Rainforest office?

For creativity to run freely and unhindered, what is the best working environment? I guess we are all different and have our favourite surroundings. Some like background music, some don’t. Some like fragrant candles burning. Some like a pleasant view.

I know I like it really quiet. No children laughing (or screaming) in the background–or approaching me with “Mum? Mum!” every five minutes. No machines running in the house. No TV. No music. Nothing but silence. Unfortunately that means that my best writing happens late at night when everyone is asleep…and then I am not always fresh.

My ideal writing environment would be up in a mountain forest, with the smell of damp undergrowth and the intermittent call of bell-birds. Perhaps a gentle rippling stream flowing by and not another soul in sight (or ear-shot). Air temperature around 23°C and some cloud cover. A good supply of chocolate and iced coffee. Oh, and a comfy chair! Then of course, I would need a lap-top with and unending battery supply and strong mobile internet connection for any spontaneous research. Sigh! Yes, that would be a wonderful day.

That’s my ideal environment to inspire creativity. What does yours look like?

Published in: on 10th December, 2010 at 7:24 am  Comments (1)  
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Novel Ideas

Here is a piece I wrote for the FaithWriters Weekly Challenge. The topic was “Inspiration/Block (for the writer).”

“Don’t look now,” Megan told her sister in a conspiratorial whisper while they shared a coffee after church. “I think someone is spying on us from inside that heating vent up there.”

 Kathy almost choked on her drink as laughter erupted.

 “Seriously.” Megan’s lips twitched. “I think I saw light reflect off something.”

 “You have an over-active imagination sister-girl.” Kathy grinned. “You would get along well with my friend Wendy. We were at the beach the other day and she thought she might find a buried relic if she dug in the sand. But, she likes the horror stories, if you know what I mean.”

 “What, so it is a relic with evil powers, is it? Or maybe it still has the remains of a hand attached to it. Yes, and then you would have to solve the gruesome murder of the…”

 “Enough!” Kathy spluttered her coffee again. “You two could write a book together.”

 Megan grinned.

 On the way home from church, she sang along to the radio, while her children argued over a packet of lollies in the back seat. As they drove past some huge, overhead powerlines, she reached to turn the volume down.

 “Hey kids. Imagine if those great big towers came to life and ripped their cables loose, and they walked all over the land with the wires like arms, swinging them around and electrocuting people.”

 “Mum! You’re weird!”

 Megan’s lips twitched again. “No, really. Just imagine. They are controlled by some aliens who want to take over the world. You would have to be the hero son, and save the world. How would you stop them?”

 The five-year-old’s eyes lit up. “I would climb up to the top and bash them till they stopped hurting people.”

 Everyone laughed at his enthusiasm for action.

 “Or maybe you could just tickle them.”

 “What?” Samantha was ten.

 “Didn’t you know those power towers are very ticklish?” Megan rolled her eyes as though this should be common knowledge.

 Sam shook her head as she giggled. “Mum, you should write a book.”

 Megan grinned.

 Over lunch, she read her Bible, and seemed engrossed in every word.

 “What are you reading Mum?” Eight year old Lisa interrupted.

 “I’m reading about Jonathan and his armour-bearer.”

 “Can you tell me?”

 Megan launched into a colourful retelling of this Bible story, using the simple verses for inspiration to a more detailed version, and soon her other children were gathered around. Even her husband put down his newspaper to listen.

 “Wow! That was cool!” Lisa said when the story was over.

 “You know,” her hubby spoke up. “You should really write some of this stuff down, hon. It’s very good.”

 “Maybe,” she said with a shrug and a secret grin. She got up and went to her computer. Her friend Melanie was on-line and Megan smiled again.

 “Hey Mel,” she typed.

 “Meggy! Guess what I just read?”

 “Sounds exciting…do tell. J”

“I was just reading newspapers from the 1870s and I found a wanted ad. It was for a child to be given in adoption, described as an interesting three-year-old girl. Sad huh?”

 “Yeah, sad. But also food for the imagination.”

 “Like, why was she being adopted?”

 “And the word ‘interesting’ could mean any number of things. Was she difficult? Sickly? Did she have a disability?”

 “I just thought interesting would mean perhaps chatty, or something.”

 “Mmm. Mel, when you first said ‘wanted ad’, I thought of the criminal kind. You know, a thousand pound reward kind of thing. Imagine if you were looking back in those papers and you saw your own name there with reward offered, and even a grainy old photo of you. You would have to unravel the truth of how you could be in the past and present at the same time—and what did you do that was so heinous? It could be a time-travel, whodunnit mystery.”

 “OMGosh Meg! You have a twisted mind. You should write a book.”

 “Yeah, working on it. 😉 Catch you later. XXOO”

 “Love ya. XO”

 Megan smiled at her computer and clicked open a manuscript she had been working on. She already had more than enough ideas to fill a book. Maybe even three books. She grinned again as she began to type. All those other novel ideas would have to wait.

Published in: on 19th November, 2010 at 7:38 am  Comments (1)  
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A Day to Remember

I’ve mentioned all of the blunderings of my trip to Brisbane (see Blunder Road post). Now for the good bits.

The reason we went to Brisbane was to attend the Word Writers Fair–a day of books and learning more on how to write them. There was lots of information to be gleaned from people who have been writing for many years. I took plenty of notes and stored a lot of helpful tips in my head. Hopefully, I came away better equipped in my own writing.

The thing that stood out for me most this time, besides the awesome people I met, was the reminder that Jesus taught in parables–fictional stories that made a spiritual point. It was great to receive that encouragement once again–that fiction has an important place in the world, to draw people to Christ.

After an informative day, we had the pleasure of attending the Omega Writers CALEB Prize award ceremony/dinner, where I was amazed to find my book, The Game, had won the prize for fiction. Needless to say, I felt slightly overwhelmed, but incredibly honoured to have been awarded this prize. 

 

The other finalists for the fiction prize are wonderful writers, and I salute them. They are, left to right: Paula Vince, Mary Hawkins, and Meredith Resce. (That’s me on the right.) These women are an inspiration to me and I have and will continue to learn from them.

Published in: on 12th November, 2010 at 3:41 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Diary of a Market Stall

Just for something different, I thought I would keep an hourly diary at the market last week, trying to take in the sounds, sights and smells.

8:30am It is fairly quiet today. The weather forecast is for a very wintry day, with temperatures as slow as fifteen degrees, thunder, lightning, hail and flood warnings. I suppose it is understandable that many stallholders probably just stayed in bed. Hopefully the customers have a different attitude.

9:30am The cheeky Romanian coffee-maker extraordinaire banters back and forth with me. Unavoidable since I am sitting directly across from him. He comes over and gives me a delicious shoulder massage and then tries to con a dollar per minute out of me. Scammer. He is lovely really. He’s already given me a hot chocolate.

10:30am The live music has started up now. They bring a great atmosphere to the market with the strums of acoustic guitar and mellow voices. More people braving the cold day now, too. I think the worst of the weather has passed now. Lots of laughter around. One friend has dropped by for a chat. And yet, I have not sold a thing. I reckon the people who buy books are probably where they should be, curled up with a warm blanket and a good book.

11:30am I made my first sale of the day! Finally. People are coming and going constantly now. I can feel the cold draft coming through the front doors, which are at least twenty metres away, wrapping its cold tentacles around my legs. Brrr. It must be freezing outside! One of the market organisers had a nana nap straight after drinking a strong coffee. Go figure!

12:30pm A few more sales which is encouraging. Children running around with butterflies painted on their faces, looking beautiful and innocent. The music has gone again. People are dwindling. The smell of food is making me hungry. Probably could do with a coffee too—I can see it staring at me from here.

1:30pm And more sales. Not too bad today, after all. The last people I sold to were Irish, with their wonderful accents. I’ve met some lovely people today. It’s getting quiet now as all the other stallholders pack up and move on. I suppose I should do the same…

Published in: on 22nd October, 2010 at 1:42 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Horsing Around

A fun part of writing historical fiction, I find, is the research. When I was in school I didn’t really enjoy the subject of history much–my favourite was maths for some strange reason–but now that I write historicals, I love finding out all I can.On my recent trip to Adelaide I had the great opportunity to learn more about horses. While this is not exactly historical, it is imperative to historical writing–they had no cars–horses were the form of transport in many cases. So, I figure the more I can learn about them, the greater authenticity I can add to my writing.

It was fascinating to learn about horse personality traits, habits and fears. The most amusing example was my sister-in-law’s horse, Cobby. She is very good with horses and explained to me that her horse is  motivated by food. Cobby was about one hundred metres away at the other end of the paddock. My SIL got out a carrot and called him. Well, he let out a loud whinny and came thundering down the paddock at a full canter. He did not slow down at the corner and skidded to a stop in  front of her. For a carrot.

However, later on, when saddled up with my children on his back, Cobby was not so keen to even walk around the yard. Each time he came near to his stall, he would stop as though he was saying “oh, do I have to?” before my SIL encouraged him to continue with a gentle tug on the reins. Cobby was not enthused. There was no food involved.

And that is only one thing I discovered about this horse. Thanks Mel, for such a great insight into horseflesh!

Published in: on 15th October, 2010 at 7:19 am  Comments (4)  
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A Life on Fire

Here is another piece I wrote for the FaithWriters Challenge. The topic was “The Manuscript” and I received 3rd place in the Advanced Level.

“William! News from London.”  John pulled the door closed behind him and headed straight for the small, dank room where he knew his friend would be found.

There he sat, hunched over a tiny desk, where he squinted by the dim candlelight, his quill scratching away at the paper. Around him were strewn numerous books, to which he constantly referred as he wrote. A small fire in the hearth appeared to be in need of fresh fuel, for it did little to warm the room.

John sighed and shook his head affectionately, though his smile was grim. He moved over to the fire and placed a few pieces of wood onto the dying embers. “You have been named a heretic. They are burning your books.”

“Mmm.”

“William, did you not hear me? You could very soon be in great danger.”

Finally, the man lifted his head and returned John’s gaze. His eyes burned bright with zeal. “I have been in danger since I began this quest.”

“But it grows ever worse.”

“Did I not say that soon the boy who drives the plough will know more of the Scriptures than the clergy? Did I not say it?”

“Aye, you did.” John blew gently on the embers, but the tinder would not catch alight.

“And see, it already comes to pass. The people begin to rise up. For too long the church has kept them bound to false doctrines, enslaved by her tyranny. Now they read the Scriptures in their own tongue, they begin to see the truth. Such freedom…” His speech failed and he shook his head. “I cannot give up now.” William picked up a stack of discarded pages, each scored with the Word of God, written in his own hand, and yet rejected for the errors they contained. He moved to the hearth and let them fall onto the hot coals. The fire quickly ignited.

“But they burn the texts as quickly as you print them.” John stared into the small blaze, yet saw only images of his friend’s work going up in flames on the streets of London.

 “Then I shall print more. We have successfully smuggled thousands of copies of the New Testament into England. And now thousands of people are able to learn what I have learned—that faith in Christ is the only way unto salvation. Is that not worth my very life?”

John sighed again. “It may cost you your life yet.”

William waved ink-stained hands in the air, the flame of fervency reflected in his eyes. “So be it, if God wills it. His Word shall not be stopped. The people have the right to know the truth.” Returning to the desk, he picked up the pile of paper in front of him and held it up. “And this manuscript—the very laws of God, written by Moses—will soon be complete in English. And then we shall print many thousands more and send them abroad. Can you imagine what it means to the common folk, to be able to read the Scriptures for themselves, to know the mind and heart of God? To know He loves them and sent His Son to die so they might live? That they do not have to strive in good works and pay indulgences to be forgiven? That kind of freedom cannot be paid for. Our redemption came through Christ’s sacrifice on the cross. If He willingly gave His life for me, I can do no less for Him.”

John grinned as the translator returned once more to his work, the fire now burning brightly in the hearth. “Say no more, William. I am with you, heart and soul. Just tell me in what way I can be of service to you.”

William looked up again and winked. “Some supper would be very welcome.”

William Tyndale was the first to translate the New Testament and part of the Old Testament directly from the Greek and Hebrew texts. He was burned at the stake as a heretic in 1536, but his work in translation is a major part of the Bible as we know it today.

© 2010 Amanda Deed

Published in: on 24th September, 2010 at 2:40 pm  Comments (2)  
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Interview with Jack & Meg, Part II.

After nibbling on tea cake and cucumber sandwiches and sipping a lovely cup of tea (which I don’t normally drink, but didn’t want to seem impolite) and enjoying trivial conversation, I continued with my interview with the illustrious Jack Fordham and his wife, Meg.

Amanda:  We’ve talked about your family, but how are the extended family?

Both begin to speak at once, but Mr Fordham gives Meg the floor with a generous smile and a flourish of his arm.

Meg:             Brian and Katherine live not too far from here. They have one child – a little girl. (She looks sad momentarily) Their first did not survive, unfortunately. (She brightens again) Brian is still working in the Colonial Secretary’s Office and Katherine still makes clothes in her spare time. She actually sews garments for our children’s’ homes as well. She is very generous like that.

Jack:            I could not have asked for a better sister-in-law. Nor a better brother-in-law, I might add. He was gracious enough to put my past…in the past…and let me change into something better. He would be one of my best friends now.

Amanda:  Wow! I can imagine your appreciation. How are the Sainsburys?

Jack:            Splendid! I have so much to tell. (He shifts to the edge of his seat and leans forward in excitement.) Mary was married last year to an estimable young chap. She travelled back and forth from Parramatta to Sydney during their courtship and often stayed with us. She frequently attended church with us and has now become a believer, along with her beau.

Amanda:  That’s fantastic!

Jack:           Yes, and now Phil and Gwen have become more curious about the faith.

Amanda:  Praise God! I’m sure the change in you has impacted them as well.

Jack:           (Nodding) I believe it has.

Amanda:  What about the other children?

Meg:             PJ is in the midst of his first calf-love. All he can think about is Isabella! (she laughs) William is fast becoming a young man and is still infatuated with the explorers. He even forced his father to take him to meet one in the city. Kitty dreams of babies and a husband one day.

Amanda:  Everything sounds wonderful. Tell me, how are the orphanages going?

Meg:             Exceptionally well! It has been very rewarding.

Jack:           We have seen many of the boys, and now the girls, find their place in society. Some have found employment in the city and others have travelled out to the cattle stations and sheep runs to live and work.

Meg:            We met a lady called Missus Chisholm, a few years ago. She was helping immigrant women find work. Her work was so inspiring, we have supported her vision.

Amanda:  Missus Chisholm? Do you mean Missus Caroline Chisholm?

Jack:           Have you heard of her? She is quite well-known in the colony.

Amanda:  Yes. She’s quite famous in our time. Universities have even been named after her. Her work with the British immigrants was outstanding, particularly with the women.

Meg:             I am not surprised she is famous. I cannot imagine riding a horse out to those stations, escorting women to a domestic situation. She didn’t even have her husband by her side then.  Recently, she went back to England. Her desire is to see the families desiring to emigrate well informed of what they are travelling to. Many have come here and been quite shocked by the experience.

Amanda:  What about you? Have you thought about returning to England?

Jack:           (Glances at Meg with a smile) We are both rather attached to Australia now. At some point, we must by necessity, travel back to England. My father is yet hale and whole, so there is no urgency, although it would be pleasant to visit.

Amanda:  (Hesitantly) How are things between you and your father? Have you cleared the air?

Jack:           (Nods with understanding) I forgave him years ago when I first realised Christ as my Saviour. We have written many letters to one another since. He now understands the truth of what happened in France. He has blessed my marriage to Meg and is eager to see his grand-children. (He looks at Meg and squeezes her hand) Perhaps we should go, my love, before Father grows too old.

Meg:            (Smiling) Perhaps we should.

Jack:           (Looks back at me with a grin) If travel by car is so rapid in your time, I wonder what boats and ships are like.

Amanda:  Well, yes, boats are very fast nowadays. (I cannot help but feel mischievous as I think about my answer) But who wants to go by sea when you can fly?

Published in: on 17th September, 2010 at 12:48 pm  Comments (4)  
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Interview with Jack & Meg, Part I.

I set my time travel machine to 1848 and pulled up in front of a huge Georgian mansion in what is now known as Bondi.

To be ushered into the Fordham’s drawing room by the ever faithful Miller, was an experience in itself. That is, until I saw the grandeur which surrounded me. Such luxurious furnishings and dark oaken furniture, decorative tapestries and velvet curtains—it all said just how much a man of good taste Mr Fordham is.

Unsettled and nervous, I sat gingerly on the chaise lounge and waited, fidgeting with my iPod, until the esteemed couple appeared.

Mr Fordham’s charisma filled the room the moment he entered and Meg’s serene beauty matched it completely. I stood to my feet, at once intimidated by their presence.

They put me to shame with their humility and politeness. Mrs Fordham curtsied and Mr Fordham bowed over my hand, while I stood their blushing to my roots.

 Jack:                Are you well Mrs Deed?

He spoke with kindness. I suppose he saw my heightened colour.

Amanda:       I am very well, thank you. Just all aflutter that I am finally meeting you.

My stuttering must have made me look like a silly school-girl.

Meg:               (With a twinkle in her eye) Never mind Missus Deed, he seems to have that effect on everyone.

Amanda:       (Finally I found my smile) I have heard of his reputation. Do women everywhere still fall for him?

Mr Fordham laughed and Meg joined him. She rolled her eyes.

Meg:               Shhh. I am trying to keep the truth from him. I am afraid it will go to his head.

Jack looked at her affectionately and gently pinched her arm.

Jack:                Shall we sit? I am sure you would be more comfortable.

Meg:               Can we offer you refreshment?

We sat down together and I declined their hospitality, instead busying myself with setting up my iPod to record.

Amanda:       So, how are you both enjoying married life?

Meg:               I could not have made a better choice. I tease him about how the young girls still melt at the sight of him, but he takes no notice of them.

Jack:                I only have eyes for my little rogue here. I still cannot believe she agreed to marry me. I don’t deserve her, you know.

Meg:               Doing it much too brown, I think, my dear!

Jack:                (Sighs dramatically) Very well, she makes my life miserable. (He turns to Meg.) Is that better love?

Meg:               (Laughing) You will not get a serious answer from him, you know.

They are obviously very much in love. Their eyes say it all.

Amanda:       How is young Jonathon?

Meg:               He is four years old now. He’s very handsome, and very like his father, except for the big green eyes. He has a love for horses like his pa, too, isn’t that right dear?

Mr Fordham merely nods. He has strangely become quiet, but still smiles.

Amanda:       Do you have any other children?

Meg:               We have two girls. Winifred is two and Ann is six months. They are so beautiful.

Amanda:       Winifred?

Meg:               We call her Winnie for short.

Amanda:              Ah, as you once were called by the Sainsbury children. What a lovely idea. Mister Fordham you must be so proud.

Jack:      (Nods again) Words cannot express…they are a blessing beyond description.

Meg:     Jack has becomes rather mawkish when you talk about his children. Not an ounce of steel in him. Just like butter.

Amanda:              I see. We would say ‘sooky la-la’, I think.

Jack:      What…?

I cannot help but laugh at his expression. Perhaps I should not have used a modern term, because it diverted his attention.

Jack:      What is that contraption you have, anyway?

Amanda:              This? (I wave the iPod) It’s an iPod.

Jack:      Eye pod? Is that a new type of quizzing glass?

Amanda:              (Laughing) No. Capital I – Pod. It is a recording device. It plays music, too.

Jack:      (Frowns) How can music be in something so tiny? Impossible!

I plug the headphones in and hold them out to his ears.

Amanda:              Here. Listen.

Mr Fordham pulls a disgusted face.

Jack:      That is not music.

Oops! I played a rock track. I quickly found some classical music.

Amanda:              Sorry, Mr Fordham. Try this.

Mr Fordham’s eyes widen.

Jack:      That is astounding. Really quite remarkable.

Meg:     May I hear?

Mr Fordham passes the ear phones to Meg. Her eyes also become round.

M:          How is it so?

Amanda:              Many things have been invented since the 1840s. We call it ‘modern technology’.

Mr Fordham leans forward with interest.

Jack:      What are the horses like?

Amanda:              Well, horses are more used recreationally now, or for racing.

Jack:      (Looks scandalised) No! How do people draw their carriages and travel?

Amanda:              Cars.

Jack:      Cars?

Amanda:              Cars with engines in them which make them drive without the need of horses.

Jack:      Do you mean those steam engines I’ve heard about?

Amanda:              No. They’ve got better engines than that now.

Jack:      I should like to see that.

I fiddle with my iPod again.

Amanda:              I think, in my time, you would drive a Ferrari. This is a picture of one.

Jack:      (Shock and admiration) This is a car?

Amanda:              This is a ‘sweet goer’ as you would say. One of the best you can get.

Jack:      And it needs no horses?

Amanda:              Imagine the power of six hundred horses. That is how powerful it is.

Jack:      (Amazed) Six hundred! How fast does it go?

Amanda:              Up to two hundred and five miles per hour.

Mr Fordham is left speechless by this, but soon rallies.

Jack:      And this is a picture of it, you say? It seems as though I merely look through a window. Are you certain this is not a new style of monocle?

Amanda:              (Shakes head) Modern photography is in colour and very clear.

Jack:      A photograph? That is a photograph inside your I…Pod?

Mr Fordham runs his hands through his hair in disbelief and lets out an awe-filled breath.

Meg:     Jack, Missus Deed did not come here to talk about her time, but to talk about us. You should not distract her.

Jack:      Maybe so, my dear, but I think I would like one of those cars. Is it possible for us to travel back with you?

Amanda:              (I realised I had said too much about the future.) Perhaps I will have some refreshment after all.

…to be continued…

Published in: on 10th September, 2010 at 12:18 pm  Comments (6)  
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The Great Escape

I found this wonderful picture when I was browsing through Photobucket. To me, this represents how I feel when I read.

It’s like part of me is in the comfort of my home, in my favourite chair or under a cozy blanket, and the other part is off in another world filled with adventure and romance–whatever I am reading at the time.

Reading is truly a great escape.

But, I find writing equally as good, if not more so. It takes a whole lot longer to write a novel than to read one, so the experience is drawn out. I love that about writing. Sometimes a great book is over too quickly when I read.

So, how do you feel about reading, or writing? Can you relate to this expressive painting?

Published in: on 3rd September, 2010 at 12:29 pm  Comments (2)  
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Engrossed

Another of my FaithWriters challenge entries. The topic was ‘the reader’ and I tried to depict what a reader experiences as she reads.

The chase was on.

She sat astride a powerful horse as it raced along the dry outback plain. The reins were slack and her heels frequently nudged her mount on, ever faster. For behind her came another rider—a man. She knew not who this man could be. She only knew that he chased her. She could even see a malicious smile on his face as he bore down on her. If she didn’t get away, it would all be over for her.

She could hear the thunder of hooves on the sun-baked earth as the race for life continued. She could see the rust-red dust fly from beneath the animals’ feet. She could feel the horse respond to her rising panic. Her pursuer seemed to be getting ever closer.

Come on Jayne! You can’t let him catch you!

She reached for her drink as she rounded a giant ghost gum, barely losing speed or focus. If she could just make it to the river, she would be all right.  A quick glance over her shoulder revealed the villain still gaining ground. With dread she realised he was the better rider.

Ah, finally the river came into view, like a safe haven snaking across the arid land. She could feel her pulse racing. Would she make it in time?

Elise! She heard someone call in the distance, but she couldn’t look now. She had to keep her eyes on that river. She could hear the other horse right behind her now and felt her breath catch in her throat.

Elise!

“Not now, Matthew,” she called.

At the river, her horse shied away from the water’s edge, and she sailed over its head. She braced herself, waiting to hear bones splinter and feel agonising pain, but she managed to roll safely aside as she fell onto the grassy bank.

No! No! Get up Jayne! Run!

The man rode past, crossed the river and then rode back. He reined in beside her horse and took hold of the bridle as he slid from his own mount. She waited for panic to take over, but found it odd that she felt only frustration. The scoundrel pulled a package from his saddle-bag and walked over to her, his malicious grin still in place.

“Stupid horse.” she dusted herself off. “I would have won if he hadn’t baulked at the water.”

“A deal is a deal,” the man said with a twinkle in his eye. “You said if I beat you to the other side of the river, you would wear a dress. It’s time to stop playing tom-boy.”

“Have it your way,” Jayne snapped, snatching the dress. “I’ll wear it—but only this once.”

“Bah,” Elise said as she slammed the book down on the coffee table. “She tricked me.”

“Who tricked you?” Matthew asked.

Elise reached for her now cold coffee. “Bah,” she said again. “The author, that’s who. Here I am thinking Jayne is about to be murdered by some evil character, and it turns out it was just a race.”

“Right.” He smiled indulgently.

“Now, what did you want, dear? Quickly, because I have to get back there and find out what she is going to do about the dress.”

“Huh?”

Elise grinned as she ran her hand over the book cover. “Never mind.” 

© 2010 Amanda Deed

Published in: on 27th August, 2010 at 1:36 pm  Leave a Comment  
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