THE SUMMER LOVE BLOG TOUR - Paranormal Romance, Jean Murray

Hi, everyone! 

I have BIG news!

My first book, THE FIRE WALKERS is coming to you July 1^st, 2014!

To celebrate I’m hosting the Summer Love Blog Tour! Throughout May I’ll be spotlighting authors from different sub genres with a series of fun questions and clips from their books.   

I get to channel my inner Barbara Walters.  *Host Chair Happy Dance*

And the excitement doesn't end there.

On June 1^st I’ll reveal the long awaited FIRE WALKERS cover!

(I’m super excited to share that with you – it’s gorgeous!)

And every Sunday in June you’ll receive the inside scoop on my debut novel as I introduce you to the amazing characters that walked fire with me.

Please stop by each week to see what’s new!

J

Now, on to the main event! 

In romance there are many wonderful categories from which you can choose.  There are stories set in modern day, and in the past. Some stories are based in magic, others in the hi-tech realm of Science Fiction. There are steamy stories, religious stories, and tales set in the dystopian future. Paranormal is a fairly new branch in the mighty oak of romantic fiction. 

As a writer, conflict is your friend. You ask the question, “What would keep these two lovers apart?” Paranormal tackles that question with fervor.

What bigger void is there to cross than two different species falling in love?

With the rise and revival of vampire mania, the concept of love with a non-human hero/ine came into its own, later including werewolves, mummies and even zombies. With a readership who love their hero tall, dark and mummified, paranormal romance delivers love on the edge.

And to start our Summer Love Tour off with bandages and a growl, I’m proud to present fellow Maryland Romance writer and acclaimed paranormal romance author, Jean Murray!

CN Q&A:

What do you love most about paranormal romance?

Where do I start?  There are so many great things.  I guess if I had to pick one it would be the fact that it’s limitless.  The scope is only limited by the author’s imagination.  It’s my escape from the real world J

What is the weirdest research you’ve ever had to do?

Learning how mummies were made. 

My Key to the Cursed series is based on Egyptian Mythology.  I wanted to make it authentic as possible, so I started visiting the Egyptian exhibits.  The Chicago Museum has some of the best mummies.  It helped in writing certain scenes.  Also, I took the time learn how the priests prepared the bodies and what charms they may have used to protect the dead on their journey to the Afterlife. Truly fascinating!

What is your favorite scene in Soul Awakened and why?

Oh, there is one that comes to mind. Bakari has been sent to the warrior village to pay out his penance. He wants to stay as far away from Kendra as possible, knowing the temptation to touch her will be too much to bear. I’ll let the scene speak for itself...  You can only imagine what happens next J

Excerpt from Soul Awakened, Jean Murray:

The scrape of the door closing drew his attention over his shoulder. The flames from the sconces danced across the faces of the immortalized gods. Only one face stared back with mouth agape. The soft lighting played against the beautiful features of the goddess. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. She remained in her white flowing robe. Her wide eyes followed him as he stumbled to get up.

Bakari shifted his body to hide his atonement. He resisted the urge to inhale her scent fearful his thirst would return tenfold. The sight of her alone threatened his thread of control. What was she doing here?

“Bomani is not here.”

“I know.” Kendra’s eyes measured him briefly and then darted away. The hint of redness colored her cheeks. She traced one of the glyphs that adorned the statue next to her.

He narrowed his eyes at her. If she was not here to see Bomani, then who? Certainly not him.

“You look well,” Kendra said, staring at the statue.

He tracked her graceful movements. Her hair shined even in the dim glow of the candle light. Each lock of her hair curled in long full coils over her shoulders. The sight of her stirred a fire inside his belly. He narrowed his vision on her arms fully expecting to see glyphs on her forearms, but found only soft cream skin. His bitterness gave way to relief. She had not yet transitioned. Still, her health and vitality reverberated across the slab of stone that separated them.

She drifted among the statues, not once stepping closer. For all the time he had wanted to keep her distance, he now found her reluctance exasperating. He glanced at his feet, surprised that he had taken several steps forward. Her warm energy seeped into his tissues and amassed in his chest, feeding a hunger in the most basic form. Life. There was only one other hunger he wished quenched. He swiped a hand across his face.

He pulled his hand away to find his palm wet with perspiration. Cursing, he slid his hand across his abdomen. It was calm at the moment, but he did not trust it to behave. He bowed deeply, as any warrior would in a goddess’ presence. “Madame, I will leave you to your privacy.”

***

            Kendra whipped her head around. Madame? However respectful he meant it to be, it stung like a dirty word. She’d been reduced from something as intimate as his Parvana to something cold and distant, as Madame. She shouldn’t care, she really shouldn’t. She had spent hours festering her anger toward him in the hope her feelings would change. Apparently they hadn’t.

            He reached for the door, revealing again the amazing scroll work carved into his skin. From shoulder to shoulder and along his spine the scarification tattoo looked like a scorpion’s back. Her breath caught in her throat. He had gained leadership and respect among the warriors, not to mention he added about forty pounds of lean muscle.

            “I didn’t come to see Bomani,” she blurted. He stopped with his hand on the iron handle. “I came,” Kendra placed her hand over her racing heart, “to see you.”

Tell us one unique fact about you (something that few people know).

I had the honor of spending 20 years in the military. Even deployed when our first child was only 7 months old. I only had intended on staying 4 years, but time had a way of getting away from me.  I was having too much fun and before I knew it, 20 years had come and gone. I retired in 2011 and started my new life as a civilian. To say the least, it has been an interesting transition. J

Author Links:

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Latest Book:

SOUL AWAKENED, Book 2 in the Key to the Cursed series

LOVE FOR BLOOD OR HONOR

Kendra, an Egyptologist and demi-god in waiting, is the key to unlocking Bakari, the Egyptian God of Death, from his cursed slumber. Desperate to free him, she inadvertently binds herself to the god with a spell that only death will undo. To save Bakari from himself, she may have to sacrifice her innocence, and possibly her soul, before he becomes his family’s worst enemy.

HAUNTED BY SINS OF THE PAST

Bakari awakens to a world at war and a beautiful woman who has tethered his soul to hers. In the wake of his self-destruction Kendra is his only hope of salvation, but another has vowed to keep Bakari from the one thing he craves most-- his Parvana. His butterfly.

Night Owl Reviews: Reviewer’s Top PICK/ 5 Stars (Abigail, Feb2013) :  

“I know other readers are going to love this series as much as I do. Get settled in for a thrilling paranormal tale.”  

Bitten by Paranormal Romance, Ollie (Feb2013): 
5/5 Alpha Howls, Hot

“I don't know where to begin to describe the absolutely marvelous job that the author does in not only creating a wonderful world with so much depth and detail, but a story line the has the mystery and intrigue that will keep you glued to the pages.”  

Goodreads:  

Quote: 

“He leaned into her neck and inhaled along the line of her pulsing artery. “Kendra, you are going to tell me everything I want to know.”

Book Trailer: 

Purchase Links: 

Amazon |  Books –A – Million | Barnes and Noble |  

Huge thanks to Jean for visiting today!

Next week: The Summer Love continues with Sci-Fi/Erotica author, Sarah Allan!

Please join me then for more of the Narrative! J

    

THE REWARD

          You ever look around and ponder the passing of time?

          January flew in a blur, the calendar punctuated by the familiar series of events: birthdays, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, tax time… And for me it was marked with something substantial, the preparation of my first book for publication.

          I took it seriously, calculating my tax return, dedicating every nickel to promoting my manuscript. But underneath all the excitement, I felt a niggling fear. An intuition that no matter the action, my situation was unsteady.

          Despite all the steps to stabilize, something was going fall through.

          After having my car broken into mid-February, the school of hard knocks and deductibles taught me to have a game plan. After replacing my stolen belongings and a new car window out of pocket, I felt a little gipped at the remnants.

          Hi, refund…bye, refund.  I didn’t even get a steak dinner out of it.

          But no guilt. I was good, tucking the remaining funds away in savings, the lot dedicated to the negotiation costs of my dream. I even steered clear of my daily haunt, a craft website, to avoid temptation.

          February turned into March as I paid the bills and juggled the negotiation sessions, an underlining unease still tugging at me.

          Exhausted from the internal struggle, one night I caved and pulled ETSY.com up on my desktop. Evidence of my inherent need for pretty, girly things, the shopping was like water in the desert. The author engine had been running since before the start of the New Year and I had to remind myself that I’m human, not a machine.

The writing is work, hard work!

I’d also seen that many writers reward themselves at the publication of a book.

I was berating myself for FIRE WALKERS not being officially published, but the manuscript was finished, and being pitched in an extremely competitive marketplace.

Queries, copy edits, reviews, blogs, social media, contracts…ARGHHHH!

*ragged breathing*

Okay, so an indulgence was in order. A nice one.

I had to drill the mantra into my head, “It’s okay to chisel a bit off the tax block in the name of treating yourself.”

It’s not shameless self-justification, it’s a reward for all the labor.

I’ve earned it.

And so I perused. While clicking and considering, I ran a free hand over my hair, the curly heap tied back in an unflattering bun. Glancing down at myself, I had on three-day-old sweats, a bleach stained t-shirt and ancient footy socks.

The heavy sigh that resulted was damning confirmation that I’d let myself go. The stress of the book offer, the numerous query rejections, and the merry-go-round of pitches—I was fried.

Looking back up at the screen I typed in my birthstone and “ring” in the search engine.

Being an October baby I’d read a lot of folklore about opals. Made up of a large percentage of water, the stone is strong but fragile if mistreated, and requires a delicate balance to maintain its moisture. Popular in early times, opal’s solid exterior exude bursts of color ranging from green to blue to red. It was believed that when adorning the hair the stone preserved youth in women, representing spiritual strength, imagination and dreams. Opals are said to encourage self-esteem and self-worth, clarify muddled thinking and quell worry. The Romans believed that when turned towards the skin, opals rendered the wearer invisible. The gem presented as an engagement ring was said to be a sign of faithfulness in marriage, and inversely, a mark of infidelity should the stone crack. 

The late 18^th century brought about a decline in status for the opal, one reason being that in Sir Walter Scott's novel, ANNE OF GEIERESTEIN, the main character Lady Hermione is cursed after breaking an opal.. New superstitions then sprang up, saying that opals could be purchased only if your birthstone, to any that failed to meet the criteria the stone would bring misfortune. Consequently the sales of diamonds went up as opals went out of fashion, until Queen Victoria of England reinstated the opal’s good reputation, wearing the stone herself and giving them to others as royal gifts.

I’d received a small heart-shaped opal ring when I was fifteen and to this day I remember its uniqueness. A plain, milky-white stone when cushioned in its box, it seemed to sync to my body heat, becoming a mood ring of color when worn.

That memory came to me when I saw the opal cluster ring for sale.

A vintage ring from the 1950’s, nine small stones encircled a larger center, the opals muted and stationary. The seller took several pictures, the classy design standing out in a clear deviation from modern, mass-produced items. The opals spoke to me in little flickers of green, a bolt of blue, the rare flash of red a testament to the quality of the stones. Refined, it looked like something a lady would wear.

I e-mailed the shop owner to inquire about it. And while I’m not terribly superstitious, I was curious about the ring’s background. What was its story?

In Feng Shui formerly owned items carry the energy of its previous owner. It’s said that you can sense positive and negative Chi energy. An example would be if you've ever walked through an antique store. Ever encountered a piece of furniture that you just didn't like? Or alternately, a thrift store find that you absolutely adore? That’s said to be good and bad chi.

The shop owner kindly shared with me that the ring had been her mother’s, inherited from her estate. I expressed my interest, but then went back to work with the expectation that if I still wanted the ring by the time my tax return came in, I’d buy it.

Weeks passed and I caught myself visiting the ring online every day. I even got nervous as the shop owner began reducing the price, my refund taking what felt like forever.

In the interim I asked more questions: Would I have need to have it sized? What carat gold was it? Was it as big as it looked in the pictures?

The shop owner remained patient as I finally got the cash infusion to buy my reward. In the message field of the purchase order I wrote, “T----, I’m so glad it hadn’t sold yet. It’s my birthstone, and I promise to take good care of it.”

The smile on my face when the shop owner e-mailed me back, “I was hoping you’d be the one to buy it. I know you will cherish it.”

I stalked the mail tracking confirmation until my opal cluster ring arrived, looking like a grown version of my childhood ring. Nestled in light velvet, it winked a soft green as if waking up from a long nap. Inspecting it, I noticed the back of the band was thinner than the sides, the size five sitting snugly above my knuckle, the aura of it a comfort.

I envisioned the dainty fingers of the woman who’d owned it, how it must have been a favorite for the metal to be so diminished.

Smiling, I felt the crazy need to speak to it.

“Is it cool if we get you sized?” I asked. I blinked when it responded with a streak of electric blue, as if saying, “Okay.”

I took it to my jeweler, peppering them with questions about the process. When it was established that going up a size and a quarter was possible, and that 10K gold would be used in lieu of the European standard of 9K, I reluctantly signed the papers to have it altered. Gazing at the ring for as long as I could before I had to hand it over, the saleslady noted my preoccupation, reassuring me that they’d be extra careful with it.

The voicemail message that the ring had come back arrived three days earlier than expected, and I’d rushed over to the jewelers. The same lady who’d sent my ring away was there when I’d reclaimed it.

“I knew you’d come right away to pick it up,” she said, watching as I proudly pushed the ring onto my right ring finger, its colors emerging. “It’s vintage? It looks like it’s always been yours,” the lady added before I’d left.  

I brought the ring home and gave it a cushy residence in my jewelry box. My form of diamonds, I’d wear it when I dressed up, when I wanted to feel pretty, and recently when I’d needed some strength….

The unsettled feeling returned full-force as my premonition of collapse came true. All the money I’d invested into advancing my publishing goals went to no avail, leaving with few options of ever seeing my book in print.

There are so many hard choices when walking this path, the wrong ones tempting when you want to hold your work in your hands.

And when the road forked, I did what any mature, hard working woman would do—I sat in my car and cried in my turkey sandwich.

The purge was good. It was needed. And when the tide of self-pity had ebbed, I walked my sorry ass into the house and plopped myself into the writer chair.

I strongly believe that you don’t need material things to be happy, my ideas and dreams have always been enough for me, but in that moment the opal lore echoed in my head; quells worry, strengthens self-esteem, channels dreams.

          I stood up and pulled my ring out the jewelry box, thinking that a little clarity certainly couldn't hurt. Over the weeks I’d worn the ring, it’d progressively gotten brighter, sending me glints of blue, bright green. No red as of yet, but we were kindred chi spirits, and I knew that it’d eventually shine that way for me.

          I stared down at it, flexing my finger in the light of my desk lamp, the drying tears chilling my face and tightening my cheeks. No prospects, dented savings, and still no book.

          Where do I go from here? I can’t walk away.

I. Can’t. Give. Up. Now.

I felt like a hypocrite. FIRE WALKERS is about a young woman facing her fears, finding her fire. And there I was unable to spark my own.

That’s when it happened. 

The center opal blushed a rose red, warming to the heat of my skin, the reaction making my eyes flare.

Red. Fire. Ember. Glow… The Beginning.

I sat up in my chair and wiped my cheeks, my mind taking stock of what I know about the publishing industry. The years I've spent learning. The resources available to me, the allies I have in my corner.  

I’m down, not out.

Time to try something new.

MRW - MARCH 2014 AUTHOR OF THE MONTH

I'm honored to be the featured MRW Author of the Month for March!

Here's my interview:  

What's your writing story (i.e. How did you start writing, etc.)?

I began journaling at around thirteen, incorporating photos and scrapbooks to tell stories.  In my teens I worked for the school newspaper and thought of pursuing a career in journalism. The more facts I reported, I caught myself thinking, “That’s a cool story, but it’d be so much more dramatic if [THIS] happened!”  That should have been my first clue that fiction was in my future, but I didn’t pursue writing until much later.  After I’d put myself through college for a degree in English, I began tinkering on my first full-length novel. Three full manuscripts, four short stories and a novella later, I’m in the process of getting published for the first time.

Do you have a writing routine?

I work full-time, but I strive to get at least one hour of writing in each evening. So it’s dinner, an hour of straight writing and then bedtime.  Days off and weekends are sometimes full of errands and laundry, but there is a solid three to four hours a day dedicated to some form of writing, whether it be editing or first draft. When I get a long weekend or vacation, I really put in the time each day. Those are the moments I feel like a full-fledged author. :0)

What's the best research trip you've ever taken?

My first novel is set at a horse rescue and I spent a lot of time at a great facility in western Maryland. I learned so much about horses and their care. They all have such personalities, it was like summer camp.  Except the mares and I never snuck out in the middle of the night to toilet paper the gelding field.

Maybe next year.

What are you working on now?

I’m working on the second in the Walker series. In my first book, THE FIRE WALKERS, we meet Kelly and Aidan, two people who reignite the fire in their lives. In the sequel, we walk earth with Ben, the hard working hero you meet in TFW.  Industrious, patient and loving, he has eyes for only one girl… 

What do you like to do when you're not writing?

I'm a intermediate nature photographer and scrapbooker. Something about the combination of story and pictures just soothes my soul. I do also love taking long walks at the lake and on the paths near my home. I like to get outside everyday, no matter the weather.

What's the last great book you read?

WHEN CALLS THE HEART by Janette Oke. 

It can be deemed one of the first inspirational novels. I like how it has a touch of spirituality, but doesn’t overdo it. Based in the Canadian frontier, the reader can relate to the heroine’s struggle to adapt in a rural environment, and the love interest is a brave, noble Mountie, making it a great mixture of adventure and romance. I’ve always held a fascination with the Wild West, and the author writes the scenery so well that you want to see it for yourself.

Banff National Park, here I come!

Shelley N. Greene
www.shelleyngreene.com

KEY WEST AND THE PARROT

Hi, everyone!

I know it's been a while, so sorry for the hiatus. In recent news, I've been asked to be the Author of the Month in the Maryland Romance Writers newsletter!

I was asked interview questions which I'll put up in the following post. I was also asked to provide a fun photo with an associated story. 

Since the publication is solely for MRW members, I wanted to share the featured story with you here as well. I hope you enjoy!

- SNG

Picture Story:

My sister and I had said for many years that we wanted to take a road trip together; just rent a fast car and drive to Key West. While ruminating on it one night, we decided that some things can't wait. Her kids weren’t out of college, but we had our health, a little bit of money and the will to go, so we planned it.

One powder blue Sally of a Mustang transported us to Key West and it was like a different world. The first day there, we left the leather Chesterfield couches and travel trunk end tables of our hotel to walk the island and see the sights. About halfway down the street a commotion caught our attention as a man ran after this brightly plumed bird yelling, “Stop him, he’s getting away!”

Humanitarian that I am, I started after them, my sister trailing me and telling me to be careful. Fearful for the animal, I kept my distance while trying to coax it to stop fluttering in a panic, ready to fly away. I stood agape as the guy reached down and grabbed the distracted bird by the legs, a look of victory on his face. I followed them, watching as the man dragged what I then saw was a rainbow colored parrot back to a neighboring booth. Other exotic birds sat in cages next to photography equipment, a photo kiosk in the center of the square.

The parrot flailed as the man pulled out a pair of grooming clippers, my eyes going wide.  “What are you doing to him?” I called a little too loudly, my sister pulling on my arm to not engage the stranger.

Was this punishment for the bird’s instinctual bid for freedom? That wasn’t fair.

“That gave me a heart attack,” the man uttered as he casually went on about his business. He prepared to cut as the parrot flapped his wide wings, giving us flashes of brilliant color.  

“Stop! Don’t hurt him!”

“Hurt him? I'm not letting a five thousand dollar investment fly the coop.”

To my surprise he turned the bird towards me, illustrating where he was placing the scissors, loud snaps resounding as he trimmed the bird’s wings.

“Oh.” That was all I could manage as my sister shot me a look.

Finished with his work, the man placed the parrot on a wooden perch, the bird still flapping but not taking flight like before. With the visual assurance that the parrot was grounded the man turned to us.

“For helping me out, I’m going to give you a free photo. Sound good?”

I blinked at him, keeping my purse close as he ushered me to a bench and told me to close my eyes. “Hold your hands out in front of you. Cup them like a bowl,” he instructed. 

In a millisecond I felt something soft and feathered touch my skin followed by a gentle pressure on my shoulder. Then I heard the man say, “Open.”

The ball of adorable in my palms knew only one word, “Bubbles…Bubbles,” his name. All the while chewing on his foot like a baby. 

“And this is Peaches,” the man said, motioning to the pretty peach one sitting on my shoulder. “Peaches...Peeeeaches,” the owner prompted the silent bird. “Well, he’s new. Still learning.”

Taken in by it all, I completely forgot that I was being photographed. I followed the direction to “Smile” so naturally that all I did was look up.

My sister got a gold toe ring that day, one that she wears all the time. We saw Hemmingway’s six-toed cats and had cheeseburgers in paradise. It was fabulous.  

And it all started with an exotic bird photographer and his wayward parrot. :0)

NO SMALL THING

         When you browse the bookstore, the shelves are full of series. They have a premise that spans several novels, the characters all residing in the same world. For some the stories are human and take place in modern day. Some are paranormal with otherworldly elements, but each book shares a common theme.

          I spent a long time trying to figure out what I wanted my theme to be.

          There’s an adage in writing, “Write what you know.” You go with your strengths. And while I wanted to go with what I do well, I also wanted to learn. I want each one of my books to develop something in me as a writer, to strengthen an area. And for four books I will be exercising the ways one tells a story.

I'm walking my planets.     

          I know that sounds weird. In short, it’s the elements with a twist, based on a hobby I’ve had since I was young.

After you read book one—FIRE—I’ll fill you in on how it works.

It’s interesting, I promise.  

With each manuscript, I immerse myself in perspective of the characters. With fire, I experienced what my heroine did, to know what she saw and how she felt. I felt a racehorse’s heartbeat under my palm, the spirit in him.

Moving forward, I’ve found myself in a new place with book two, the next element in the theme. It’s a step away from fire, more solid, industrious. The characters are different than before, where I have to keep a more practical mindset.

It's about hard work and delayed gratification. The rewards of patience and diligence. 

          I knew preparation for this one would take time.

With those principles stuck at the back of my mind, I went on a short trip. My last vacation for the year, I was invited to go apple picking. During the days preceding my departure, I caught myself noticing the details of things more.

The little things, in people especially.

I visited the coffee kiosk in my local grocery store, able to stay and watch for once. And what I saw struck a chord with my current theme.

The young guy manning the store is early-twenties and tall. As I know the manager of the store well, I’d seen a revolving door of employees come and go over the months, the turnover from summer jobs to back-to-school making for a merry-go-round of new faces. I remembered the guy from early in the season, back when he was just starting out.

In the beginning I saw him fumble, scatter the coffee, make mistakes with the steps required to prepare the café drinks. For weeks he stepped up to the charge, and continued to grow. Despite the long lines, the overwhelming tasks and perpetual stare-downs from impatient patrons; he greeted customers pleasantly, made small talk, ran the register and poured the coffee. 

          His dedication made me think of an online article my critique partner shared with me. A comparison of work ethics between the generations, it talked about what expectations our parents had compared with those working to gain job security now.

          It struck me as interesting because that is what my current book is about—working hard to get where you want to be.

          Days later, while browsing through aisles of glorious apple trees, I returned to the farm’s main building to see a girl, no older than my youngest niece, answering a visitor’s question: Why are some pumpkins green, and others white and orange?

 I hung around to catch her explanation. The daughter of the farm’s owner, she knew so much for her years; everything from the growing seasons to how climate affects the crops. A new generation.

The following Monday, I made a pit stop at my coffee place before my return to work. The tall, young guy greeted me with a smile and used my name. He recanted my favorite order to the last detail, asking if he was correct. 

I confirmed and smiled, wondering how many people he spoke to in a day. How many hellos, how are yous? How many Skim or two percents? and You want whipped cream on thats?

He shuffled the cups like a magician, careful to include the second E in my name. He topped off the drink with timed finesse, his technique entertaining. The coffee tasted perfect.

As I walked away, I thought of all the little things done anonymously each day.

The ten-second transactions, the clang of registers, the thundering beat of everyday commerce. A recognition to the people who spend their days boxed-in, juggling papers, steaming milk, reciting hellos, goodbyes and the myriad of words in-between.

The jobs that aren't acknowledged, that are immensely important but unrecognized. The millions of fleeting moments that one hard-working person makes good with their positive attitude.

The invisible gears that run our world.

And there are young people in this new generation of workers that get it. I see them every day, doing the work, putting in the time.

I was lucky to see it, the research I needed, right in front of me. The center of the earth element.

It taught me something about giving.  

A job may feel like an endless loop, a line of exertion with little appreciation at the end of the day, but there’s a gift in doing the work. A touch that is passed on with every good experience you convey.  

Service, whatever form it takes, is no small thing.

-         SNG