Elmer Kelton’s The Blessing by John Bradshaw

  

Western Adventure, Historical Mystery

Date Published: 12-03-2025

Publisher: Devil's Claw Press

Hewey Calloway, Elmer Kelton’s favorite footloose cowboy, has always been known to have a generous nature, readily giving to those in need. Time has finally mellowed Hewey and given him some wisdom that was lacking in his youth, but deep down, he’s still the same old Hewey. In this sequel to The Smiling Country, a beneficiary to one of Hewey’s past generosities pays him back, and with interest. Knowing Hewey would decline a monetary repayment, he is gifted land back in Upton County.

Trouble is, it was bought from his old adversary, Fat Gervin, who is still as crooked as ever. Gervin finds a seeming loophole in the contract and tries to pull another fast one on Hewey, who is fed up with Gervin’s endless treachery. Tensions rise, and when Gervin is shot, it’s Hewey who’s on the hook for the crime. But things are never as they seem, and it’s up to an eclectic cast of characters to sort it out, and for Hewey to learn what’s really important in life.

Written by longtime journalist turned novelist John Bradshaw, who was selected by The Elmer Kelton Estate to continue the Hewey Calloway tradition.

 

About the Author

John Bradshaw is a native of the small town of Abernathy, Texas. He is an award-winning journalist with well over a thousand published stories. Elmer Kelton’s The Familiar Stranger, co-authored with Steve Kelton, is his first book.

Bradshaw attended South Plains College followed by Texas Tech University. He spent several years shoeing horses for a living as his writing career progressed.

While the desire to write books was always there, Bradshaw first pursued a career in journalism. He wrote numerous stories for ranching, horse and horseshoeing magazines.

Growing up, Livestock Weekly came in the mail once a week, as it does for most in the livestock industry. Writing for Livestock Weekly was always a goal, and in 2005 Bradshaw’s first story was published. It was a profile of Brownie Metzgar, a humorous cowboy still working in a feedlot while in his late 80s.

In 2007 Bradshaw accepted a fulltime position with Livestock Weekly. While with the paper he had over a thousand stories published, as well as enough market reports to give him permanent nightmares.

Horses have always played an important role in his life. The son of a horseshoer, he has spent a significant amount of time either on or under a horse. He still shows in both ranch horse and reined cow horse competitions.

He and his wife, Sara, live outside Abernathy. Sara owns an architecture firm, SK Architecture Group, and they raise Spanish goats, hair sheep and cattle.

In 2013 the couple had a stillborn son, Fox Joaquin Bradshaw. After several years of heartbreak they adopted an infant boy, whom they named Julian Boone Bradshaw. Boone died in his dad’s arms following an accident at the barn five days before his sixth birthday.

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Celebrating Yule The Celtic Wheel of the Year Book 2 by Rionna Morgan Genre: Teen & YA Holiday Fairytales and Folklore

   

The longest night teaches us that darkness isn’t the end.

It’s the place where light is born again.

Celebrating Yule

The Celtic Wheel of the Year Book 2

by Rionna Morgan

Genre: Teen & YA Holiday Fairytales and Folklore

The long-awaited Winter Break has finally arrived, but Ronan and Croia, 12-year-old twins, find themselves struggling instead of cheering. There is a new kid at school whose cruelty has left deep wounds.

Ronan's protective instinct towards Croia clashes with his own confusion about what it means to stand up and defend, to fight, or to walk away. On the longest, darkest night of the year, Croia and Ronan’s beloved Irish grandmother, with her gentle insight and patient heart, helps Ronan through the dark storm of his emotions and prepares a special evening for all.

Surrounded by his family—Croia and their new sister, their mother and her new husband—Ronan’s strength and inner peace is tested when an unanticipated guest arrives. Throughout the evening Grandmother continues to help and guide. She weaves stories with strands of folklore and threads of old beliefs, spinning them together, bringing the ancient to the present. While immersed in the traditions of the Celtic holiday of Yule, Ronan learns what it is to see past the darkness.

Come feel the warmth of the hearth and the power of wisdom. Join the journey of the ages through the cold of winter, beyond the shadows of darkness to what comes after and celebrate Yule.

Bonus Materials: Celebrating Yule includes recipes for the traditional Celtic Yule meal.

 

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Ronan squeezed his hands tight and looked out the window. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm his mind, but he just couldn’t. The anger kept building.

            Out the window and beyond, into the fields beside his house, snow was falling, that glorious, amazing December, winter break snow. He could see deer walking gracefully along the fence line. In his yard, the tall cottonwood trees stood stately and quiet, their bare black limbs stretching up into the grey-white sky. Huge flakes, perfect flakes, fell easy and gently to cover the ground with another layer of fresh powder.

            Normally, he would be out there in it, racing around, laughing, and chasing his sister, Croia, and coaxing Kenna, their new sister, to come play. But not today. And not any day since the first snow.

            Around him at the table, he could hear Croia and Kenna chatter with their grandmother, Brighid, who had come from Ireland to spend the year with their family. They were laughing and telling each other about their school day as they sipped their tea.

            After-school tea had become an instant tradition when Grandmother arrived in October. Every day, she made some amazing treat and brewed a pot of hot Irish tea, all ready to be enjoyed when the three got home from school.

But Ronan couldn’t bring himself to enjoy today’s raspberry teacake, normally one of his favorites. It just felt like sand in his mouth. The tea was too bitter, and no matter how much sugar and cream he added, he couldn’t get it right. So, he set his teacup down and looked out the window.

            “Do you want to talk about it?”

            Ronan heard his grandmother’s quiet voice ask. He looked around and was surprised to see Kenna and Croia gone and the table cleared. He glanced over and saw Grandmother’s kind eyes watching him, waiting. Right then, he wanted to jump out of his chair and scramble into her arms like he’d done when he was little. He knew if he did, she would hug him and hold him, and everything would be alright.

            But he wasn’t little anymore. In a year, he’d be in high school. He was supposed to be a man. Whatever the hell that meant. He blushed at the use of the word, feeling sheepish that he’d say such a thing in front of his grandmother, even if it was in his own mind, and she couldn’t hear him.

            But what the hell did it mean? He couldn’t even properly defend his own twin sister. She cried and ran to him for help, and all he did was put his arm around her and help her walk away. All he did, as that new kid hurled insults and mockery after them, was walk beside her and help her get in the car with Kenna. All he did was hold Croia’s hand in the backseat as tears streaked down her face as Kenna drove them home. Every day this week, that’s all he did. Which is different than what he wanted to do.

He wanted to punch the guy’s lights out, knock him flat for making his sister cry. He knew he could do it. He was strong. He even spent time thinking about how he’d make a fist, draw his arm back, and pow—hit him right across his mean face.

“I don’t know, Grandmother.” Ronan scrubbed his hands together and wiped his hair back.

“Okay.” Grandmother patted his hand. “I am here.” She picked up her teacup and took a sip.

“I am so angry!” Ronan blurted. “There’s this new kid at school, and he’s super mean. He’s made Croia cry every day this week. He’s in a couple of our classes, and he says snide things there too.”

Grandmother set her tea down and leaned forward in her chair.

Bonus Author Giveaway!

Celebrate the spirit and magic of Yule with Whitney Morgan Media! In the spirit of the season, they’re giving every participant a prize—including chances to win an autographed copy of Celebrating Yule: The Celtic Wheel of the Year Series – Book 2 and exclusive author swag from Rionna Morgan!

Enter here: https://deformity.ai/d/GdT4YeEfTPix

Rionna Morgan is an international, best-selling novelist, poet, and recognized icon in the Web3 literary space.

Creator of The 7 Love Stories, a digital collection making literary history, her work bridges tradition and innovation, with recent features including a digital poem showcased in Paris.

As owner of Whitney Morgan Media and former Editor-in-Chief of Vagobond Magazine, Rionna empowers writers and builds vibrant communities where stories and creators are celebrated and honored.

Her writing appears with Simon & Schuster, Mythic North Press, and in features like Celtic Life International and Fortune dot com.

A sought-after speaker at NFTNYC and the Academic Web3 Conference, she lives between Montana and New York, always dreaming up new worlds.

 

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Letters From Lucca by Kim Baccellia Genre: YA Historical Fiction, WWII Mystery

 

Check out the cover reveal of this gutwrenching historical where Sammi Clark travels to Italy to redeem her beloved Grandmother's name, only to find the truth is more complex.

Letters From Lucca

by Kim Baccellia

Genre: YA Historical Fiction, WWII Mystery

On the heels of Sammi's grandmother's whispered deathbed wish, a package of letters from Italy arrives at her post box. Reading them makes Sammi recall whispers she heard in childhood of her grandmother's wartime involvement, a past that Sammi's father and aunt would rather see remain closed. As if things couldn't get any worse, her long-time boyfriend, Hunter, dumps her.

However, an opportunity arises that sends her to Italy to defend her grandmother, even if the truth might shatter all she believes. In a helpful twist, Joseph, her best friend's Italian cousin, offers to help her. Despite the obvious growing attraction between Joseph and her, she tries to suppress it as she embarks on her mission to vindicate the grandmother she loves.

 

**Releases Feb 3, 2026 – PreOrder Now!**

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Award-winning author Kim Baccellia grew up in Sacramento, California, the oldest of seven. She has a business associate degree from Sacramento City College, a BS degree in elementary education from Brigham Young University, and studied post grad bilingual/bicultural education at CSUF.

She’s been a telemarketer, library helper at the Harold B. Lee library at BYU, assistant manager, sales clerk, tutor, bilingual teacher, and homeschool mother.

Award-winning author. Author of YA paranormal CROSSED OUT and CROSSED FIRE. YA dystopia CANDLE IN THE WIND. Also the author of the urban diverse fantasy EARRINGS OF IXTUMEA. Short Christmas Magic in the Holiday analogy MISTLETOE AND MAGIC. Re-releasing YA fantasy series under new titles in 2026! Currently working on a historical romance set in Tuscany.

 

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Tea for Two: An Austen-Inspired Short Story Duet by Bianca White Genre: Historical Romance

  

An Austen-inspired Short Story Duet

Enjoy two tea parties, two romances and two characters from one of the world’s most beloved authors.

Tea for Two:

An Austen-Inspired Short Story Duet

by Bianca White

Genre: Historical Romance

Jane Austen and tea. What more could one ask for?

Enjoy two tea parties, two romances and two characters from one of the world’s most beloved authors.

In this historical romance short story duet gossip-loving Mrs Jennings meddles in affairs of the heart, and scandalous Henry Crawford turns heads once again!

Be swept away by the amusements of the Regency tea party in these Austen-inspired short stories. Delight in the sweet romance, dancing, gossip and, of course, tea.

“But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea.”
― Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

 

Tea for Two comprises two short stories:

 

Jilted

Lord Asher Mandeville is heartbroken when his childhood love, Miss Tabitha Rowe, jilts him only weeks before their wedding.

Asher refuses to accept Tabitha’s rejection and chases after his betrothed to demand an explanation.

Tabitha is determined to escape him, but Asher’s shattered heart will accept nothing other than her return.

 

Wooing Miss Woodforde

Jasper Trevethan loves Miss Sophie Woodforde, but he is a penniless rake. Sophie would never marry him, even if he were rich.

As an impoverished companion, Sophie serves the whims of others while pining for her employer’s scandalous nephew.

When an unexpected inheritance transforms Sophie’s life, she becomes the target of fortune hunters.

Before another scoundrel steals his love, Jasper must prove his devotion and woo Miss Woodforde. But Sophie would rather become an old maid than marry a man who only wants her for her money, especially Mr Trevethan.

 

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Excerpt from Wooing Miss Woodforde

He headed to the drawing room.

While Sophie continued to hold his heart, he could not bring himself to marry another. Yes, he had wasted his days living off his brother while indulging in a life of idleness and pleasure-seeking. Now he had no option but to pray his aunt left him her fortune. Perhaps then he could offer for Sophie. She will never marry a rake, you fool. As usual, he tamped down the bitter truth, but the tiny flicker of hope that one day she may be his was the only thing that prevented him from sinking further.

His aunt dropped onto the sofa before the crackling hearth. “It does not help your cause that you continue to associate with that scoundrel, Mr Crawford.”

Sophie carried out her duties in efficient silence, pretending not to hear the details of his scandalous associations. How he longed to take her away from this life of servitude. Someone so good, kind and selfless deserved better.

After pouring the tea, she handed her employer a cup.

Without a word of thanks to her companion, his aunt continued, “There is still talk about his scandalous affair with Mrs Rushworth. You should end the connection, for it will only sully your name further. Your reputation as a rake does not help matters, but being associated with an adulterer will not earn you a respectable bride. What must my dear sister think of her favourite now?”

He accepted his cup from Sophie with his head down and muttered his thanks. Shame gnawed at his insides. If his mother had not died of typhus before he reached his tenth year, she would have been sorely disappointed in him.

Why could he not be a better man? He should have sought a profession after university. If he had done something useful, perhaps, he may have earned Sophie’s good opinion and won her heart. Instead, he had wasted his life. He was a hopeless rake beyond salvage, in love with a woman far above him in noble character. Even if he were rich, she would always be too good for him.

Sophie sat on the sofa next to his aunt and twiddled with a delicate curl at her nape.

He had to ask again. “Are you certain you are well, Miss Woodforde?”

“Stop trying to misdirect the attention from yourself, Trevethan.” Aunt Hammond sipped at her tea.

Wispy tendrils of steam rose from the beige liquid in his cup, and he tamped down the urge to ask for something stronger. Liquor would have to wait. Even though nothing eased the painful longing within him lately.

He could not resist being drawn to the source of his yearning while she stared at the flickering flames in the hearth. What had happened to the woman who enjoyed lecturing him about the latest philanthropic project she wished to support or teased him following the gossip surrounding his misadventures? Not that he had many these days unless one counted spending the evenings drinking brandy with Crawford while they both pined for the women they loved but could not possess.

“Trevethan!” he jerked his head towards his aunt. Her narrowed gaze bore into him. Had he given himself away?

She glowered, then said, “Miss Woodforde has received some surprising news today that has unsettled her.”

Sophie’s head shot up; her wide gaze directed towards her employer.

“I hope it is nothing serious?” My God, she was ill. “Is there anything I can do?”

Aunt Hammond scoffed. “It is not unwelcome news—well, not for Miss Woodforde.”

“Mrs Hammond.” Sophie pleaded, but as usual, his aunt could not be silenced.

“Miss Woodforde is now an heiress with twenty thousand.”

His breath stuttered.

On the opposite sofa, Sophie’s head lolled forward, and she ran a palm across her forehead.

Sophie was a wealthy woman—a single, wealthy woman. That meant she no longer needed to work for his aunt. He would not see her when he visited.

Aunt Hammond asked, “Will you not offer your congratulations?”

He glanced at his aunt before returning his attention to Sophie, whose shoulders slumped.

A burning sensation spread down his gullet, and he swallowed. “Congratulations, Miss Woodforde.”

His aunt sniffed. “She is almost maudlin; anyone would think a beloved family member had died.”

Sophie continued to stare into the teacup in her lap. She would leave, and he would never see her again.

Aunt Hammond prattled on. “Heaven knows why, but she wishes to keep it a secret. She should marry, yet she insists she will remain in my employment.”

Of course, her sense of duty would not allow her to abandon his aunt. Selfish thoughts about her leaving had distracted him from the more pressing issue. Another man would steal her from him. His heart skipped a beat. He could not allow it.

Bianca White writes passionate and spicy historical romance.

Bianca loves history and has a degree in history and history of art. The word "research" is often used as an excuse to drag members of her family around every stately home and castle wherever they go. Nothing, not even the grumbling of said family, will keep her away from a historical fashion exhibition.

When she's not writing, Bianca feeds her addiction to romance novels. She also loves baking and watching movies. Thanks to her love of baking (and eating), she feels the need to balance it with a little activity and enjoys tai chi, aerobics and swimming.

Bianca lives in West Yorkshire, England, with her husband and two children.

To receive all the latest news from Bianca White, and a bit of history in your inbox, sign up for her mailing list at Bianca White Writes.

 

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The Brothers Brown, part 2

 

for the sake of family

Family Saga, Historical Fiction, Native American

Date Published: 12-01-2025

Based on a true story.

Set in the late 1890’s, The Brothers Brown - a family saga, Part 2 - For the Sake of Family is a sweeping frontier saga of love, guilt, and redemption - an unflinching portrait of a man’s descent into madness amid the unforgiving wilds of Indian Territory.

When Matt Brown boards a northbound train, he carries more than a pistol. He carries the weight of his brother’s death, a marriage strained to its breaking point, and a conscience at war with itself. A doctor’s brown vial of medicine offers fleeting relief but soon draws him into a darker world where pain and guilt blur into something far more dangerous.

His wife, Milla, proud and rooted in her Choctaw heritage, stands as both his anchor and his judge as the world around them shifts under the weight of change and loss.

From Fort Smith, Arkansas, to the wooded banks of Bokchito Creek, two families are bound by tragedy and love, vengeance and mercy. A celebration meant to heal ignites old resentments. A family gathering ends in bloodshed. And a winter dance turns deadly, forcing each to face the cost of survival, forgiveness, and the ties that bind them.

Steeped in the spirit of the Choctaw Nation and the rough mercy of the Old West, For the Sake of Family is a haunting tale of madness, murder, and the fragile hope that redemption can be found on the far side of ruin.

Excerpt

Closest to the flames was an old man with long, stringy hair. He wore a blue cotton pullover shirt, collarless and loose, with colorful ribbons sewn to the front and sleeves. The ribbons swayed with his motions as he chanted and stepped in place to the timing of the chant. He held two sticks about a foot and a half long with strands of beads tied to the ends and struck them together in time with the chant.

 With each step, the old man’s ankle rattles shook. The dried tails of rattlesnakes fastened to leather strips grew louder and faster as his steps grew heavier. Many of the men had rattles tied to their ankles as well, while the women’s moccasins tingled with strands of beads hanging from the fringe. 

 Matt watched in awe as the people danced. 

“Way-yak-un-way-yak-a,” the leader sang, striking the sticks in measured rhythm, one-and-a, two-and-a, one-and-a, two-and-a. On the twelfth beat, each pair of dancers turned to one another, their right foot kicked dirt inward as they voiced a loud, “woah.” 

Spellbound, Matt watched, mouthing the chant under his breath along with the dancers. Then his breath caught. Milla stepped into the firelight, dancing beside a woman he had never seen before. 

 He gasped aloud, never having seen his wife like this, dressed in full traditional attire, her body moving gracefully in the fire’s glow. For an instant, she seemed a stranger, and yet more truly herself than he had ever known. 

 She turned her head, eyes lifting toward the trees. Matt stumbled backward, ducking for cover. He had to get out of there. 

 He spun around and nearly collided with John. 

“Shhh.” John pressed a finger to his lips and grabbed Matt’s arm, guiding him quietly away from the gathering. 

 

About the Author

Raised on the beaches of South Texas, R.G. Stanford has always been drawn to stories that transcend time. That passion was ignited in 1976 with the discovery of Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, and deepened with The Feast of All Saints just a few years later. Though historical fiction wasn’t an immediate calling, a personal journey into genealogy changed everything.

With no close relatives nearby, R.G. Stanford turned to online resources in search of extended family. That search became a twenty-year journey through genealogy websites, Federal Census records, the National Archives, and old newspapers. Along the way, R.G. Stanford uncovered incredible stories about her family and the people who once lived in the Choctaw Nation, Indian Territory.

Compelled to record the truth of her family in the lore, sprinkled with imagination, R.G. Stanford is a history lover, a research buff, and a passionate genealogy enthusiast. She is also a mother, a grandmother, and a teller of stories, now living near Orlando.

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Remembering Pearl Harbor 84 Years Later

Amaranthine by Delia Strange Genre: SciFi Time Travel Historical Paranormal Vampire Romance

  

Eternal Life. 

Endless Love. 

Infinite Cost.

Amaranthine

by Delia Strange

Genre: SciFi Time Travel Historical Paranormal Vampire Romance

Eternal life comes at a cost

For centuries, Amaranthine has walked through time—an immortal bound by a gift she never asked for. From the opulent halls of the Roman Empire to the decadent jazz clubs of 1920s London, to the futuristic floating city of New Francisco, she has lived countless lives, loved deeply, and lost more than most could ever bear. With each new era comes new faces: lovers, rivals, and those drawn to the mystery of her eternal existence. But immortality comes with a price, and as the world changes, so too does the weight of the centuries she carries.

Torn between living for the future and haunted by the choices of her past, Amaranthine must confront the question that has followed her for an eternity: What does it mean to live forever when everything and everyone else fades away?

 

“This is the first book in a while that I have continued to mull over even after I'd finished reading it as it's definitely a story that gets you thinking.”

~ Lynne Stringer, Goodreads Review

 

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Marcellus took her hand, his touch warm, and without a word he led her deeper into the olive grove. The trees closed in around them and the world outside the grove disappeared, leaving only the two of them beneath the cover of night. The air smelled faintly of the earth and the lingering sweetness of ripening fruit, but all Amaranthine could focus on was the heat of his hand against hers, the certainty in his steps as he drew her farther away from the villa, away from everything she knew.

When he stopped, she nearly stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden stillness. Marcellus turned to face her, his gaze sweeping over her with an intensity that made her catch her breath. His eyes roamed her face, her body, lingering as though his look could somehow touch her skin. It wasn’t just a glance; it was deeper, heavier.

Slowly, deliberately, Marcellus ran his fingers up her arm, light as a breeze. The touch sent a shiver down her spine, thrilling and delicate all at once. His hand traveled over her shoulder, warm and sure, before brushing against her neck, where her pulse raced beneath his fingertips. He cupped her face, his thumb grazing her cheek as his other hand slid into her hair, gently cradling the back of her neck. The closeness of him—his soft breath against her skin, his scent unfamiliar and intoxicating—made her dizzy.

When he pressed his body against hers, she didn’t hesitate. Amaranthine’s arms wrapped around him as though it was the most natural thing in the world, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. She could feel the heat of him through the thin cloth, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the thrilling, terrifying anticipation that hovered in the air between them. He leaned in, his lips so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath, and her body instinctively tilted forward, closing the last distance between them.

The kiss began softly, their lips brushing with a delicate hesitance, as though both of them were testing the boundaries of something new. It was sweet, tender, like a whispered secret exchanged in the dark. Amaranthine’s heart fluttered, the warmth of his mouth against hers sending gentle waves of pleasure through her body. Her hands tightened their grip on his tunic, pulling him closer, and for a moment, everything else faded away—her worries, her fears, even the nagging sense of not belonging. Here, in this kiss, she felt connected, as though they shared something deeper than words.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the kiss deepened. Marcellus’ arms wrapped around her waist, his hands pressing her closer, and the softness between them gave way to something more intense, more urgent. Passion overtook them both, their lips moving with a fervor that surprised her. Amaranthine had never kissed anyone before, but she felt as though she’d always known how, the way their mouths fit together, the way their breaths mingled in the cool night air. Her heart pounded faster, and a strange heat pooled in her chest, spreading through her veins in a way that made her feel alive.

Then something within her awoke. At first, she didn’t recognize it, mistaking the growing intensity for the natural progression of a kiss. There was a pull, a sensation inside her, almost like the drawing of breath, but deeper, fuller. She thought it was part of the magic of kissing, the way it could make someone feel as though they were floating, untethered from everything. No wonder people kiss, she thought, her mind hazy with the thrill of it. It’s wonderful. She let the sensation sweep over her, unaware of what she was truly doing. But then, after a moment, she noticed something different. Their lips had stopped moving. The rhythm they had found, the tender push and pull, had stilled.

Amaranthine opened her eyes, confused, and pulled back. Her breath caught in her throat. Marcellus staggered away from her, his face ashen, his once bright eyes dull and clouded. He looked gaunt, hollow, as though something had been drained from him. His skin sagged against the bones of his cheeks, and before her eyes, he aged—twenty years, maybe more—his youthful vibrance withering into something frail and brittle. He gasped, his hands reaching out toward her as though for help, but no words came. Then, with a final shuddering breath, Marcellus crumpled to the ground, motionless.

An only child with an active imagination, I created many stories in my head. My bookcase was overflowing, and I loved visiting the library. I'd always been a reader, but I hadn't considered writing until a childhood friend said we should write our ideas down. Once I started writing my stories, I couldn't stop.

I gravitated to stories of peculiar places and happenings. I loved twists and dark reveals, so my writing didn't stray far from that. I was a fan of fantasy—of ancient Greek myths or contemporary paranormal stories. They captured my imagination and opened me to worlds of possibilities. There were no constraints on fantasy, no wrong or right answers; anything I dreamed up was acceptable. And then came H. G. Wells and science fiction, which also opened the door to paranormal and speculative fiction, my three favourite genres.

 

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