The review I was afraid to write~ Nonofficial Asset by William Sewell @1BillSewell

I find myself looking over my shoulder as I write this.  This whirlwind experience has left me a bit shaken. I have taken a trip with Mr. Sewell to some of the most dangerous, war torn parts of the world and have been privy to some incredibly frightening government secrets.  

You see, Mr. Sewell has lived much of this story. A veteran clandestine contractor, he has applied his intelligence experience behind-enemy-lines. Many of these scenarios are real, along with all the government agencies, military staff and mind blowing technology

His tautly written, thrill-a-minute book takes you on the roller coaster journey of a lifetime. You’ll infiltrate and exfiltrate in and out of Islamabad, Iran, Shanghai, Kazakhstan, Afghanistan and Langley.  The story is quick moving and danger lurks around every corner.  The incredible detail and vivid descriptions of these locations and circumstances make everything seem a little too real.

Peyton Stone is spy, one of the best.  He works for the CIA, but under the radar. They call him a nonofficial asset.  He handles operations that may become so ugly that the government needs complete deniability.

He finds that there is a high price to pay when his past comes back to haunt him. He is barely over the shock of the murder of his best friend, when he finds his own life in danger.

Without any choice in the matter, Peyton is in the middle of a deadly covert operation. It’s the kind of scenario that nightmares are made of…a stolen nuclear weapon, a fanatical, rogue Iranian admiral and a plan to rule the world.

Will Peyton be able to stop this ungodly chain of events? He’s good, but…

Interview with William Sewell

K: Thank you so much for joining us, Bill. I absolutely loved ‘Nonofficial Asset’.  As I had mentioned to you, Nonofficial Asset was such a thriller, I could feel the tension in my neck!

The book was very intriguing and scary.  I wonder if I am going to be tagged on some government watch list(s) for even writing about this!  

Were you concerned about writing this book, especially with the backlash recently for that YouTube video? And, may I ask if there any personal inspiration for this story?

B: You probably won’t be on a watch list.  I’ve read your dossier from the headquarters files…just kidding!!  Over my many years in this environment, I’ve learned what can be revealed and what can’t.  I’m always, above everything, careful to protect people and technology from compromise.  I also want to make it as real as possible and maybe push the edge just a little bit so there’s a balance.  At the same time, this is a work of fiction and I always want to make it clear that the characters may do bad things but it’s no reflection on real people’s culture, faith, or anything like that. 

My inspiration came from my wife who was also in intelligence for a time and when we swapped stories of our work she said, “You know, most people don’t do those kinds of things.  You should write them down.”  So I began figuring out how to tell a story based on my adventures.

K: Okay, first of all, about my dossier: I joined that IRA website by accident.  I just wanted to connect to my heritage…just kidding! (Laughing nervously)

I think your own life story would probably make an exciting book as well.   Husband and wife spies...that's really cool. It reminds me of the movie, Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Your book is incredibly well written. I can’t believe it’s your debut novel.  Do you have anything exciting coming up in the near future?

B: This is the first of a series.  I hope it’s a long series.  The next book, due out in the spring, is called Critical Asset and has to do with cyber security and what can happen when the right people and technology come together to attack our country’s critical assets.  It will of course be the same Peyton Stone characters and they’ll move quickly to try and stop the bad guys.  I just hope they get there in time.  LOL

K: That’s great news; I want to see more of Peyton Stone.  I have faith in him.

What’s a typical day like in your world?  Do you write daily?

B: I try to write every day.  I get up at 5am and write until 8 when I have to start my day job.  Then I spend evenings sometimes editing, sometimes marketing my current book.  I try to sleep at least once a day.  J

K: You keep a busy schedule; it makes me wonder about the amount of caffeine involved. ☻ (feeling guilty about my own caffeine intake)

If ‘Nonofficial Asset’ was made into a movie, who would you like to see cast in the roles? 

B: I’ve always thought the cast should be Dennis Quaid as Peyton and Claire Danes as Rachel.  Harry is a little harder to cast but John Goodman might be a starting point.  Of course, I’d have to take a “Hitchcock Walk” through some random scene.

K: LOL- I would probably do the “Hitchcock Walk”, too!

I like your casting choices, but I could really see Pierce Brosnan as Peyton.  Maybe it’s that “James Bond” thing. J

I like to engage my guests in a little game I the “writing exercise” I give you a scene and you rewrite it in your own fabulous style.  Are up for it?

B: Wow, I’ve never run into that before but sure, why not?

K: Okay, here is your scene:

Anil sat quietly in the dark room, staring down into the amber liquid in the glass he held in his hand. He quickly swallowed the whiskey, in one gulp. Then he screamed out filthy obscenities, while he hurled the glass to the floor. He grimaced as a large glass shard bounced up and lodged in his bare ankle. He reached down and grabbed the glass shard, and pushed it deeply in to his skin, and then pulled the shard through his leg, all the way up to his knee. 

"Arrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"

He screamed out in pain and then grabbed the glass shard and threw it back on the floor. He didn't notice the blood gushing down his leg and pooling on the floor. He felt a little better now. He had discovered that cutting himself seemed to calm him down. Sometimes he became so irate and agitated it took more than just a few cuts. It was starting to escalate. Like a drug, he needed more and more. The month before he was not able to soothe himself until he had sliced off his pinky finger

(Note: Just a, FYI: Anil is a bad guy. He was a jilted groom who vowed & took revenge in my book, ‘Hiren’s Magical Adventure’. )

B: Anil stared at the floor.  The slow burn of the whiskey warmed his stomach and spread to his chest.  At least there was warmth in the drink.  Warmth against the cold that blew in from his beloved’s betrayal. Alone, alone!! Always alone. The voice in his head screamed and the scream slowly made its way from the bottom of his gut to his lungs, to his throat, and into the room, “Arrrrrgh!”  How could she be so cold?

He felt the glass in his hand, felt his hand tighten around it, felt his arm move and suddenly the glass was in pieces on the floor.  One shard lodged in his ankle.  The physical pain replaced some of the mental pain.  It started again.  That same thirst for pain that took his pinkie finger a month ago.  It was a drug.  He needed more.  He pushed the shard through his ankle and sat back, breaths coming in short gasps. He knew what he had to do.  She had to feel his pain and he knew he was the only one who could gauge that for her.

B: Now that’s one twisted bad guy.  I think I need a drink.

K: Whew!  Me too…darn, it’s only noon! That was deliciously sick.  You’re an incredibly talented writer.

Once again, thank you so much, Bill, it was great having you here.  I hope that you’ll come back when you release Critical Asset.   Where can your fans find you on the web?

B: Thank you for your wonderful review and this fun chat.  Here's my website, , Amazon ,  Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, and Facebook.  Just search for Nonofficial Asset.

Thanks again!!

Review, Interview & shocking revelations with @dagraystone

‘Two Graves’ is an incredibly well written novel. Once I started reading, I was hooked. The story line is profound, with a captivating subplot. 

This book will keep you on your toes. The tension builds from the first page. The depth of the characters deepens your experience. The players are complex and may remind you of people that you actually know.

You will cringe as you live through the killer’s memories of torment and suffering. The abusive childhood created a rage so intense-it produced a serial killer. You may try to put yourself in his shoes; try to understand his motivation. You may not like the feelings this evokes.

Your mind will race as the tension builds and the storylines meld. What is the connection with the serial killer and the mafia? Is the Kesle Police Department tied up with the mafia? Corruption is in the air.  

How will it end?

“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.”  

Interview

K-

Thanks so much for joining us for an interview today, Derek. I was captivated with your book, ‘Two Graves’. It was intense, with some brutal murder scenes. I hope it sends out a message to all bullies.

 Being a Reiki Master and a Wiccan, I would guess that your personal beliefs lean more toward the peaceful & harmonious. Was there any personal inspiration for the story?

D-

Very true, I believe in peaceful resolutions to conflicts but I am also a realist in knowing that is not always possible, especially with bullies. Much of the inspiration for the novel came from past experiences. Yes, I was bullied when I was younger. I was in the Audio Visual club (this was the 70s before computers), I got straight A’s, was always the “good” kid in class, in other words, a total geek. I hung around with geeks and I even played the violin. (No, not the flute but then the violin didn’t ‘fit’ in the novel.) I might as well have had a target on my back.

I was saved by my one talent of being a fast runner. Both because it got me away from the bullies but it also got me accepted by the jocks, some of the worst bullies out there. I was the anomaly, a geek jock. But for that one talent, and the confidence it gave me, I would most likely have been a target all my life. And now that I have children, I see the trends still continuing and have even gotten worse. My son is bullied and,regardless of the new sensitivity toward bullying, I feel just as helpless as I did when I was his age.

And that helplessness combined with my current confidence is what drove the creation of my killer. In the aftermath of a bullying, I had thoughts of ‘I should have said this’, ‘I should have done this’. Now, what if a chronic victim could suddenly turn those thoughts into ‘I can fight back and give them even worse than they gave me’. Fighting back but to a degree that for most of us, hopefully, would only be fantasy.

K-

I understand that pain, firsthand.  I wish more kids could find a constructive way to fight back.  Unfortunately, more often than not, it seems to happen like it does in your book.  When the victim is terrorized to a certain degree it simply pushes them over the edge.  Every time you hear of a tragic massacre in a school, the perpetrators were victims of  bullying. It's just heartbreaking.  

On a lighter note, if ‘Two Graves’ is made into a movie, who would you like to see cast in the roles?

D-

Interesting you should say that. Every book I write, I have pictures of my characters pinned up on the wall, often times just pictures of people I see but often actors. And you have to remember that it can take years to write the book and sometimes my choices age themselves out of running. I did see George Clooney as Mann and originally Julianne Moore as Dani. However, I could see Poppy Montgomery in the part Dani with no problem at all. Joaquin Phoenix was always the killer, although he would have to put on some pounds. I have also promised my 88 year old father that he can have a walk on part.

K-

I love George Clooney as Mann.  Poppy would be great- and now she even has the red hair, like Dani. Maybe your father could play the role of a veteran cop that they call in to consult with on the case. I would have never thought of Joaquin Phoenix, but if he put on a few pounds, yes, I can see it!

Please share with us, what is your writing ritual? Where do you like to write?  How often? Do you schedule time or wait for inspiration?

D-

I write as often and whenever I can. With my schedule, that might mean at 5 in the morning or 12 at night or anywhere in between. My preference for location is a house we go to in Exuma, Bahamas. Otherwise, I do most of my writing in my basement office that the previous owners used for a storage room. The writer in me considers it warm and cozy, with convenient access to everything in the room – doesn’t that sound better than hot, cramped and crowded. Whenever the Canadian weather allows it, I also write in my back yard around the pool.

My method is to plot and plan the entire book. I also have detailed character sketches and back stories for my characters before I start. More often than not, much of the backstory doesn’t even get into the book but it is always in the back of my mind, giving motivation to the characters. Then, after I transfer all my notes to index cards, I just start writing at the beginning and to until it ends. I also set up a schedule of X number of words a day that invariably is overly ambitious and never achieved.

K-

I like the idea a the detailed character sketches and back stories.  I think I read somewhere that Steven King does something similar. I’m going to try that technique.

Balance seems to be an issue that most authors grapple with. You have a wife, four daughters, one son, and three granddaughters. How do you balance your personal life with your writing and the promotional aspect of writing?

D-

I have to change my bio again since one of my daughters got married and I inherited two more granddaughters. And then we have one more coming this summer. Balance? I don’t know a fledgling Indie author who isn’t an expert juggler. Strangely, it always seems to be the writing that suffers if you are not diligent in getting at it. For me, the real secret is not having to rely on the muse to tickle my creativity. I force myself to just sit down and writing something, often complete trash but usually with some nugget I can salvage. And although I just finished saying I write from the beginning to the end, my mood might dictate what I write that day. I will occasionally skip to a scene with my killer if I have had a particularly bad day. I also usually have three or four projects on the go at any one time.

But the real saving grace for me?  In Yvette, I have the most understanding wife in the world. She supports me, even if she doesn’t understand why I feel it necessary to edit the same book over and over and over. This allows me the time and energy to work (guilt free) on the various activities associated with writing and promoting.

K-

Congrats on your two new granddaughters and also for the baby who is on the way. What a blessing.

I agree that the support of your spouse means everything.  Thank you, Yvette- the world needs more of Derek’s books : )

It sounds like  writing a murder scene could be very therapeutic. I can see that:

A bad day at work, a troublesome boss that has you all stressed out… And then, a few minutes after you get home…he gets what he’s got coming!

I have a ritual. I like to do a “writing exercise” with the authors that I interview. I give them a scene and then ask them to re-write the scene in their own special style. Are you game?

D-

Yes.

K-Okay- here you go:

Anil sat quietly in the dark room, staring down into the amber liquid in the glass he held in his hand. He quickly swallowed the whiskey, in one gulp. Then he screamed out filthy obscenities, while he hurled the glass to the floor. He grimaced as a large glass shard bounced up and lodged in his bare ankle. He reached down and grabbed the glass shard, and pushed it deeply in to his skin, and then pulled the shard through his leg, all the way up to his knee. 

"Arrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"

He screamed out in pain and then grabbed the glass shard and threw it back on the floor. He didn't notice the blood gushing down his leg and pooling on the floor. He felt a little better now. He had discovered that cutting himself seemed to calm him down. Sometimes he became so irate and agitated it took more than just a few cuts. It was starting to escalate. Like a drug, he needed more and more. The month before he was not able to soothe himself until he had sliced off his pinky finger.

D-

This was fun! However, you might notice that my characters are usually more proactive, less prone to self-infliction and more prone to blaming others for their problems – and then taking it out of them. 

Anil sat staring at the old style computer monitor, absently swirling the amber liquid in the Glencairn glass, not even noticing the enticing aroma of the whiskey. He couldn’t take his eyes off the damn screen and the smiling couple on the Facebook update. Now that she was with that smiling sack of skin, Anil knew he was forgotten, ignored. Nonexistent.

“You bitch,” he said in a low voice.

Downing his drink in a single gulp, he weighed the heavy glass in his hand. Pulling back, he threw it, exploding the monitor in a cascade of sparks and smoke, obliterating the happy couple on the screen.

Looking down, he saw a shard of the monitor in his forearm. He studied the sharp glass, watching the blood well out. In a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled the thin glass along his arm, fascinated as the already scarred skin parted and blood dripped down his arm. He felt no pain. There was a time, before he met her, when cutting himself was the only way he felt alive. The pain allowed him to feel something, anything. Now, there was only the hollowness since she deserted him. Now, even the pain was just a dull sensation – like his entire world without her.

Cutting himself had no effect.

But cutting her?

He pulled the thin glass from his arm and watched a single drop of blood fall onto his desk. What would he feel if he was to pull this across that smiling face of hers? Would he finally begin to feel again as he sliced into those perky breasts she was so proud of? She couldn’t see a life with him? He could make sure she wouldn’t see at all. What would this little shard do to those big brown eyes of hers?

He remembered her status update and smiled. So, she was getting engaged?

How would she wear that big sparking diamond if she didn’t have a ring finger?

K-

Wow!  I did not see that coming!  That was an excellent twist to what I had expected.  I knew it would be spectacular. Thank you.

Derek, I really appreciate your joining us. It was wonderful chatting with you. Where can people find you and your work on the web?

D-

I welcome all fans, stalkers and people who just have too much time on their hands while surfing the web…

Web Site: http://www.dagraystone.com

Facebook http://www.facebook.com/dagraystone

Twitter: http://twitter.com/dagraystone

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/D.A.-Graystone/e/B005A3XTEG/ref=sr_tc_ep?qid=1336869210

The Delphi Chronicle Book 1- this will make you wonder...

Reviews

 

 

Russell Blake has a masterpiece here.  The book overflows with fear, mystery, murder- all eloquently put.  It is most definitely a page-turner.  Most importantly, it will make you stop and think.  Mr. Blake claims the book is fiction.  However, he readily admits that,

“It is almost impossible to verify with complete certainty what is fiction when examining the world of covert operations and intelligence agencies.”

An extremely conceivable conspiracy drives this story at a fast pace.  A mysterious manuscript contains dangerous information.  The ugly truth can change history and the world, as we know it today.  Our unlucky hero finds himself in the possession of this manuscript.  He is now the target of a powerful group that will not allow this to become public.  Innocent people die in the quest to retrieve this manuscript.  Will our hero make it out of this alive?

Interview with Russell Blake

K-You have stated that you believe the best fiction comes from a blend of fact and fantasy.  This book reads more like fact rather than fantasy.  Given your intimate knowledge of these entities may I ask if you have a military background?

R- I’ve never served in the armed forces.

K-Is there anything in your own life that inspired you to write the story? 

R-Well, there are some things that are similar, but I’d prefer not to go into detail as to what the similarities are. Let’s just say that there’s a little of me in all my protagonists.

K-As a writer, I admire other authors that are able to “open a new world for me”. You have a very descriptive style that allows the reader to feel and see the story.  Is this something that just flows from you? 

R-Yes. I’ve been told to dumb down my style, and to cut back on the exposition and narrative, but frankly I think that what you wind up with is writing that could be anyone’s at that point – sort of a bland, vanilla writing style I’m utterly uninterested in. If that’s what I needed to do to have people buy my books, I think I’d give up writing. No offense to the monosyllabic authors out there who have been successful, but I would like to take more of a note from Umberto Eco, Chuck P and David Foster Wallace than from James Patterson.  Although I’d love to have his income…

K-You and me both...Where is your favorite place to write? 

R-I’ve written all my books from the same desk, so that’s probably the place.

K- I was guessing that it was the beach.  

I love Mexico.  I usually vacation there at least once a year. What influenced your permanent move to Mexico?

R- I was looking to broaden my horizons, and had grown tired of the pressure cooker, consumer-driven lifestyle of the States. I wanted something relaxed, where it was warm, the beer cold, the water blue, and the native friendly. Mexico naturally beckoned, and I’ve never had a single regret moving here.

K-Getting back to the fact that the book is a little too real:   Is it true that you actually live on the West Coast of Mexico in a neighborhood surrounded by drug lords? 

R-Yes, and no. I mean, it’s not like they are surrounding my town or anything. But there are always plenty of bad guys in any area, and mine is not unlike the rest of the country in that respect. Although if you look at the murder rate, it’s actually lower here than in most similarly sized U.S. cities. That should tell you a lot. Not to discount the very real danger in some areas – anything near the border is ugly, as are some cartel towns and some resorts near Mexico City. But guess what? There are equally ugly areas of the U.S. I just prefer not to go to them, just as I didn’t go to the American ones when I was in the U.S.

I think the brush Mexico gets painted with involves a lot of hysteria and generalizations, some of which are deliberate – the U.S. has a large segment of the population that’s coming to retirement age, so if it doesn’t want to lose a whole lot of tax base and retirement funds to warmer, friendlier, cheaper countries, it has to make them seem as unappealing as possible. Otherwise why would anyone stay in the U.S., if you could live for half as much at a considerably higher quality level somewhere else? No, those places are dangerous and scary and, ugh, different, so best to spend your vacation money in Hawaii or Florida and keep paying twenty grand a year property tax for the privilege of being in the U.S. If that sounds cynical, it is. Which comes through loud and clear in many of my books.

K-Well, I see your point.  I would love to retire in Paradise.  You're in a beautiful place. 

I’d like to do a little exercise, if it's okay with you.  I’m going to provide a scene from a book and I would like for you to re-write it in your own style. 

R-All right, but I do go on, as you know from my books…

K- Okay, here it is:

Just do your work, Consuela.  Don't imagine things. You got a lot of shit to do today.
She was a small women and she was fast.  She would finish cleaning this house and then move on to the next.  The more houses she could clean, the more money she could send back home, to her family. Her children were still in Mexico with her parents. She was hoping to bring them to America one day.
Think about the kids and get your shit done.
Then she saw the bloody towel thrown in the hallway. Her heart was pounding so loud she could hear it. She noticed the bedroom door was closed.
Mr. Ryan never left that door closed.
Her legs were shaky as she slowly walked towards the door and opened it.
"Help me...please."
Then the screaming began.

R-
A soft breeze stirred the jacaranda blossoms outside the open wooden windows of the old house, the air heavy with humidity, the uneasy remnant of a distant squall. Inside, the clamor of a bucket knocking against the scarred wooden banister announced that the cleaning girl had arrived to perform her grudging chores.  Leathery hands gnarled by a lifetime of manual labor were more expected on an elderly peasant woman than on a twenty-nine year old of diminutive stature, but Consuela couldn’t turn back time.  She’d had to do what she could to make ends meet, and in a harsh environment, that often meant backbreaking tasks nobody else wanted to do – strawberry picking for fourteen hours a day, working in the tomato fields the same hours, or scrubbing floors and toilets with corrosive chemicals that hardened her skin as much as they’d tarnished her soul. None of which her placid expression betrayed. Outwardly, she was inscrutable; invisible to the privileged for whom she worked.

The cleaning gig was better than some she’d had. At least it enabled her to care for her children in the only way she was able – monthly Western Union transfers to her parents, who were raising them while she paid their bills from afar. It wasn’t her first choice, but she’d gotten caught up in the business of living as barely more than a girl, and soon the adventure of forbidden midnight rides in musty cars with the dangerous love of her life had been replaced by the reality of an infant girl, with another on the way, the father long gone to greener pastures, leaving her with only regret and responsibility.

She hummed under her breath, a tune from home, from the fiestas that made Saturday nights in her rustic village near Veracruz bearable. On mornings like this, the dream of a small yellow clapboard house, with a little yard, perfectly manicured, on the outskirts of this town, in the impossibly prosperous U.S., her children playing safely in it, speaking English – the language of opportunity and of power, and wealth – was the only thing that got her through the day. Mornings after the big weekends were the worst. The clients always left a mess, knowing she, or someone like her, would clean up after them. Mondays were always the same, and she resigned herself to another long afternoon if she was going to clean two homes before nightfall.

Which she would do, even if it killed her.

Because she needed the money. It was always about the money.

Finished in the foyer, she moved towards the master suite, the heavy mahogany door with its ornately hand-carved panels a reminder of centuries past. As she rounded the corner into the hall, she hesitated, momentarily confused. Even as she registered something on the gleaming hardwood floor, her nose detected a distinctive metallic smell – the smell of fresh blood. At first she thought it was one of the cats, injured or killed by the damned dogs. Consuela hated the dogs, and was always relieved when they were elsewhere; she didn’t care where. They scared her, reminding her too much of the ugly angry men in her life. Dogs were always like their masters, she thought as she struggled to make out the form in the dim light.

She peered in the gloom, and abruptly realized it was one of the owner’s thick white terrycloth towels, soaked in blood, the jaunty teal thread of the embroidered R of his last name – Ryan; Senor, no, Meester Ryan –  standing out from the crimson stains, which were slowly turning rust-colored.

The silence of the empty house was fractured by an explosion as the metal bucket hit the floor with a crash, startling her into action, her fingers having reflexively dropped it. The ammonia in the water made her eyes tear, and she was about to curse when she heard it…faint at first, and then again, a little louder.

Scratching. At the door.

Consuela approached the battered pewter lever with a trembling outstretched hand, anxiety now in full bloom. Scratch. A tiny internal voice argued against proceeding any further, told her to turn, to run, to get away from this cursed place, the money be damned. Meester Ryan never closed this door, or any door, for that matter. She didn’t know what it meant that today it was shut, but she was sure that whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good.

The scratching continued, and her ears strained, catching something else. Something like an animal, wounded, caught in a trap, like she’d seen once as a child on a trip to her grandfather’s farm, when a hare had gotten snared and nearly torn its neck off trying to escape. Consuela had learned a terrible secret that day. She knew that rabbits could scream. The sound had never left her, and even now, as the hair on her arms stood up, she was reminded of that ugly sound, as she had been for months after in now-faded nightmares.

She hesitated, forcing down the fear that was blossoming inside her, and then swung the door open, mop clenched in her free hand like a puny club.

Her eyes widened even as she heard the gurgled plea from the thing on the bedroom floor. A thing that had once been…

“Help me…please.”

Outside, a covey of quail soared into the April sky from the field across the way, startled by the piercing shrieks echoing from the house. Screams that went on forever, unheard on the rural country road; screams of a horror that would never fade, and that promised the rabbits would have company in Consuela’s psyche for the rest of her life.

K- I love it!  You are a wonderful writer.  I will keep this close by for inspiration.

R-I try to open as many doors for the imagination as possible when I write, and am constantly torn between a Hemingway approach of only a few words, and a DFW approach of pages, enjoying the way words splash on the page for the sheer joy of the musicality to the cadence. Obviously I give in to the DFW more than the Hemingway.

K- It’s working for you.  Thank you so much for the interview.  I will definitely be reading the rest of your books.  I am hooked : )

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