’d grasped at the Let’s Be Friends routine to slow things down. He wasn’t having it and the sexual energy between them couldn’t be ignored when they were crammed together in this tiny car, her sunglasses dangling from his fingers behind her head. He was caressing her face with his gaze, taking in the telltale bags under her eyes that she’d tried to cover with makeup. She couldn’t help dropping her gaze to his mouth and think of the way those lips had hardened against hers, feasting and appreciating.

The lips in question curled into a knowing smile.

“I—” She became aware of a slow burn inside her, like a fuse that had been lit and was taking its time creeping toward the cache of gunpowder.

“I want you, Rowan.” Her sunglasses slid down her shoulder into her lap as his fingers combed into her hair over her ear. “I’ve wanted you for a long time and knowing you want me too means I have no reason to keep my distance any longer. It’s only a matter of time before we satisfy our curiosity.”

“Curiosity,” she repeated, heart trip-hammering as she processed that he’d wanted her for a long time. “You make it sound so…” Unemotional. Of course it was pure physical desire for him. It still managed to pierce her with a sweet shot of excitement.

Blinking to ease the sting in her eyes, she shrugged, fighting the urge to turn her lips into his wrist where his warm hand cupped the side of her head. God help her if she revealed she was motivated by something far more tender than basic earthly appetites.

As a bit of self-protection, she murmured, “You make it sound like you just want to get to the bottom of this.”

She waited a beat before she gave him the limpid, ingénue blink that would tell him she knew exactly what a double-entendre she’d just delivered.

It only took a stunned second before he tipped back his head in a hearty laugh, a rare full-bodied sound that melted her heart. Thanks Mum, she thought with a caustic nod of acknowledgement to the woman who’d taught her the valuable art of flirting. Cassandra had always used it aggressively, to bring a man in line with her wants whereas Rowan wielded it for defense, but at least it was in her repertoire of skills.

“Well it would go a long way to easing the tension between us, wouldn’t it?” Nic mused as he released her to gun the engine and pull away.

Buy direct from Mills & Boon now, or pre-order from Amazon.

 

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Radio West Interview

For those who missed it, here’s a link to my radio interview with Rebecca Zandbergen of CBC (Kelowna).

Radio West Interview Dec 3 2012

How does one get invited onto a radio show? Blind luck and a bit of nerve.

I regularly listen to Radio West on my way home from work. One morning I heard they would be broadcasting from the art gallery in town, but with two cars in a three driver family, I knew I wouldn’t be able to drop by and see the show after work.

I was disappointed, but I was walking by the gallery on my lunch and saw the van. I had a short Dare-I? debate with myself, but being an old hand at rejection, I thought What the heck? The worst she could say is No Thanks.

Marketing peeps will tell you to turn your weaknesses into strengths and my record number of rejections does get me noticed. I introduced myself and noted her brief hesitation as she no doubt thought, ‘Great. Another writer flogging a book.’  

But who doesn’t love a Cinderella story? I explained that a reputable publisher–who doesn’t love Harlequin?–had bought my book and she asked me to email more details.

I ran home and read up on radio interviews. This link is excellent:

What Every Author Should Know About Radio and Television Interviews

I wrote up a list of questions I thought listeners might be curious to have answered and sent it through. Rebecca called me a few mornings later for more info, talked it over with her producer, and booked me for the following Monday.

A few hours before the interview, she called to give me some technical details and a bit of a dry run, asking me more questions about my background and books.

Fortunately, I had a ton of writing to keep me occupied until the magic hour. When the call came to put me on deck, I began to sweat. I paced and did a few yoga stretches and then we were on.

You wouldn’t know it from recent activities, but I don’t talk about my writing a lot. I stopped years ago because rejection isn’t fun to talk about.

Success is, LOL.

Rebecca is very personable and easy to talk to (obviously.) I had to keep reminding myself to stay on topic, be succinct, and pause so she could ask another question or tell me my time was up. My husband was home, but he waited until Rebecca sent through the link to my Facebook Page before he listened. Then he correctly answered my most burning question. ”Did I sound like a tool?” ”No.”

Okay then. I’m good with talking about my writing from now on.

 

 

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No Longer Forbidden? is available!

No Longer Forbidden? is available on the Mills & Boon website. Print or digital.

I’m tempted to order one myself, since I haven’t received any author copies yet.

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Squinching

So I finally get a book out to readers and, as was inevitable, received my first unflattering review.

I’m not going to tell you where it is. You can find it if you’re interested. And, even though my sister’s eyes widened when I told her and she began to surreptitiously remove items like neckties, razor blades, and bottles of pills from my immediate vicinity, I got over the trauma pretty fast. (Have you seen my rejection file? It’s a library unto itself. I am well aware that not every person who picks up my book is going to love it.)

Having said that, I’d like a vote on whether people who write reviews should have to say up front whether they paid for the book or got it free. ‘Cause if you feel cheated out of your three dollars, okay, you’re fair to warn other buyers. But if you got a book for free, at least say why you felt the need to take time out of your busy day to lay the hate on.

Which is what I said to my sister who immediately launched into a rant about offering free samples at the fudge shop she used to own. Suddenly I was the one tucking away loaded shotguns, fertilizer, and rat poison as she went off about people who think everything should be free and built to their taste and by the way, their opinion is the only right one.

Darling girl hasn’t owned the shop for ten years, but apparently those hard years left a mark. Her words took away the remaining sting from my review and then Kristen Lamb’s blog hit my inbox, reminding me that negative nellies are everywhere.

Now, I try to find the best in people no matter what. Maybe Kristen’s a$$hat was going through a really hard and lonely time in his life, prompting him to strike out at someone whose problems seemed small compared to his own.

Maybe my sister’s customers thought she was merely ‘the girl’ who worked for some big corporate fudge factory and that it was totally okay to feed her extremely narrow profits into their kids like, well, candy.

And, full disclosure, I posted a review not long ago that probably hasn’t increased that writer’s profits, so I totally had karma coming to me. (But I did pay real money for the information promised within his book, of which there was none. I stand by what I said.)

So this is NOT a defensive ‘you said I suck, but you’re the one who sucks’ response to my reviewer. Say whatever you want. I’m not going to stop writing–I’ve tried. It doesn’t take.

No, this is a reminder for anyone, writer or fudge maker or organ donor (hi Kristen!) that we all face bad reviews from time to time. It doesn’t matter if you offer thirty flavours of fudge (including neapolitan.) There is always someone who will squinch up their nose.

This week I got my first squinch as a published author. I’ll file it in the folder with my other squinches, like the rejection letter from about twenty years ago where an editor said something along the lines of, “I didn’t find the heroine’s ownership of a health food store a believable way for anyone to make a living.”

Maybe I should rewrite that one with her owning a fudge shop instead? *roll eyes* (See, that editor took the time to offer me a really good product for free: feedback on my manuscript. What am I doing? Squinching. Twenty years later.)

The truth is, we’re all guilty of squinching from time to time. Sometimes it’s our turn to take the squinch. These are not stop signs, merely markers to ask if you have enough fuel to make it to the next fill up station. Pullover and take stock if you have to, but persevere.

Unless you’re squinching at yourself. I have a distinct memory of my sister coming into my house with a half dozen samples of fudge, lining them up on the kitchen counter and begging me to taste them. “I can’t,” she said with an expression that was close to retching. “I’m so done with fudge.”

At least she still makes a killer mixed nut brittle. No one dares squinch at that.

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Drinking Together Keeps You Happy

I found this hugely interesting: Share A Bottle.

My guess is that the wine is incidental. The real secret is that the couple is making time to be together away from other distractions. When you’re able to reconnect, you’re reminded why you got together with this person in the first place and reinforce the bond.

As a pair working different shifts, we don’t get many opportunities to sit and have a drink together, but having read this, I’ll certainly make more effort to try. You know, for the sake of my marriage and lifelong happiness.

And here’s a current fave of mine. Check out the quirky bottle.

J.P. Chenet Merlot-Cabernet

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Free and Flying

Hustled to the Altar has gone free on Kindle again for Nov 26 & 27. It’s currently sitting at #6 on the Humour list. #147 overall. (It started at #5025)

Would love to see it climb a few more rungs. Download your copy here:

Hustled To The Altar

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Want My Authorgraph?

Did you know you can get your electronic books autographed? After you download your copy here: (free Nov 26th & 27th, 2012) click here for a personal comment from me:

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