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In This Month’s Issue: Stories from writers around the world I’m a little bit in love with my best friend The Potion My Tanning Bed Nightmare

Interview Janet Evanovich

Features Writers Corner play

Inspiring Pieces This should be your biggest fear Childhood Revisited

Book Reviews

Your Imagination Must Reads

Letter from the editor Welcome to the second edition of Imagine This online magazine. Go on a journey and rediscover the depth of your imagination. Support the writers within this edition and take a good look via their websites and links on other works they have written. I hope Imagine This is the beginning of a beautiful journey for you, as your dreams turn into reality through the use of your imagination. This month I was incredibly excited to do an interview with my favourite writer, Janet Evanovich. As well as receive well-written and creative submissions from talented writers from around the world. I do hope you enjoy reading Imagine This as much as I have enjoyed creating it. Please note, writers have submitted content from all around the world, so I have left spelling of their language as is, even if in another country, the word is spelt differently. Be sure to spread the word of this free online magazine. Yours sincerely,

Melanie Toye Editor of Imagine This Click here to become a fan on Facebook Interact on our blog at: Disclaimer Not all opinions in this publication are necessarily those of the publishers. No responsibility is taken by Imagine This Publications for any errors, misleading information or the validity of any third party content. This articles, information and anecdotes are not necessarily the original work of the editor or writers. Content thereof published by Imagine This remain the property of Imagine This and cannot be reproduced under any circumstances without prior consent. All published information, to the best of Imagine This knowledge is correct at time of publishing. Copyright Copyright © of all images included in content within this publication, unless stated otherwise, are from 123RF Stock Photos at All content submitted by a third party is copyright to the author.

Follow Melanie Toye’s inspirational blog at:

It's the same nightmare every night. I am running in the dark. I do not know where I am going. All I want is to find the light. After hours of merciless searching, I wake up haunted by the fact that I know exactly what this dream is telling me to do. "But I am not ready." I yell in my mind. I list reasons such as who will pay my mortgage, why I go searching for the path that will lead me to my dreams? And what if no one likes what I present to them? I can see the excuses pile up and yet I don't want to have the same dream again. But where to start? Where to begin? And will all the effort and hope in the end be worth it, if it all comes crashing down? I close my eyes. I grab a note book and pen. I write down my ideas, my fears and then I write down my biggest fear of all.

The feeling of a rock in my stomach drops as I ask myself these questions. I realise now, nothing is worth my time that doesn't fulfil me and contribute to my bright future. Today I have taken one step further in the direction of where I want to go. Have you and will you?

Imagine you wake up and are ready to take on the world. And you were going to travel by boat. You wanted an adventure. You wanted to explore new lands that you had never witnessed before. What would you pack for your voyage? How would you make shelter for temperament weather? What about food? Would you eventually land somewhere at a place you immediately fell in love with or would you continue on, because you love to see what else you can uncover? Perhaps it was all based on that one decision long ago, where you decided to go on a journey ‌ Imagine This.

A Pain in the Past By Wm. Luke Everest Follow via blog: I had the good fortune to meet Iain Banks at Alt. Fiction 2010, a literary festival in Manchester. I told him I'd been asked for some work by Andrew Hedgecock, Editor in Chief of the UK's biggest speculative fiction market, Interzone, and that I hadn't sent anything yet because nothing was good enough. He reared up, said, "Don't waste your talent, boy. If Mr Hedgecock asked to see your work, send him the best you've got before he forgets your name. If he tells you no thanks, try sending him something better." It's telling that I remember Iain as roughly eight feet tall. You might now be asking yourself how a hero-worshiping nerd like me could get into the industry, and this would be a very relevant question. You see, I had written on my own for a long time, comparing my work to only the best. I'd read Bob Shaw, Ray Bradbury, Guy de Maupassant, and strive to make my stories as good. Now, learning the craft is the most healthy thing you can do as an aspirant writer, without question. However, the least healthy thing you can do is, like me, feed your own discouragement and not offer your work for anyone else to read. Six months ago, in a fit of despair, I allowed a friend to send two unpublished short stories to the kind of agent I wouldn't have dared email--the kind who represents award winning, best selling author giants like Iain Banks. "The worst that can happen," I thought, "is she'll not reply, which leaves my inbox looking exactly the same as before." I only had hope in the self-destructive sense, occasionally imagining her wanting me and weeping tears of joy, knowing that what would really happen is I'd be crushed, regardless how often I told myself that it wouldn't matter. Leslie Gardner got back to me with some advice on how to make my stories better. She didn't mention anything about wanting me for a client. I despaired. I was out with my brother at the time, and we had a long conversation in which he basically told me that I should email her before she'd forget my name. I kept despairing. My fiancĂŠ told me that Leslie obviously did think something of me or else she wouldn't have bothered offering advice. "She didn't think enough to offer more than that," I insisted, "and that's the point." In a final fit of despair, having nothing to lose, I sent Leslie a fairly long email in which I thanked her for the advice and said I'd kind of, "in the back of my bouncy, aspirant brain," hoped that she'd be my agent. She got back to me and said, "Sure, I'd love to work with you." WHAT!?!!?!?!?!!?!??!?!?!?!?!?! I'm now represented by the same gal who represented Anthony Burgess, one of my favourite author giants of all time. Everything I know about marketing, I learned the hard way. The theme of our little story is that we shouldn't let ourselves get so focused on the mountain top that we forget the path. Good things don't come to those who wait. Pure hope is for losers. Good things come to those who try with or without hope. Had I not changed my method in a fit of self-destruction, I'd still lack professional prospects. Your author heroes aren't bigger or better than you, and you shouldn't be afraid to attempt joining their ranks. What I learned from all this is exactly what to do, because it's the exact opposite of what I've done. So, what's the opposite of living in your own head? Getting out into the world. What's the opposite of not showing your work to anyone? Showing it to everyone.

What's the opposite of being timid? Being brave. The opposite of finding satisfaction in what you tell yourself is telling others, so send your work out there for others to read. If they tell you no thanks, try sending them something better. All you can do is the best you can, so write your stories and let the world decide. I hope you can learn from my mistakes.

Childhood Revisited Long years have passed since my memory first was born. Peering through the curtain now, with curiosity anew I hear the deep throated mournful horn of the ship at sea as we sailed to the Panama Canal Zone, orders from the Air Force directing my Dad's path and all the family! I remember, that first Christmas there; could Santa find us ? I would wonder.. and yet , all was there under the tree that year, including a blue two wheeler and the doll I longed for with an eight year old heart, cocked her blue eye at me under the tree ! I remember the afternoon rains, falling predictably every afternoon, causing steam to rise above the horizon of the jungle trees. The girl down the street had a monkey for a pet. We fed him fat caterpillars and he flicked off their heads in an instant, popping them in his mouth, looking at me, quizzically. How fun it was to be eight and free! We would climb on lava rocks, grey and pitted; what a story they could tell, I later learned of hot molten fire paths flowing from a now dormant volcano leaving the rock in its path, to become my childhood plaything to clamber upon! "I will be Jane , and you be Tarzan" I could hear my young clear voice come back to me from far up in that jungle tree, holding a vine, just like in the movie! Verdant green was everywhere parakeets took to the air in splashes of yellow, green and blue, their squawking unmistakable as they flew! From the brownie hut I would walk each week on my small bare feet to our concrete villas down the hill nestled in the jungle clearing with their baked tile roofs reddish brown, and red bougainvillea bushes growing up the staircases to the first floor, the carports underneath in an open garage, where our car was waiting. I grew up like a little queen, of that jungle land, no dream! I was the child of a military officer and privileged far more than most I would come to know! By Becky Goddard Rizek. October 10, 2010 Click here to follow Becky on LinkedIn.

I met her in college, the first month of Freshman year, and I knew right away that I wanted her to be my friend. I told her later that I “pursued” her. By sophomore year she and I were an established ‘thing’ among our group of friends. It wasn’t unusual for us; our whole group, though of mixed gender, was very homosocial with each other, and most of us were paired off into same-sex best friend “couples.” As far as relationship models go, the “ironically flirtatious heterosexual life partner” thing is great, especially for college students away from home for the first time. It gave us a way to establish physical closeness--hugs, late-night confessionals, friendly kisses on the cheek--while still maintaining a protective aura of humor to prevent anything from getting “weird.” These friendships--hers, especially--gave me an excuse to be close to people when I wanted to be close, and alone when I wanted to be alone, and the distance and opportunity necessary to figure out how to balance both. I’m not the kind of person who shows physical affection easily. I didn’t grow up sharing beds with sisters (don’t have any) or cousins or friends. Being Catholic probably has some part to play in my reservations, too. That’s what people tell me, at least. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t want to be near people, at least sometimes--it's just that when I did want to, I didn’t know how to go about it. When I was about six I asked my grandma if I could sleep with her in her bed. It was a queensize so there was plenty of room, but even so I lay right on the edge all night, as far away from her as possible. She was so frail and small, for all the time that I knew her, and I was desperately afraid of kicking her, accidentally hurting her. I never asked to sleep with her again. She probably thought I hated it. My two best high school girlfriends used to cuddle all the time. They’d sit in each other’s laps, rest their legs across each other, spoon on the couch while the three of us talked or watched movies or played videogames. I’d sit next to them, feeling both uncomfortable and envious, not knowing how to touch them or what to do. We’d already graduated when, one afternoon, the three of us were watching a movie in someone’s basement, and the two of them swooped down on me where I sat on the floor and sandwiched me between them. My feeble protestations quickly died, and we spooned for the rest of the movie, the blush never leaving my face. I jumped up as soon as the credits rolled, claiming a full bladder. In college, though, physical closeness is nearly inevitable, and quickly became easy. My best friend was an easy-going, sincere and beautiful girl, the kind of person who was always busy and yet always made time for you if you asked her. I liked to sling my arm around her shoulders and pretend to get defensive when others teased her. I liked it when our friends called me when they couldn’t find her. I liked that people sometimes mixed up our names, even though we look nothing alike. She and I didn’t room together until senior year, but in those first three years we crashed on adjacent couches at friends’ places, slept on each other’s bedroom floors, shared bunk beds on

retreats. She’s a very heavy sleeper, and I’m a pretty light one, so more than once she snored through her ridiculously shrieky alarm clocks while I lay with a pillow over my head, wishing I was close enough to kick her. In our senior year we shared an apartment with two other friends, and though our rooms were separate our doors shared a corner and we were always sticking our heads in to say hello. We often ran into each other on the stairs at 3 am for our “good-night pee.” When I broke up with my boyfriend of four months that winter, I sat on her bedroom floor and cried while she hugged my shoulders and our other two housemates, both boys, paced nervously in the kitchen downstairs. She had started dating a mutual friend of ours near the end of junior year. It took me a few weeks of irritation and passive aggression before I realized how jealous I was. It took me a few more weeks to get over it. Now, almost two years later, it’s normal for the three of us to be hanging out together. I love “third-wheeling it” with them. But it’s funny--when we go out together there’s an unspoken agreement between me and him to keep her between us. To share her. Sometimes she pretends not to notice, and will do things like file into a movie theatre aisle first, or take the first seat in a restaurant. Then boyfriend and I do an awkward thing where we each gesture the other to the seat next to her. If she notices she rolls her eyes at us. A few months ago I confessed to boyfriend that I had been angry in spite of myself when he started dating my best friend. I said it jokingly. He laughed too. “I know,” he said. There have been moments where I wished I was a lesbian, or even wondered if I could be, so that I could be “with her” with her. It just seemed to me like being with her would be easier than spilling messy feelings over boys I liked, or going on laborious dates with boys I realized I actually didn’t like at all. It’s a naive notion, to be sure, but I was sincere in my self-questioning-although perhaps it’s important to point out that most of these moments occurred in freshman year, when such questioning is commonplace. But I never found any attraction toward her that was other than platonic--except for the simple pleasure of being near her. She stayed overnight at my place couple of times during and since college, and when it comes time to discuss sleeping arrangements I always offer her my bed, trying to act casual, but I give her another option in the same sentence, like “or the couch, or an air mattress.” She always defers to one of the latter. The last time she visited, boyfriend came too, and at her suggestion the three of us slept on the couches in my basement. It was like a sleepover. When I stay at her place now, if boyfriend is over then I sleep in a spare room downstairs. But the last two times he wasn’t there. So she dragged a spare mattress into her room and made it up for me. I love that. Being a very private and--I’ll be honest--kind of awkward person, I know the value of being invited into someone’s home and personal space. A few months ago, she and I and a few other friends visited our old college. It was the fall after we’d graduated; we stayed with some then-seniors, and spread blankets out on the linoleum floor of their suite living room. She and I got spots next to each other, but the floor was crowded and I made sure to lie very still and separate, almost like I was that little girl back in my grandma’s bed. Later that night I woke up cold; we had used so many blankets to pad the hard floors that we’d only left one or two to cover ourselves. I readjusted my blanket, careful not to tug any of it off of her. She was lying on her side, her back to me. And, after a moment’s hesitation, I cautiously turned over so that my back was to her too, and lay down with my back just barely touching hers. I could feel the heat radiating off of her. I glanced over my shoulder to see if she’d stirred. And she did--she raised her head very slightly, and though most of her face was hidden by her shoulder and her hair, I saw her look at me and smile. Then she dropped her head back to her pillow and adjusted herself ever so slightly, like sleeping people do, but now we were really back-to-back. I smiled too, and felt a tension I wasn’t even aware of ebb out of my body. Even the hard floor, which the blankets did little to assuage, suddenly felt more comfortable.

In the five or so years since we met, I’ve gone from being a nervous teenager who--literally-kept people at arm’s length, to having a friendship so close that I at times questioned my sexual orientation. But I’ve realized that wondering if I was a lesbian was just another form of social anxiety--I was trying to find an easy definition for a relationship that was changing my life in ways that I probably still don’t fully appreciate. The truth is--I love her. She’s my best friend, and I just like being close to her. By Jillian Rose Scharr. Follow Jillian on Twitter: @JillScharr

A ‘wicked’ interview with the New York Times Best Selling Author, Janet


With Melanie Toye

Toye: The characters in the Wicked and Plum Series all indulge in gluten foods, cupcakes, donuts, cake, burgers, fries and more. Your figure looks incredible, how can you write about these foods without craving them?

Evanovich: Who says I don't crave them (and sometimes pay dearly for eating them)?


for the compliment, though.

Toye: You have written over 54 novels, including 9 co-authored books. How much time a day do you give to writing, editing and proofreading a book? What motivates you to really make each book unique?

Evanovich: I write seven days a week, usually a solid eight hours and sometimes as many as 12 or more if I have a looming deadline (which I often do). I'm motivated by my readers who expect a good a book.

Toye: The Wicked Series is uniquely different from the Plum Series. The characters inner strength and values shine through while magic and dark characters surround them. Do you feel stories about magic in the real world are becoming more popular with adult readers?

Evanovich: I think they've always been popular.

Books by Edgar Allan Poe and H.P. Lovecraft have been popular for a century and 75 years respectively. Stephen King has been at it for 40 years. Dean Koontz has been writing successfully for 30 or more. Charlaine Harris, Stephanie Meyer and J.K. Rowling have had a huge adult readership for a decade or more.

Toye: And can I ask, was Harry Potter your starting inspiration to create a more adult style magical story?

Evanovich: It wasn't so much me trying to write a more adult supernatural series as my wanting to write a series that would be more accessible to the YA reader as well as to adults. For years people would write saying that if it weren't for the sexuality and salty language in the Plum series, they'd recommend my books to their own teenagers. That's what motivated me to write the Wicked books, which are definitely more PG rated than the Plums. As far as the supernatural elements in Wicked Appetite and Wicked Business -- I just thought they would be fun to write.

Toye: What does writing mean for you? How has your dream for writing changed your life? Evanovich: Except for my family, writing is the most important thing in my life.

I love it and I'm

very happy and grateful that I've been successful at doing it.

Toye: Janet, you have paved out a career as a successful writer, what is one adventure in life that you would love to experience?

Evanovich: My dream is being able to eat birthday cake at every meal without gaining a pound. I would volunteer for any medical trial with that as its aim. It's pretty unrealistic, but a girl can dream, can't she?

Thank you Janet Evanovich for taking time out of your busy schedule to share some more about you and your enchanting writing with Imagine This fans.

More on Evanovich When I was a kid I spent a lot of time in LaLa Land. La la Land is like an out-of-body experience – while your mouth is eating lunch your mind is conversing with Captain Kirk. Sometimes I’d pretend to sing opera. My mother would send me to the grocery store down the street, and off I’d go, caterwauling at the top of my lungs. Before the opera thing I went through a horse stage where I galloped everywhere and made holes in my Aunt Lena’s lawn with my hooves. Aunt Lena was a good egg. She understood that the realities of daily existence were lost in the shadows of my looney imagination. After graduation from South River High School, I spent four years in the Douglass College art department, honing my ability to wear torn Levis, learning to transfer cerebral excitement to primed canvas. Painting beat the heck out of digging holes in lawns, but it never felt exactly right. It was frustrating at best, excruciating at worst. My audience was too small. Communication was too obscure. I developed a rash from pigment.

Somewhere down the line I started writing stories. The first story was about the pornographic adventures of a fairy who lived in a second rate fairy forest in Pennsylvania. The second story was about …well never mind, you get the picture. I sent my weird stories out to editors and agents and collected rejection letters in a big cardboard box. When the box was full I burned the whole damn thing, crammed myself into pantyhose and went to work for a temp agency. Four months into my less than stellar secretarial career, I got a call from an editor offering to buy my last mailed (and heretofore forgotten) manuscript. It was a romance written for the now defunct Second Chance at Love line, and I was paid a staggering $2,000. With my head reeling from all this money, I plunged into writing romance novels full time, saying good-by, good riddance to pantyhose and office politics. I wrote series romance for the next five years, mostly for Bantam Loveswept. It was a rewarding experience, but after twelve romance novels I ran out of sexual positions and decided to move into the mystery genre. I spent two years retooling –drinking beer with law enforcement types, learning to shoot, practicing cussing. At the end of those years I created Stephanie Plum. I wouldn’t go so far as to say Stephanie is an autobiographical character, but I will admit to knowing where she lives. In ’95 my husband and I moved to New Hampshire. We bought a big ‘ol house on the side of a hill, not far from Dartmouth College. I have a nice view of the Connecticut River valley from my office window and there’s a couple acres of land around the house. It’s a good place to write a book … and would be even better if we just had a decent mall. You can take the girl out of Jersey, but you can’t take Jersey out of the girl. When we moved to New Hampshire we realized there was more to this writing stuff than just writing, so we formed a family business, Evanovich, Inc. My son, Peter, a Dartmouth College graduate, assumed responsibility for everything financial. He’s the guy who pulls his hair out at tax time and cracks his knuckles when the stock market dips. In ’96 my daughter Alex, a film and photography school graduate, came on board and created the website. Alex does it all … the E-mail, the comics, the store, the online advertising and the newsletter. Both Peter and Alex work full-time for Evanovich, Inc. I’m their only client. My husband, Pete, has his doctorate in mathematics from Rutgers University and now manages all aspects of the business and tries to keep me on time (a thankless, impossible job!) … plus he does a little golfing and skiing. It turns out I’m a really boring workaholic with no hobbies or special interests. My favorite exercise is shopping and my drug of choice is Cheeze Doodles. I read comic books and I only watch happy movies. I motivate myself to write by spending my money before I make it. And when I grow up I want to be just like Grandma Mazur.

More on Evanovich’s Book Series Wicked Appetite Seven Stones of Power. No one knows when they were created or by whom, each said to represent one of the Seven Deadly Sins. For centuries, treasure hunters have been eager to possess the stones, undeterred by their corrupting nature. The list is long — Genghis Khan, Alexander the Great, Napoleon, to name a few. Now the Stones have found their way to Salem, Massachusetts, and so has Gerwulf Grimoire, adding himself to this rogues’ gallery of power seekers. He’s an uncommonly dangerous man, with a hunger for the forbidden, and a set of abilities that are way beyond ordinary. Abilities that he feels entitle him to possess anything he might desire. That would include Elizabeth Tucker, the woman he needs to find the Stones. She’s freshly transplanted from New York City to Boston’s North Shore. With a new job as pastry chef at Dazzle’s bakery and an old house inherited from her Aunt Ophelia, her life is pretty much on track …until it’s suddenly derailed by a guy named Diesel, a rude monkey, and a ninja cat. Lizzy can handle the monkey and the cat. She’s not sure about Diesel. He’s offering up his own set of unusual talents, promising to protect her from Grimoire. The kind of protection that Lizzy suspects might involve guarding her body day and night. The Seven Deadly Sins are pride, greed, lust, envy wrath, sloth and gluttony. That pretty much covers everything that is wicked. Diesel thinks it also pretty much covers everything that’s fun. And Lizzy thinks Diesel and the Seven Deadly Sins cover everything her mother warned her about. Whether it’s monkey business, funny business or getting down to business, #1 New York Times bestselling author Janet Evanovich’s Lizzy and Diesel series proves that there’s no business like Wicked Business.

Wicked Business Lizzy Tucker’s once normal life as a pastry chef in Salem, Massachusetts, turns upside down as she battles both sinister forces and an inconvenient attraction to her unnaturally talented but off-limits partner, Diesel. When Harvard University English Professor and dyed-in-the wool romantic Gilbert Reedy is mysteriously murdered and thrown off his fourth-floor balcony, Lizzy and Diesel take up his twenty-year quest for the Luxuria Stone, an ancient relic believed by some to be infused with the power of lust. Following clues contained in a cryptic nineteenth-century book of sonnets, Lizzy and Diesel tear through Boston catacombs, government buildings, and multimillion-dollar residences. On their way they’ll leave behind a trail of robbed graves, public disturbances, and general mayhem. Diesel’s black sheep cousin, Gerwulf Grimoire also wants the Stone. His motives are far from pure, and what he plans on doing with the treasure, no one knows… but Lizzy Tucker fears she’s in his crosshairs. Never far and always watching, Grimoire has a growing, vested interest in the cupcakebaker-turned-finder-of-lost-things. As does another dangerous and dark opponent in the hunt – a devotee of lawlessness and chaos, known only as Anarchy. Treasures will be sought, and the power of lust will be unmistakable as Lizzy and Diesel attempt to stay ahead of Anarchy, Grimoire, and his medieval minion, Hatchet, in this ancient game of twisted riddles and high-stakes hide-and-seek. Visit Evanovichs website to find out where to purchase the Wicked Series:

Janet Evanovich’s Book Catalogue Stephanie Plum Series

Various Other Titles

Wicked Series

The Fox and O’Hare Series

Barnaby and Hooker Series

Re-Released Romance Novels

Co-Authored Romance Novels – Charlotte Hughes

Leanne Banks

Co-Authored Romance Novels – Dorien Kelly

Episode 2: Auditioning for the other side By Melanie Toye Background: Jeremiah has an acting gig for an hour every day at the Party Fun Shop, entertaining the street as a clown. He still needs more work to not only achieve his stardom statue but also pay his bills. Fresh out of college, he is determined to make it happen. Scene: Jeremiah's room. Phone next to his bed rings. JEREMIAH: “Jeremiah speaking.” (Jeremiah sits up straight. When the call is finished Jeremiah dials another number.) JEREMIAH: “Chase it’s me. You would never believe it. I just got a call from Miss Mary Lou, my ex-drama teacher who mentioned I should audition for the upcoming talent show.” Scene: Cut screen to show Chase on phone. CHASE: “But you are not in college anymore.” JEREMIAH: “She wants me to be a judge.” CHASE: “Now that would be fun.” JEREMIAH: “She also said to bring along anyone else I knew that would fit the profile.” CHASE: “What's the profile?” JEREMIAH: “That your talented enough to seek out the talented people. You in?” CHASE: Chase nodded and smiled. “When does it start?” JEREMIAH: “We have to be at the college at 11am.” (Jeremiah ends the call. He checks his watch. He starts to talk to himself.) “I still have a couple of hours to apply for some jobs.” Narration: The problem was acting jobs were rarely advertised. Jeremiah knew he had to seek out an agent who would receive the inside job offers. The other problem was he rarely had enough experience to win an agent over. JEREMIAH: (Jeremiah starts pacing his small room, when he trips on his bag.) “That's it. I will be my own agent.”

(Jeremiah sits down on his bed, reaches for his laptop under the bed and creates and prints his own business cards. He wets a cloth and dabs it under his arms. Changes his outfit and leaves the room to go spread the word about his talented new actor - him.) Scene: Job Hunting Jeremiah walks around the neighbourhood and is seen getting shooed out of some businesses as they point to a sign on their front door - The sign reads only customers are allowed inside. Jeremiah's shoulders slump over. He buys a raspberry Slurpee and sits down to drink it on a wooden outdoor chair in the street path. He checks his watch. He jumps off the wooden chair and runs to the college. Scene: At the College Dripping with sweat, he meets up with Chase in the college corridors. CHASE: “What happened to you? You look like you ran here.” JEREMIAH: “I did.” (Jeremiah walked to the bathroom and wiped the sweat off. A girl shrieks as he walks out. Chase roars with laughter. Jeremiah walks quickly back into the bathroom. He looks in the mirror and grimaces. Paper towel is hanging out from behind his neck. Gross. He walks back out to join Chase. They enter the room together with eight other people who are sitting in a circle set-up.) Scene: Audition Process MISS MARY LOU: (Miss Mary Lou walks into the room.) “Right, this is everyone. Thank you for coming. I have three judges I need, to audition over 300 wannabes of which ten positions with be cast. A two minute performance of the actors choice will be presented to you. You will show a fail or pass sign. If the actor receives two fail cards from two of the judges they are out. More than half of you won't get to be a judge. Anyone want to leave now to make my job easier?” (Miss Mary Lou’s lips purse together tightly. Two people, a male and a female leave the room.) “Good, that leaves half of you that won't go through as a judge.” (Miss Mary Lou stands). “As a judge, I need to be confident you would choose talent over looks. It is important I have people who can act. I can always make an ugly person beautiful with the right make-up. So please use your brain rather than your hormones. Enter the three women.” Scene: The fake audition begins The women enter the room. One large, one short and one who would benefit by having two eye brows. MISS MARY LOU: “Women, one by one pretend these judges are the one person you love but doesn’t love you. Convince them to take you back. Woman one - go.” WOMAN ONE: (Woman One walks up to the woman judge. She starts yelling.) “Why don't you love me? What did I do to you to make you stop loving me?” MISS MARY LOU:

(Blows whistle) “Next.” WOMAN TWO: (Woman Two bursts into tears. She looks Jeremiah fiercely in the eyes) “Please, please don't leave me. I love you.” (Woman Two stops crying and tries a different tact. She licks her lips and twirls a piece of her curled hair around her finger.) "Baby, you know I am the one for you. I will care for you, look after you,” (and pauses to flatter her thick eye lashes) “I would look great on your arm.” MISS MARY LOU: (Blows whistle) “Next.” WOMAN THREE: (Woman Three begins dancing Latin. She stomps her feet, captivates the audience with her strong yet fluent moves. She twirls and claps and walks up to the judges.) “A real man loves a woman who can synchronise her movements with his. Love me and I'm yours." (Her pouty red lips purse together as she stands hands on her hips. All in the room get startled when she claps her hands in the air.) JEREMIAH: (Jeremiah and Chase look at each other wide eyed. Then a smile forms on each of their faces.) MISS MARY LOU: (Miss Mary Lou escorts the three women out of the room and soon returns.) “Show me by the number of fingers on your hand, who would you put forward to the next audition stage?” (Six remaining wannabe judges vote. Miss Mary Lou points to two people.) “You and you are out. Thank you for your time.” (Jeremiah looks over to see they voted for Woman Two.) “The rest of you are in. And by the way, Woman Three would have been my choice. Whoever would have thought yelling at someone would bring them to love you? Judges fill out these forms and next week be ready for the audition process.” JEREMIAH AND CHASE: (Chase and Jeremiah grab the papers and walk out together.) CHASE: “Wow, Woman Two sure was a looker, who did you vote for?” JEREMIAH: “Woman Three. You?” CHASE: “Woman One - I like to be dominated.” JEREMIAH: (Jeremiah shook his head and laughed. The guys walked out of the college walls together.) “What do you have planned for the rest of the day?” CHASE: “I was thinking of scoping out the talent around here.”

JEREMIAH: (Jeremiah rolls his eyes and opens up the paperwork from Miss Mary Lou.) “Does it say if we get paid for this?” (The two guys stop and both open up the papers to read it.) “OMG, did you read that?” (Jeremiah points to the paper.) “We get paid $50 an hour. If Miss Mary Lou is right and over 300 people audition, we will get paid for ten hours of work.” CHASE: (Chase looks up at him lost.) JEREMIAH: “That's $500 for a days work.” CHASE: “Cool.” WOMAN TWO: (Woman Two walks pass.) CHASE: (Chase looks like a puppy dog and runs after her.)

Healthy Body and Mind After Easter and two weeks of family birthday parties, the sugar consumption began to rise and so did the unappealing spots on my face. Really, I feel too old for this. But evidence doesn’t lie. I rarely eat chocolate so to eat a small bit everyday over two weeks was just too much for my body. And really it is frustrating because it tastes delicious but the effects are too big to ignore. Of two small eggs a day, I would be instantly moody, my energy levels would drop, my skin be not so clear and who knows what else. I kept thinking ‘but its only two eggs a day, surely this should not have an effect on me.’ Now as I detox my body - and by this I mean – I will not be eating any more chocolate. I hope to rebalance my body inside and out. How? It’s very simple, I just don’t buy it. If it’s in my house, I don’t have the strength to not eat it. Do you want to do this challenge with me? We will call it – the healthy body one week challenge. Comment on Imagine This blog in the post titled Chocolate Detox - that you are ready to cleanse.

Melanie Toye reviews: A Lost Kitten by Jessica Kong "Very well written. Imaginative and Seductive." Book readers you will love this scifi/fantasy/romance novel. About a man/creature that is forced to leave his planet temporarily and finds odd occurrences while visiting a separate planet unlike his own. As a chick lit/romance writer myself, I was surprised at how a woman writer could word it in a way that men would enjoy reading the story, just as much as the women will. When I started to read A Lost Kitten I had no idea what was going to happen or how. In return I received surprises and was glued to my chair to read more. The people of the mist added to the air of mystery, especially when one woman of the mist was hoping to find her one true kindred spirit. Would the male/alien/seacreature with an incredibly hot body (which one would expect from years of army training to have) be her soulmate? Well that's the mystery along with how a mist like person would ever touch a solid being. Incredibly seductive and saucy scenes were added with the greed of wanting to find out what happens right up to the end. I am thrilled to have had a chance to find such a great author who I will read more of her books to come. I know without a doubt A Lost Kitten will be a huge success. Click here to read a free sample:

7 Habits of Highly Effective People WOMEN A 4-part series By Jennifer Galletti

Habit Three: Put First Things First Time is one of those things that we can’t get away from and never have enough of. Time is money. Time is precious. Time is on my side. Father Time. Daylight savings time. Time for work, time for school, time for kids, me time, tea time- do you have the time? I don’t. As a result, we all are running around like Alice in Wonderland’s white rabbit, worried about being late, late, late! We begin learning time management skills very early in life. With modern technology making everything “easier” to accomplish, it seems there is more of a demand on our time than ever. So how do we manage? I am a fan of the “to-do” list. List everything you have to do each day in order of priority. When you write it down and look at what you have written, you may be surprised at how many things you don’t actually HAVE to do. The list will allow you to analyze the way you spend your time and give you the opportunity to optimize your day. Delegate some responsibilities to someone else and recognize where you tend to waste time. Mark off items upon completion for an instant gratification/motivational boost. Oh, and ALWAYS make time for Habit Seven (read on).

Habit Four: Think Win-Win “When you’ve worked hard, and done well, and walked through that doorway of opportunity, you do not slam it shut behind you. You reach back, and you give other folks the same chances that helped you succeed” (Michelle Obama). Habit Four is, according to Dr. Covey, “a balancing act between courage and consideration.” Someone helped you, somewhere along the way. Whether you consider yourself in a position of power and influence or not, you are always in the position to pay it forward. Women get the short end of the stick pretty often, so it serves us best to exude some serious girl power when we get the chance. Habit Four is generally about helping ALL people, regardless of gender. Knowing the gender barrier is very real, programs like Aspire and The Inspiring Women Summits presented by the Shift Network are important to the empowerment of women in this cruel world. There is enough to go around. Have your cake and eat it too, but share and share alike. Women are (mostly) naturally compassionate, empathetic beings. Displaying integrity, maturity, courage, and consideration when dealing with others are all key components in determining how effective we are and will be. The barista at StarBucks is no less a woman than you because she smells like vanilla beans and earns a minimum wage, so be kind to her. Be charitable. Smile. Don’t take all the credit. Let the world be a better place because of you, not in spite of you. If you missed habits 1 and 2 view in the March edition here on page 27. Follow the next few issues of Imagine This to read all the 7 Highly Effective Habits.

“Home Wrecker” by Brenda Perlin New book out soon!

My Tanning Bed Nightmare My tanning bed nightmare started shortly after I met Bo. One afternoon, I received a phone call from my dermatologist telling me that he had some very serious news to share with me. This shocked me because it came from out of left field. He proceeded to tell me that the small—no larger than a typical blemish—dark spot on my butt was the worst kind of skin problem: a “melanoma” skin cancer. As he explained the details, I felt light headed, numb and definitely not present; it felt like I was floating over my body. He told me in no uncertain terms that, “This is very serious.” I felt bad for him, and scared for me, because I could hear his voice trembling. This was not an easy task for him. Wanting to make him feel better, I remained nonchalant and pleasant. As the conversation continued, I further digested what he was saying. The wires in my brain were slowly starting to connect. This was not a small little inconvenience, it could be another life threatening turn of events. This was all starting to sound extremely bad. In February 2009, I noticed a small mark (like a freckle) on the very top of my butt. I had not noticed it previously and had heard that if you found a new mole or growth on your skin, you should have it checked by a doctor. Any new blemish or growth could be a sign of something sinister. Shortly thereafter, I made a phone call to my primary doctor in Mission Viejo, California. The next day, I received a call back from my doctor’s office telling me that she would not refer me to a dermatologist without doing an examination herself. At that point, I was not overly concerned that the new freckle on my butt was anything life threatening, so I casually waited a few months before scheduling an appointment in August 2009 with that doctor. I rationalized to myself that I was

probably being a hypochondriac, overreacting to every magazine article about various diseases and afflictions, so I just put this one out of my mind. In August 2009, I was in my doctor’s office and remembered to show her the new freckle/mole on my butt. She took a quick look at it and said it was nothing to be worried about. I was relieved to hear good news from a doctor for a change, so I put it out of my mind. Basically, I crossed it off my list and planned on never thinking about it again. Fast forward eight months later. While I was having some cosmetic procedures done at my dermatologist’s office, I contemplated whether or not I should ask about the same freckle on my butt. I felt guilty asking for this additional time. Certainly, there were other patients in the waiting room and, after all, my exam was completed, except for that freckle. In my most jovial voice, I asked the doctor if he thought this freckle was anything to be concerned about. I thought he would brush it off as fast as my other doctor had done. He took a good look at it and said that he didn’t think it was anything to be concerned about, but added that suspicious growths should always be biopsied, especially new growths. I liked his thoroughness and, maybe the attention too, so I agreed. He did a biopsy and sent it to the lab for testing. I felt my worries were surely over. I was being safe, and felt good about taking care of myself in this fashion. I felt very mature. I never would have imagined that this small little mark would be anything that could have the power to alter the rest of my life. It made me start thinking about all the things that were important to me and all the friends and loved ones I would miss if I were gone. I thought about all the weekends I spent on the beach to keep that perfect “sun-kissed” tan all year round. I would also regularly escape to my favorite tanning salon for a quick session in the tanning booth. It was very popular, mostly frequented by people in their late teens and early twenties, just like me. It was not

something I talked about with my friends or family because it was not something I wanted to brag about. At that time, I wasn’t worried about wrinkles—I laughed at the thought of them—or the skin damage I always heard about. I was young, optimistic and carefree. As it turned out, I was also ignorant; I was about to receive a sobering awakening. A few days later, I received the doctor’s call. I had a melanoma, a potentially deadly skin cancer. To make sure there was no cancer remaining, the dermatologist wanted to do a second, more extensive biopsy. He told me how dangerous a melanoma was and that if it had spread, he would have to do a major surgery and remove the lymph nodes close to that area. Later at home, I found all kinds of information on the Internet about melanoma. I discovered that it can metastasize. At that point, there was little that could be done to stop the cancer. I was a “glass half empty” kind of a girl. My dad would say, “Don't be such a downer.” Like I have said, I was a realist! I could not believe that this was happening to me. After the phone call, I repeated that sound bite in my head. It was all so surreal and confusing. I guess you could say I was thinking, “Why me? Haven’t I been through enough?” Four days passed before I heard back from the doctor that the lab results were available for the second biopsy. Those four days were the longest, most tedious days that I can remember. It was hard to sleep and difficult to think about anything else. Nothing seemed as important. By the grace of God (I like using that phrase for the drama and nothing more), my report said that the melanoma had not spread and I would not need to have my beloved lymph nodes removed. This cancer would not kill me. Even though the cancer had not spread, I still had to return to the dermatologist for removal of the margins around the affected area of my butt. The three-inch scar I now have was the result of that procedure. It hurt like hell, but it was better than the alternative. The procedure went well. It wasn’t until the knife like pain started about six hours after the procedure that I started to realize that this was not going to be an easy deal. Even if I had gotten lucky this time (as Tom Petty once sang), I would always have to think like a survivor. I would be living at my dermatologist’s office and my days of roasting like a chicken in the California sun or under a tanning booth were over. Gone were the days on my chaise lounge baking in the summer sun while

chatting mindlessly on the telephone. I would have to be very diligent about the use of sunscreen and always remember to reapply. If I were to pick my God or savior, it would be my doctor. See what other books Brenda Perlin has out on – Receive updates and other short previews of Perlin’s revised Home Wrecker novel via Facebook here:

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Mike or Ray? In the mindset of Louise By Melanie Toye After an hour of solitude, Louise’s heart felt warm. She noticed Ray looking out from the balcony gazing towards the lake. Louise examined his features; even from a distance she could see him clearly. He had a strong face, yet his eyes were warm and filled with joy. He had a well-built body which he believed proved his dominance to the business world. Louise walked over to him and they embraced. “Would you like to join me for breakfast?” He asked. “Yes thank you.” He smiled warmly and organised the breakfast to be brought out. “Do you like this house?” “Yes Ray, you really do have a beautiful home. I feel like I am at a retreat.” “That’s why I like it to.” He said glancing back to the amazing view. “What are your thoughts on me?” Ray asked. Ray seemed to approach everything in a direct manner. Louise looked at him and laughed. “You are always seeking a compliment.” He joined in with the laughter. Their breakfast arrived with long stemmed glasses filled with fruit and yoghurt. “What would you like to do today Louise?” “I guess I should really be getting back to work.” “I would much prefer you stay here with me.” He motioned her over and they lay down together on the sun lounge. “Louise, I know you will need to sort things out with Mike.” He paused. “I was hoping you would consider marrying me?” Louise sat up suddenly and looked at Ray’s nervous face. “You barely know me. Are you sure?” He laughed. “Of course I am sure, I have known you for five years Louise and these past few days have felt like a dream. I don’t want you to go. I want you here with me. You can leave your position and we can enjoy life together.” “Retire?” Louise asked still in shock. “Yes, but not what you would normally consider when you hear the word retire. We would enjoy life, be active and do whatever we want.” He bent down on one knee and opened a white box. “Louise will you marry me?” “I would love to Ray.” Louise looked down at the ring and then saw her current wedding band from Mike. Without hesitation she took Mike’s rings off and placed them in her pocket. He slides on her new ring. “Obviously we will have to wait to get married till you are officially divorced. However that doesn’t mean we can’t start preparing our wedding.” Louise looked at the ring and then at Ray. She could not believe everything had moved so fast. She then spoke in a soft voice, almost to herself. “It’s time I face Mike.” She admitted. Ray looked worried, “would you like for me to come with you?” “No, I better do this by myself.” Ray was concerned of Mike’s anger but Louise was determined to go by herself. Louise drove to her old house and saw the familiar neighbourhood and the familiar house she had once lived in. She took a deep breath and opened the car door to face her past. Click to buy from Smashwords Click to buy from Amazon Click to buy from Barnes and Noble

What can I say about the amazing book that took me on a journey with three amazing ladies. The roads they were on to start with and coming into their own. I totally connected with a part of each of them. There was at least one thing about them that I could relate to. Miranda with her work work work, obsessive habit when it comes to an idea or goal. Grace with her care free spirit, because I do try not to let things get to me and just go with the flow. Louise with her wanting to be loved and yet it seems so far away. I can't help but see a bit of myself in all three of these ladies. There were times when I would laugh out loud and other times when I wanted to strangle the man for being such a crazy lunatic. There were times when I couldn't help but smile because I would have loved what had happened in the story to have happened to myself as well. These ladies take on a journey that every woman goes down. The story starts out with Miranda and as the story continues you get to know Grace and Louise as Miranda brings them together and their lives cross paths. They bond with each other and get to know each other, becoming close friends. They tend to look out for each other as well as the story continues, bonding even more. The men in their lives is one thing but the woman trying to destroy everything, Sally, is such a pain in the bottom. I tell you if women could just avoid drama that comes with High School in their adult life then life would be so much easier. Though it is Miranda that Sally is out to get, she uses Grace and Louise to get to Miranda. She is jealous of everything Miranda has and wants to destroy her throughout the entire story. Miranda dodges most of the hits as Sally throws curve balls her way. I was surprised at the way the story ends with such a lovely HEA that I wanted to throw my hands up and say, “HA that's what you get!!!” Pfft... Read Julia’s interview with Entice Me main characters here:

‘Kids, write your own stories’ which hosts 26 Creative Writing Activities for ages 8 +. Let your child create a story where anything can happen. This e-book is purely to inspire and excite children to take a step out of the technicalities and rules of writing. As they write freely letting their imagination guide them. Kids, write your own stories can be purchased from Smashwords here ‘Annabelle’s Angels’ is a sweet story about a young girl who can see angels. A great story that will show your child how magical a world can be, when one believes in the power of angels. Annabelle's Angels can be purchased from Smashwords here ‘Activities for Babies’ is another classic example of Melanie’s creativity in the home. With a young son of her own, Melanie created an e-book for babies aged 6 months +. The activities include items from around the home that will surely give your baby a giggle and a new platform for exploration and learning. Available from Melanie’s next big novel release is Destiny Lane, a fantasy novel that will take readers on a journey of living in a world where the mind creates what you want at the moment you want it. Let your imagination fly. It is anticipated Destiny Lane will be released in mid-2013.

Tinashe ran into the forest as the sun bled into the sky. The big black sack he carried on his back was growing heavier and heavier. The trees all looked the same and the sky was forever hidden by the leaves. Were he not so certain of his purpose he might have started to believe that he was going around in circles. He barely heard the croaking frogs and the chirping crickets. The shadows of the leaves that moved in the wind and the low and menacing growls of creatures unseen only made him move faster to complete his objective. Fatigue would not stop him. He was running to the n’anga (witchdoctor) for answers. It was impossible. His suspicions and the vicious rumours were unfounded. It was not in her nature. She was the prettiest girl in the province; no, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Every man wanted to be with her, but she had chosen him. She was his one and only love and would never have in a million years betrayed him. However the signs were there. He could not completely ignore them. Sexual intercourse with his wife was infrequent, even when he tried instigating it. Of course he had some problems of his own in that department, but once a month was too much, or rather more to the point, too little. During the past few months she had also been very distant with him, sometimes actually disappearing for hours on end. Something was up, but he was simply not sure. Could there truly have been someone else? Could the rumours be true? After all, the old ones did say that there was no smoke without fire. The n’anga would definitely know. When Tinashe smelt sulphur he knew he was near his journey's end. He rummaged around the bushy overgrowth searching for the famed hut draped in lion skin. When he found it, he confidently announced his presence to the occupier of the hut from twenty feet away. A loud growl echoed back to him. Tinashe hesitated; he had heard stories about men who had been turned into chickens after they heard the sound of a chicken in reply, but he appeared to be in luck. The sound he heard had resembled the mighty roar of a lion. The old ones had said that braving the threatening sound showed the n'anga the level of your conviction. The n'anga would then be bound to help you with whatever predicament you had then. He walked into the dilapidated shack to find a skinny man with brass hooks in his nose, lion teeth in his earlobes and natty and dirty hair on his head. He was sitting cross-legged on a stone floor with a broken calabash full of what looked like chicken bones in front of him. Tinashe knelt down respectfully and with his head bowed he spoke. ‘Oh venerable one, omniscient one, you, who communes with the dead, you who communicates with the spirits. I fear my wife seeks the comfort from other men. What can I do? How can I find out if this is true?’ The n’anga was growling for a while when suddenly his pupils turned a milky white colour and his body was overtaken by violent tremors for several seconds. Tinashe lowered his head some more. The n’anga picked up his broken calabash full of chicken bones and shook, tossed and turned it then threw the bones into the air. For a moment the bones stayed up there, as if caught in a see through net held by invisible hands. He took a draught of home brewed beer from a clay cup that

was next to him, gargled it then spat it out onto the stone floor. Then the chicken bones fell back to the ground again. They landed on the wet part of the stone floor. The n'anga gave Tinashe a cold stare and spoke in an unearthly voice. ‘The spirits are drunk and wish to play. Take this potion home to your wife today. On the way, a prayer to the gods you must say and in blood they demand their pay. As for me, I want your best bread, dried meat and beer! When at home find a time to be alone. Mix this potion with your wife's food and if she cheats you’ll catch her good.’ Tinashe raised his hands and reverently thanked the n'anga. Out of his sack he pulled out five loaves of fresh bread, a kilogram of dried and salted meat and five litres of the finest and most expensive beer brewed in his village. He placed these in front of the n'anga and when he nodded, Tinashe picked up the little wooden container that had been placed on the floor, bowed his head once more and crawled backwards out of the lion skin hut. Once outside Tinashe found a clear part of the forest. It was essential that he was able to see the moon so he took his time looking for the right place. When he found it he dug a small hole with a stick he had picked up in the forest. As he dug the hole he uttered a prayer thanking the gods for his life, for his wife, his good fortune, for the sun and the rain and for the help they were about to give him. He stopped digging when he had finished his prayer and pulled a knife out of his pocket. He looked at it as its blade caught the pale blue moonlight, then he sliced his palm deeply muffling a cry. He let the blood stain the knife and obscure the moon's reflection on the blade. He took the knife and placed it into the hole he had dug. Tinashe proceeded to squeeze his injured hand over the knife in the hole so that it was sufficiently covered with blood. He said one more prayer of thanks to the gods and his ancestors then buried the knife. When he got home his wife was not there. He took the opportunity to go into the kitchen where the food was cooking in the black pots on the open wood fire stove. He opened the vial containing the amber potion and poured it into the food. When she returned he told her that he felt ill and that he would not be eating that night. He stayed up with her and watched her eat all of the food. Then they went to sleep immediately. Weeks passed and nothing happened. His wife remained faithful and she did not sleep with him or, to his knowledge, anyone else. Tinashe was certain of the n'anga's power and he knew that the potion would work if anything untoward was occurring. This made him feel bad. It meant that he had wrongfully doubted his wife all along. It made him happy that she was faithful, but all the same the mistrust he had placed in his wife sorely disappointed him. He wanted to hold and make love to her always. He could not believe that he had taken the word of that drunken scoundrel Nwoye who had told him that he had seen his wife gallivanting around the village. What did that even mean? He was sure that if he, Tinashe, with his second grade level education did not know the meaning of the word gallivanting then how could an uneducated buffoon like Nwoye possibly know what it meant. It had surely only been a moment of panic on Tinashe's part and he had misread Nwoye's gestures to mean that his wife was cheating on him. The word obviously meant something else. Tinashe decided to ask his white friend, Mr Anders, what the word meant next time he was visiting, but as for now, the most pressing issue on Tinashe's mind was finding out why his wife was behaving so awkwardly and why she was so distant with him. He had to find a way to please her and if he did not find anything by the time Mr. Anders visited, well he could ask him about that too. Mr. Anders was known to be a lady killer in those parts.

One night, while sleeping peacefully, a cry sounding like slaughter came from the servants’ quarters. Tinashe woke up in his room with a fright. He went to check the room adjoining his own and found that his wife was not sleeping on her straw mat. Tinashe began worrying that there was an intruder in his home. He picked up the big wooden stick he always left next to his wife's sleeping mat and went to explore. After looking everywhere else and failing to find his wife or any sign of an intruder, he decided to go and check on the servants quarters. As he approached them he heard strange sounds; noises very much like a struggle, coming from the gardener's room. ‘It’s stuck!’ The voices of a man and woman cried. Tinashe broke the door and ran into the gardener's room to find his wife on top of the gardener. ‘I’m stuck.’ The bare skinned gardener shouted. ‘It’s stuck!’ The cheating wife cried. ‘You’re stuck!’ Tinashe exclaimed to his naked wife. The potion had worked.

Imagine This Scenario Like a waterfall I take many routes, always pushing forward. Always rushing through the channels in the hope that I will find my destination. Sometimes I crash head on into a dead end that I thought was the right way to go. Other times I stay near the edges to take time out for the heavy rush. I will look as far back as I can to see the magic of my surroundings but then in a brief moment I redirect my attention and move forward. Imagine if you stayed in the one spot in your life. Imagine, you never learned more about your skills and talents or never took a specific path, imagine where that would lead you? All things move forward, it’s the way of life. So should you. What are you still living that should stay in the past? What do you want to forget? It’s time to move forward, don’t be afraid of letting go. Embrace your future.

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Imagine This April Edition  

Imagine This FREE online readers magazine is dedicated for readers to find new authors through short stories and articles. The mag also hold...