Iudas grumbled when he looked out at the scene before him. It was all just taking too long. Too damn long.

“Gather up those bloody peasants!”

Hearing his voice becoming annoyed, his men moved faster. They had long ago learned what Iudas’s annoyance could do to a person. Soon enough, the villagers had been gathered in from all the little farms that surrounded the hamlet, and tucked into a small mass in front of Iudas. He sighed at the pitiful looks and thin bodies. What a worthless lot of cretins he ruled.

“You have been selected to join me, to fight for me, as we wage war on the horrid beast Inswán! He has invaded our lands, burned down our villages, slain our people! He sends spies to take what little we have, to steal from us! Now we bring him retribution. And you shall be the agents of our retribution!”

One of the peasants looked around, raised a hand, and spoke. “Begging your pardon, lord, but we aren’t much of a retribution. We’re just poor farmers.”

Iudas gestured. A soldier rammed a dagger into the peasant’s gut, then ripped it sideways.

“Anyone else want to interrupt me?”

The peasants cowered in fear.

“You’re learning. Good. That puts you above the village of idiots I burned down. With them inside of it, mind you.” Iudas took a slug of wine from a skin hanging off his saddle. “Soldiers, you know the drill.”

The healthy men were separated out from the rest, and a small cadre lead them off at a fast march, heading in the direction of Gárhéap, Iudas’s capital. There they would be given basic weaponry and training. Very basic, sadly, much as Iudas wished he could do better. But his lands were poor in metal, and what little he had was not going to be wasted on illiterate peasants. They would be little more than fodder against the walls of Abboddóm, anyway.

Once the new recruits were safely out of earshot, the remaining soldiers started pulling attractive women from amongst the rest who stood there. This was their reward, taken from every village captured. The prettiest of them all went to Iudas, although he thought that wasn’t saying much. Mud-covered farm peasants weren’t really his type, but he made do with what he could find on campaign. It was mostly just a form of tithing, anyway.

Shouts and cries began to echo around the little village. Iudas listened for a moment, then nodded. His men had been given strict orders to impregnate as many of the women as possible, rather than to harm them. After all, the world contained far too few people. The Breaking and the plagues that had followed has seen to that.

Pondering over what might have been if the world still stood as it once had, he took the peasant girl by the arm and lead her into a hovel. He was feeling gentle today. Mostly. (more...)

“Náhte, why is there a net on your head?”

“I needed a hat.”

“Náhte, it’s a net. It lets the sun shine through. And doesn’t keep off the mosquitoes either. Also, it smells of fish. Dead fish.”

“I know. I’m hoping fish will jump into the net and I can eat them. I’m hungry.”

Butan just sighed.

They’d been in Át?san a week now, and had, for once in their lives, honest employment. Neither of them liked it very much.

“Kagdor didn’t bring any food, did he?”

“He brought me more nets to wear. Draped them over my head when he left.”

“That was probably because he doesn’t like you. You cut up one of his nets and used it as a fishing line.”

“He wasn’t using it!”

“Náhte, we’re supposed to be repairing the nets, not breaking them.”

“Oh, is that what this job is? I thought I was just a clothes rack.”

“You just might be.”

“Do I get more money as a clothes rack?”

“No, less.”

“Then I don’t want to be a clothes rack.” Náhte thought for a moment. It was a long moment. “I don’t want to be honest any more, Butan. Honesty is kind of dull.”

“You mean there’s nobody shooting arrows at you? Or trying to sell you into slavery?”

“Exactly!”

“You want people to shoot at you.”

“I think so. I like the sound that arrows make as they whiz by.”

Butan started crying.

–

“Why are we here?”

“Because I was bored of being honest as well.”

“But this is the Knights of the Broken Wheel mission. We can’t join them, they’re honest!”

“I don’t want to join them, I want to rob them.”

“Doesn’t that mean they’ll poke us with pointy things?”

“Given everything else we’ve met tried to do that, what’s the difference?”

Náhte paused.

“They have bigger pointy things?”

“On that, you’re probably right. Ready to go over the wall?”

“Why not swim up the little creek into their complex that no one ever guards?” Náhte pointed.

Butan clapped a hand over his eyes. “Náhte, that’s an open air sewer.”

“Oh, that means I’ll smell foetid. I’ll have all the pretty flowers again, and I can paint them.”

“Fine. Náhte, you can swim in, and I’ll climb over the wall.”

They went their separate ways.

Butan dropped over the wall, huddled in the darkness behind a crate, and looked around. There wasn’t any movement he could see, so he crept towards the storehouse against the back wall of the complex. A Knight stepped out from the barracks, heading to the outhouse, and Butan froze, posing himself like a tree. And then almost fell over.

When the Knight had gone, he made it the rest of the way to the storehouse and slipped inside. Oddly, the door had been unlocked.

“Butan, you’re slow.” Náhte was sitting on a chest, munching on some flatbread.

“How in the name of all the gods did you get in here so quickly?”

“I followed the stream. I knew it came here, after all.”

“You knew the stream came straight into the storehouse, and you didn’t tell me.”

“I’d swum in it before, Butan. I like swimming. Lets me be closer to the fish.”

“I thought the fish tried to bite your fingers and you didn’t like them.”

“We’re on better terms now.”

Butan shook his head, and started hunting through the stacks. Most of what was there was either sealed barrels of food, or military equipment that would be difficult to sell.

“I don’t suppose you’ve worked out a perfect way to sneak stuff out of here, Náhte?”

“I usually swim with it in my shirt. It gets a bit smelly though. And damp.”

“Selling urine-soaked bread is probably not going to go down well. Next idea?”

Well, we could weight a barrel down with some rocks so it floats just below the surface, push it along, and then pop it out of the stream when we’re outside.”

Butan stared at his friend. “Did you just have a smart idea?”

“I’m not sure. What makes ideas smart?”

Butan puzzled on that one. “You’ll have to ask a philosopher.”

“What’s that?”

“A man who thinks about the big questions.”

“You mean like ‘To surrender, or not to surrender’?”

“No, more like whether we perceive reality, or if what we perceive is only a shadow cast by the true reality.” He stopped. “Incidentally, why’d you bring up surrender?”

“Because there’s five Knights outside.”

They both dove for the open sewer.

–

The thieves came up spluttering, covered in foul smelling liquid. Unfortunately, the first thing they saw was a pair of boots. Followed by a sword tip, the rest of the sword, and a large angry man.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let us surrender?”

The sword swung.

“Thought not. Knights aren’t known for their mercy.”

Náhte ducked, and Butan grabbed a lump of, well, better not think about it and threw it into the Knight’s face.

With the Knight clawing at the adhesive filth, they ran. Well, Butan ran. Náhte charged into the Knight, knocked him to the ground, and stole his helmet. Then he ran.

After they were a good safe distance away, inside the edge of the swamp, Butan looked at Náhte and gestured at the helmet. “Why?”

“I always wanted a Knight’s helmet.” He plopped it on his head. “I look dashing in it, don’t I?”

A man in rags with the metal helmet of a Knight. Dashing wasn’t exactly the word that sprang to Butan’s mind.

“You look exotic, Náhte.”

“Oh, I like that even more.”

“Yes, I thought you might. That’s why I said it. Now, what are we going to do?”

“Well, there’s a nice sunset I could paint on the tree. With mud, of course.”

Butan shoved Náhte into a puddle.

“No, Náhte, big picture what are we going to do next?”

“Oh, hrmm. Die, probably. At least, I think that’s what comes after living.”

“You aren’t helping. Especially not since I think those Knights are organizing a search party.”

“We could flee?”

“I like your thinking.”

They fled. (more...)

For now, I’m just going to spend the weekend basking in the fact I’ve ‘finished’ another novel. But before I go, here’s the opening page.

Chloddio’s hammer crashed against the shield of his instructor, a muffled thud as the training weapon impacted solid metal. Chloddio followed with a sweeping strike, coming in high and from the right, aimed at the side of Cavrel’s head. The instructor’s shield rose as he ducked slightly, and the blow glanced away, momentum carrying the warhammer above his helmet. Chloddio threw his strength into reversing the strike, pulling it into a backhand aimed at Cavrel’s skull. A frown spread across the instructor’s features as his weapon came across, the cloth-swathed head slamming into the haft of Chloddio’s weapon, knocking it flying.

“You are a dead man Chloddio. Again. A sweeping side-arm blow with a warhammer? I could have stepped inside and gutted you. I just chose to knock it high and then disarm you. It’s flashier, and it proves a point. Either way, you’re dead. You use great swinging strikes, building from your shoulder. I’m not a rock, and will not meekly stand still while you mine me. Those spikes” Cavrel pointed at the top of Chloddio’s weapon, lying on the dirt. “are not simply for decoration. Use them to thrust or backhand, a change of direction, anything aside from your continual hammering. Subtlety in combat will save your life.”

Cavrel paused, looking at the warhammer on the ground, then back at Chloddio. “Another thing: This is a battle, not a show. You flourish. You wave your weapon above your head as if that will inflict damage. It’s costing you here in the training ring, and it will cost you more when someone doesn’t fight fair and kicks you in the groin. At least you wear armour reasonably well. Means you’ll last a few moments more in a fight, but only a few moments.”

“Gather your gear, put it back in the armoury and go home.” Cavrel sighed. “I’ll get nothing further from you today. Remember to be here by sun-up tomorrow, we’re working on squad tactics and marching.”

“Yes sir. By sun-up.” Picking up his hammer from the ground and shouldering his shield, Chloddio jogged to the armoury, handing the tools of his new trade to the weaponsmith who prepared them each morning. Two assistants helped Chloddio out of the heavy practice armour, thick padding overlaid with metal and stone layers, added weight to make real armour feel light and free.

One of them tapped the cuirass. “You should be more careful with this, you know. It’s getting more costly to repair it or replace it.”

“More costly? Why so?”

“Well, you hear there’s been a mine collapse or two? Seems that with those mines shut down, the price of ore and the ironstone we use to make the armour is going up. Quite a bit.”

Chloddio knew the mine collapses all too well. He had been the lead safety engineer at the first, tasked with examining the tunnels and caverns for collapse, and shoring them up when there was any danger. And he’d failed. A large fall had sealed the entire mine, and killed everyone in it, despite all that he could do. And only two weeks after that failing, another mine had shut down. Owned by a friend of Joestin Hogof, the man who had once employed Chloddio.

“But that’s only two mines. There’s dozens all around Tri-Hauwcerton.”

“You say that, but it turns out most of those other mines don’t produce consistent enough quality for our blacksmiths to buy from them. There’s only six that the quartermaster approves, and two of those six are closed for months. I’m even hearing rumours one of them would be closed permanently, that the collapse fractured an underground river.”

“Which one is that?”

“Can’t tell you. Rumour doesn’t say.”

The recruit shook his head. “Well, its not me you should be worrying about. It’s all those veterans who take delight in knocking me on my ass.”

“You’re the one with the shield sweetie. Use it.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Kid, I’ve been caring for this armour for twenty years. I know exactly how easy it is. And you just better start learning, otherwise you’ll be going out in armour that’s going to crumble. We’re using up all our repair budget keeping the real suits together. Practice armour’s at the bottom of our list.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll do my best.”

“From the looks of this, you need to do a lot better than that.”

“Enough already. I get ground down by Cavrel as it is.”

“Cavrel, eh? He’ll get you into shape. Either that, or he’ll kill you trying.”

“He can kill me as long as he doesn’t dent the armour, right?”

“You got it, kid.”

Reader Quotes:

It’s not often that we get to revel in the villain. Bloodaxe is a delightfully misogynistic cad, whose observations about life and people are surprisingly direct and spot on.

I love reading fantasy but I’ve never encountered anything like this. It’s a quick read, under an hour, but is so full of win!

Bweeheeheehee! This is the best book summary I’ve read in a while. Mr. Tallett, please take my dollar.

And with that I shall leave you with the blurb itself, and a link to download Bloodaxe for free!.

Bloodaxe thought he was in for a nice relax. He was, after all, dead.

And then some jumped up prick of a god told him he had to rescue a kingdom. His own kingdom, in fact. So Bloodaxe grabbed his, well, axe, and leapt back into the fray.

First, though, he had to be born. And learn not to crap his pants. Then he could get to the killing. Lots and lots of killing.

This is his story.

It’s been a long process getting to this point, but the story feels a lot better for it. Beforehand, there were stretches of writing that described beautiful scenery, and left the plot mired in a sand trap. Those are all gone (or almost all), and the story is now much tighter, and with a lot more action in it.

The changes are going to necessitate another heavy round of edits, this time to make sure the old material merges in well with the new, but there are already readers going through the material to see if they can catch continuity mistakes. Hopefully, I haven’t written in too many.

So, now that I’ve added in over 30,000 in new material, where does the story go from here? Well, it gets an ending. A new one that suits all the new material. That will take another 10-20,000 of new material, but I’m sure I can do it before the end of April. And boy will that be a good feeling. Even if it means I need to start editing again. (more...)

Yes, there was a lot of useless cruft that had to be chopped and removed. Most of it describing the scenery, and day to day life. There was a lot of day to day life, and it was boring and dull. So it’s gone.

Since that second editing pass, I’ve been replotting and adding large segments to the story, and now I’m close to done. Another two weeks or so should bring me to the end of the writing pass, and then I can go back and see how much this draft needs to be edited down and rebuilt. Hopefully, not too much, because I’d like to get the book out this summer.

And, well, the other reason for my silence looked like this:
(more...)

A bird at play amongst the skies
A figure in the shade
A child, one that dies
A darkness amidst the glade

All these things had clouded round
The village for to seek
A home, a hearth, a living speak
Yet buried upside down

Caper and dance, laugh and fall
The devil’s daily bread
Now slay them fast, now slay them all
And the leader you must behead

And piss upon his gravestone now
For tomorrow you’ll be drowned

This is what I saw.

The summary is question:

Bloodaxe thought he was in for a nice relax. He was, after all, dead.

And then some jumped up prick of a god told him he had to rescue a kingdom. His own kingdom, in fact. So Bloodaxe grabbed his, well, axe, and leapt back into the fray.

First, though, he had to be born. And learn not to crap his pants. Then he could get to the killing. Lots and lots of killing.

This is his story.

Buy Bloodaxe

You’ve all seen Lord of the Rings, right? (If you haven’t, go watch all three, and come back tomorrow. You’ll thank me). Now, most people think about the story, the sweeping epic tale of victory through perseverance. I’m not going to talk about that. I’m going to talk about something a little duller: Architecture. Specifically, Fantasy Architecture.

In Lord of the Rings, it mostly lives in the background, created through the use of brilliant fantasy art and CG. And in fantasy stories, that’s all too often where it lives – the background. And if it’s not in the background, it’s architecture that looks Asian or European, architecture that draws on landscapes and vistas taken from the medieval world.

In both cases, the author is missing out on a wonderful opportunity to create a mood, a feeling that carries throughout the novel. Take modern architectural design – a well traveled person can look at a city and see exactly where he or she is. And that’s how architecture should be used in fantasy as well.

Here’s some fantasy art that conveys much of what I’m looking for. Yes, I know, it’s a boat, not a building. But it’s unique, and different, and I bought that book (and read it) based on just the cover. And while the architecture of your fantasy society might not sit on the cover of your book, once the reader turns to the first page, you can be damn sure it’s going to make an impression.

Okay, great, you’re saying. Architecture matters. But I’m not an architect and I haven’t got a clue how a building is designed. And it doesn’t matter. It’s called fantasy for a reason. The construction process doesn’t need to be described in detail, the building doesn’t need to pass contemporary safety codes, and the author shouldn’t let fine detail cramp a good story.

So, you want to do that. You want architecture that fits the story without taking too much space. First step – for each culture, pick one or two words or phrases that describe their architectural design. As an example, I’ll use ‘Open’ and ‘Windy’. (I’m cheating, by the way. I already built this culture). ‘Open’ – most contemporary architecture uses this to mean open plan, but think a little outside the box – remove walls. So every building has no exterior walls, aside from some grass mats that can be rolled down in a storm.

To read the rest, just click on through. (more...)

And yes, it’s still free, and will be for a little while longer. Until Bloodaxe arrives, probably.

Just in case the numbers change, here’s the screen capture.

And if you’re curious what that skiing looks like, here’s my brothers giving quite a demonstration. They’re better than I am, if you’re curious. Downside of being the oldest.

“Go!”, it said, face all full of fury
“Go and find another one,
for I am done with thee”
And off it went, slipping from my palm

I looked around, but saw no soul
wandering then, I went
I searched high and low yet found no hint

I begged and cried and sought to steal
but never came within my grasp
Till one fine day, I settled down
my face within the grass
Life had passed me by
and I expired there at last

Splintered Lands has grown just a little bit from our initial plans. At first, it was going to be a standalone anthology with stories from the team, as well as from a collection of outside authors, but as time passed, we were getting such good stories, and the authors were enjoying working in Splintered Lands so much that two ideas that started out as short stories have grown and grown, until they’ve become full fledged novels. For one author, this was how he described the opportunity – “… Other stories? Boy, that’s like giving me the keys to a space shuttle…”. Just slightly enthusiastic, and a joy to work with as an editorial team.

Now, if you’re wondering when these novels are going to start appearing for sale, well, we’ve a slight disappointment for you. The first of them is probably still nine months away, but if things go smoothly, you just might be able to read Splintered Lands stories on the beach, and we promise that will be one hell of a treat.

The anthology is also coming along nicely. We’re finishing up and polishing the short stories already submitted for it, but if there’s any brilliant last second stories that come through the door, we’ll take them too. Now, you’ve seen some of the stories that will end up in the anthology on here, but there’s plenty more that are tucked away, waiting to see the light of day with that first publication. Some will have characters written about here in new stories, but most will unveil completely new areas of the world. And we promise, you’ll love them.

So there’s a little update to you all from the Splintered Lands team. We’re growing our family of tales, we’re just being a bit quiet about it.

A Happy New Year to you all!

So, I suppose this is a good time to outline a few things about where I stand with books, projects, and all those other bits of writing that I’ve got going on. You may have heard about this Splintered Lands thing I’ve been working on. Well, it’s getting closer. A lot closer. The first book should be out next year, and with luck, so should the second. There’s 3 novels, an anthology, and a novella all coming. They’re written by brilliant authors, and as the time gets closer I’ll be seriously encouraging you to go check them out.

I’ve also got a short story called King Bloodaxe coming soon. Call it a “Viking” fantasy. The story’s done, and off with readers now, and you know it’s a good thing when the first reply back is “where’s the second story?”

Finally, I’m announcing a tentative publishing date for Chloddio, second book in The Four Part Land, of July 21st. It’s currently in rewrites, although I should probably say extensions. I edited the story so fiercely the first couple times that it’s fallen below the word count I’d like to publish as a standalone print novel, so I’m writing new segments to flesh out certain subplots.

For those of you who’ve read Tarranau, this story takes place at almost the same time, and indeed many of the events in one story overlaps with the other. It begins a second trilogy that will follow Chloddio the stonemage as he seeks battle with enemies from the high tundra and the burning desert, until the path ends at the gates of his city.

And now to whet your appetite, I have a little excerpt from the story. At the time of the journey, Chloddio is a freshly recruited soldier, traveling on his first patrol through the lands of Tri-Hauwcerton.

On the seventh morning past the cave, the squad descended to a valley floor, a grey and winding passage that marched west to east. The valley itself swept around in a great crescent, and the ends were hidden from view behind mountains weathered and old. It was a desolate place, with thin grass and low bracken the only plants to be see. Here, even the patrol road shrank away to a faint trace on the ground, as if nothing could make its mark on this landscape.

The patrol swept past, Chloddio eager to be gone from this desolate place. In the high mountains, there had been a savage beauty, primal nature unscarred by the hand of man. Here, though, there was just savagery, for the beauty was stolen by the howling of the winds and the whispers of the grass.

Presently Sergeant Werilc called for the lunch halt, amidst a field of tumbledown boulders that provided some protection from the wind. Knackered, the patrol eagerly set to, and Chloddio sat himself down next to Jankoaen and Verick.

“Are there people this far out into the wilderness?”

Jank shrugged. “There have been, from time to time. Mostly bandits though.”

“Every decade or so, some poor fool who doesn’t like city life and rules decides to come out here and set up a village with his friends and family.” Verick gestured at the landscape around them. “Usually they come running back after the first winter. Those that survived, anyway.”

“There’s people that do that?”

“When you have nothing, the only thing to risk is yourself. And people don’t put too high a price on their own lives when they’re beggared and starving.”

“You know, Jank, you’re just going to depress me and the young lad. Try being cheerful for once.”

“Depressing? Me? You’re the old maid nattering on about those wilding villagers. Earth’s peace, most of those are just legends, told third hand.”

“Better my third hand than your first. Since all you do is make it up as you go along.”

“Enough, ladies.” Sergeant Werilc folded himself into a seating position. “Jankoaen’s right. The last known village north of the Carns died a full decade ago. Even the tax collectors stopped trying, and they hunt down dead people. As for the bandits, well, all of us veterans fought them up here once or twice. But even those were usually further south, trying to poach the ore from the mines. Out here? Nothing. Even the army only comes this way because it’s a shortcut. And because it gives us a little mountain and outdoor training without being too dangerous.”

Jankoaen sniffed the air. “We’re cutting it close this year, Sergeant.”

“I know. Why do you think we march so quickly?” With that the sergeant was on his feet, bellowing for the soldiers to pack their food and get back onto the road.

A clatter in the rocks behind him spun Chloddio about. Standing before him was a man dressed in furs and leathers, and carrying a crude blade. Shouting a warning, the stonemage dove to the side, grabbing at his hammer and shield. The veterans were just as fast to react, as all about the camp scruffy bandits appeared, weapons and armour crude and homemade. Standing atop a rock was the bandit’s leader, and he pointed at their packs with a sword, the blade dulled by age.

“Give us your packs, your tents, your food. Everything.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” (more...)

I could fight. Perhaps. I could resist. It’s a possibility. I could rebel. A failure, certainly. But these are things that take effort, and time. I will take the easy way out, the way that lets me fly far beyond those grasping claws. I will fly.

One day.

Groans.

“Was that a yes?”

“No, Náhte. That was the warning that if you keep asking stupid questions, I will kill you and eat your corpse.”

“I don’t think you’d want to do that without cooking the meat first.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll cook you after I kill you.”

“Thank you Butan, that makes me feel much better.”

“Náhte, I…” The thief paused. “Never mind.”

They walked for a while. Hopefully in the direction of Át?san.

“Well, at least I understand why you painted the tree with mud.”

“It looked good, didn’t it?”

“It did. While I was tripping off whatever the hell was in that bush. How did you manage to find the one plant with narcotic buds in the entire swamp, and then convince me to eat half of it?”

“You were hungry?”

“Fair point.”

Time passed. Stomachs rumbled.

“Despite its other effects, I don’t think the bush was that filling.”

“You should have eaten the twigs as well as the leaves and buds.”

“You ate the twigs? How did you not get splinters?”

“Swallowed them mostly whole.”

“And you didn’t choke?”

“I have very good control of my throat muscles, Butan.”

“Suddenly I’m wishing I was back floating down the river on a raft.”

“With me?”

“No, me on the raft, you here in the swamp. Far away from me.”

“That hurts.”

“Not as much as this sharp stick will if you don’t keep your distance.”

Pause.

“Is that smoke?”

“Probably marsh gas.”

“That’s your explanation for everything, isn’t it, Náhte?”

“I read it in a book somewhere.”

“Along with your painting, I take it?”

“That was a different book.”

“Okay, now that we’ve descended further into lunacy, I ask my question again. Is that smoke?”

“Probably marsh gas.”

“Start running Náhte, you’re a dead man.”

He ran.

I make no sound, and no one hears me speak.

I draw no art, and no one sees me paint.

I am alone. (more...)

It is a sweet gesture, unexpected, kind. But I am long past saving now. I made my pact long ago, and have spent the years since searing my soul, burning it away thoroughly. I do not care.

This angel loved me. Watched me in my crib, caressed my cheek when no mortal hovered over me. All through my childhood, she guarded.

Perhaps too well. Perhaps too poorly. Either way, I turned from her light. Mayhaps my soul broke when I did, but I think it was broken before, and needed only confirmation in fire.

I killed. Men, women, children, animals. They were life. Life ends. After each death, I tapped the gun against my temple, wondering if I had earned my release.

All that, and still she cries. I would comfort her, tell her not to cry, but she cannot hear through her pain. My pain.

She lifts her eyes and looks into mine. I look back, sad. I pity her, that she pledged her life in service of another, only to be rejected. But the life was mine to live, and I did.

Epic Fantasy is not normally a genre I read, but ever since I have started becoming serious about my writing, I have promised myself to expand my knowledge base in as many areas as I can, and the first thing I wanted to do was to expand my reading interests.

Tarranau was the perfect book to get me started, because to summarize for all of those who do not have the time to read this but would still like to hear a few words… It was AWESOME.

As you can imagine, I was super pleased. It’s such a lovely present to see on a Friday morning.

Read on for the full review! (more...)