Sunday, April 28, 2013

Sunday Photographs

Here's this week's 365 Project photographs. If you want to see the entire album, visit my Photobucket.

Day 111, Male Eastern Pondhawk Dragonfly
Day 111 photo 500-DSC_6238_zpsf240224a.jpg

Day 112, Loropetalum
Day 112 photo 500-DSC_6251_zps1fbc8f8f.jpg

Day 113, Bouganvillea
Day 113 photo 500-DSC_6265_zps53daeaf5.jpg

Day 114, Canna Lily
Day 114 photo 500-DSC_6269_zpsd52d60df.jpg

Day 115, Green Tree Frog
Day 115 photo 500-DSC_6306_zps6105e7cf.jpg

Day 116, Deformed  Black-eyed Susan
Day 116 photo 500-DSC_6316_zps516dc6c5.jpg

Day 117, Water Lily
Day 117 photo 500-DSC_6329_zps08898d7e.jpg


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Suzanne D. Williams  
Suzanne Williams Photography  
Florida, USA 

Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.

Saturday, April 27, 2013

Story Saturdays - The Best Week of my Life

I would like to express my thanks to all those who have pushed I KISSED THE BOY NEXT DOOR and ME & TIMOTHY COOPER to the top of the best-seller's list this week. For 11 days, Jackson Phillips sat at #1 and for the majority of that time, Timothy Cooper was at #2. 

I am both stunned and grateful, to those who bought the books, but especially to those who took the time to speak kind words. Please know that each one counts. Writing fiction can be brutal at times. You become a tadpole in the midst of a school of sharks with no defense and no way out. Add to that being a Christian writer and the pressure doubles. Yet I have no regrets and only great plans for the future.

Also, I have an article up at the GNFA blog on crafting your blurb. Check it out!


Today's excerpt is another piece from my next YA Romance, The Best Day of my Life. This time I have a cover reveal as well. It is already available at Amazon for only 99 cents, but look for this to be on the shelves at other retailers within the next week.

In this scene, Daphne realizes she's made yet another gaffe, forgotten her swimsuit.

EXCERPT: 

So, okay, I admit the pinky-swear thing was childish, but having Carter agree to it was worth my saying it. And he didn’t appear to mind because he simply went back to be himself – casual and eye-poppingly cute. Something enhanced by the backdrop of sand and waves and overheated parking lot.
He glanced away from me and I was treated to a fine view of the back of his head. You’d think that’d be disappointing but it wasn’t. Being the well-ignored girl I was, I routinely saw the backs of boys’ heads and had actually catalogued them by shape and hair color. Carter’s fit all the top criteria. First, it wasn’t round. I hated a guy with a basketball-shaped head. Second, it wasn’t narrow either, but the perfect oval. Third, he had black hair, and I was a sucker for black hair.
Black hair and brown eyes, the color of a good glass of iced tea.
I indulged myself in a vivid daydream of running my fingers through that hair, only to have my dad ruin it.
“Poppet,” he said. “Need you to help your mother.”
Carter turned back toward me, one eyebrow arched.
Yeah … Poppet. I rolled my eyes at my dad’s affectionate name for me.
The corners of Carter’s mouth turned up.
“Guess I gotta go,” I said.
He nodded. “Okay.”
I turned my back on him and went to move indoors. But he called out from behind.
“Hey, you wanna swim later?”
Well, duh, I was at the beach. Of course, I wanted to swim. Then I realized I’d be swimming with Carter Pruitt and that made me all nervy. But no way was I gonna act like it or be stupid and say no.
“Like three?” I asked.
“Three’s good,” he said.
And with that I entered the apartment and shut the door.
I was instantly glad the door was closed because the sight that met me would’ve only added to my day’s embarrassment. For my dad had claimed the couch. I took in the scene and suppressed a shudder. Dad, tiny green throw pillows wadded beneath his head. Dad, large, hairy feet propped on the far arm. Dad, mouth open, eyes at half-mast. He was fast on his way to an afternoon nap, but apparently my presence woke him up.
His eyelids flipped open and he focused his gaze on me. “You not help your mother yet?”
“I’m going,” I said.
That apparently satisfied him because he returned to his sleep-driven state.
I walked through the mishmash of living room furniture, which, I might add was typical – wicker chair, glass topped table, 1980s gold-framed watercolor of a pelican – and down the short hall to the bedrooms where I found my mom well entrenched in the closet.
“I’m here,” I said.
This startled her. She stood up, whacked her head on the hangers, and the closet door shut on her bum. I giggled.
“Well, that was wrong,” she said, reopening the door. She moved to the bed where she’d laid out their things and lifted a stack of shirts. “If you could open the drawer.”
I could and I did. We spent the next ten minutes putting away their things at which point she dismissed me to do my own. So I whipped around the corner and into the tiny pocket that was the other room and had a revelation.
Standing there over the lumpy mattress, yanking my underwear from my pockets, counting pairs of shorts and tanks I’d packed, it hit me. I’d forgotten the one thing you should definitely have at the beach. The one thing every girl picks out, careful it flatters her figure. The one I’d, in particular this year, made sure was absolutely perfect.
Yep, my suit.

***

“You forgot your swimsuit?” Carter slouched on one hip, his hand perched on his side, and eyeballed my outfit.
Short-shorts, pink tank top.
“Yeah.”
He gave me a half grin. “Nice.”
“So I thought I’d swim in this.” I added.
His eyebrows lifted. “Your mom and dad don’t care?”
Well, they’d care if they knew, but I kinda hadn’t told them I was going swimming. I shook my head. “Nope.”
“Cool.”
With that we set out for the sand. Down the stairs, past the ice machine, our feet echoing in the downstairs hallway, through the pool area, out the slightly-rusted iron gate, and smack into foot-burning, eye-searing white sand. I yelped, and Carter halted.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Walk quick,” he said.
Not exactly what I wanted him to say. Or do. I was more hoping for chivalry, him lifting me up, tucking me against his chest, and toting me to the water. Yeah … No. Instead, he did what most boys do, he kept walking, and I was forced to follow.
Yet the reward came at the end. Hopping from foot to foot ‘til I got to the waves and there, sinking calf-deep in the sloshing surf, I turned my head, and I swear on the hair on my head if time didn’t stop and one of those romantic rock songs didn’t play. Because standing in front of me, shirt off, suntan-lotion coated, was Carter Pruitt.
God Almighty he was fine. Sunlight, clear-skies, ninety-eight degrees fine. Mind-blanking, lost-in-my-thoughts, fine. Which was unsafe for a simple girl like me. Since with my head empty and my eyes bugging out of my head, I made the biggest mistake you can make at the Gulf.
I forgot to do the stingray shuffle.

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Suzanne D. Williams  
Suzanne Williams Photography  
Florida, USA 

Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

I See Heaven

Do all that lies in you, never complaining, never hesitating, to shew yourselves innocent and single-minded, God’s children, bringing no reproach on his name. You live in an age that is twisted out of its true pattern, and among such people you shine out, beacons to the world, upholding the message of life. (Php 2:14-16, Knox)

God created the world exactly how He wanted it to be. He made no plans for poverty, sickness, frustration, fear, torment - in short any of the upsets that affect you and I every day. He didn't want babies to be born afflicted with diseases, people to die young, you to lose your job, your kid to be on drugs.

He wanted to be the end all and for all of everything. The solution. The "go to."

Then man did what man always does, he rebelled, deciding to make his own choices, go his own path, be like God, and in that moment, sin came and with it every consequence of sin - death, disease, poverty - all those things we don't want and pray now to get rid of. (Ge 3:6;Rm 5:17)

Suffering came. Strife came. Pain came. And it was our fault.

But God didn't give up. There was no sitting back on His hands while we swam through our piddly lives. He wasn't up there wringing His hands, "Dear me. Dear me." No, He set about to bring mankind back into a right relationship with Him. To give us back all the things we had given away so cheaply. (Act 2:23;Col 1:14)

Because He loved us with GREAT love. (Eph 2:4)

The kind of love we write novels about. Love that says, "No matter what you've done, no matter where you've been, no matter what condition you find yourself in, I love you."

The kind of love a mother has for a child even though he's done some of the most despicable things. "But he's a good boy." 

And we shake our heads and say, "No, he's not. Look at his crimes!"

Unfathomable love. Unexplainable love.

But the story didn't stop there. It didn't end on the cross of Calvary. It didn't end with the Resurrection. It didn't go away when the Holy Spirit fell in the upper room. The story lived on. The story's perpetual. And that's part of the power of it.

That each time we raise our hands, each time we praise God, each time, we turn our faces toward heaven and humble ourselves, He returns and loves us all over again. 

It's a daily thing, this love, an hourly thing, a minute-by-minute, any time you need Him thing.

Because, yeah, the world's twisted now. Turn on the news and you see that. Visit a hospital and you know that. Talk to anyone you meet, and you'll realize that. Things are out of order. The world groans for it's release, and one day the ultimate release will come. (Rm 8:18)

But until then, I see heaven each time I close my eyes and say, "Thank you, God. Thank you for what you did for me. Thank you I walked out of my house today. Thank you I have hope and a future. Thank you no matter what I need or how often I need it or how big this task is, You are there for me."

Thank you.

And God answers. "You're welcome, Suzanne. Anytime."


I see heaven invading this place
I see angels praising your holy name
I sing praises, I sing praises
I give you honor worthy Jesus

I see Glory falling in this place
I see hope restored, the healing of all disease

I sing praises, I sing praises
I give you honor worthy Jesus




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Suzanne D. Williams  
Suzanne Williams Photography  
Florida, USA 

Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.

Sunday, April 21, 2013

Sunday Photographs

This has been an interesting week. Our resident mockingbirds had a nestful of eggs hatch. If you think mockingbirds are noisy, you should be around their young. But they are fun to watch. Also, the first dragonflies of the season are out, and a few new flowers.

Enjoy!

As always, if you wish to view the entire album, visit my Photobucket.

Day 104, Ladies Tresses Orchids
Day 104 photo 500-DSC_6089_zps37d7bf41.jpg

Day 105, Black and Blue Salvia
Day 105 photo 500-DSC_6099_zps017b42ac.jpg

Day 106, Magnolia
Day 106 photo 500-DSC_6115_zps91aed938.jpg

Day 107, Female Eastern Amberwing (Click here to see the male.)
Day 107 photo 500-DSC_6165_zpsbb75cfe1.jpg

Day 108, Northern Mockingbird
Day 108 photo 500-DSC_6175_zps1a0f40ed.jpg

Day 109, Northern Mockingbird Chick
Day 109 photo 500-DSC_6176_zpse261523e.jpg

Day 110, Wild Garlic
Day 110 photo 500-DSC_6181_zps4a0d9021.jpg

Bonus Pic, This turtle turned up in our neighbor's yard.
Turtle 4-10-2013 photo 500-DSC_6036_zps6731966b.jpg



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Suzanne D. Williams  
Suzanne Williams Photography  
Florida, USA 

Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.

Saturday, April 20, 2013

Story Saturdays: An Excerpt and a Bit on Writing YA

My boys, Timothy Cooper and Jackson Phillips, sit at #1 and #2 this morning at Amazon, and that is amazing. (4-17-2013) I am grateful to the readers who've pushed them there, and to the writers and authors who've helped me promote.

That said, I have two things I want to address about writing stories for young adults (teens), and I suppose, ironically, these comments are for the adults. Perhaps I am the only forty-something who remembers what it's like to be seventeen. I like to think I'm not; in some measure, I know I'm not. But it never ceases to amaze me the comments I get about stories that should lift you up. So I'm going to lay all this out there, my heart on my sleeve, as it were.

1. Are your stories edited?

Yes. Yes. And Yes. Nothing ever leaves my computer without going before one or two people who check it for content, grammar, and spelling. These people are writers themselves, they understand my style of writing, and where I'm trying to go with whatever story goes before them. So rest assured that whatever you read has passed by the eyes of people who would speak up if I was out of line at all.

This leads me to point of view (POV). There are many different POV choices. All are correct, but some are presently more out of style than others. I will either use first person, third person, or a mix of first and third. In writing YA, I prefer to use both 1st and 3rd in the same story. This is not that unusual, nor it is unacceptable. First person is more candid, which I believe speaks better to teens, but an entire story written in first person can become tedious. I like to show both the girl and boy's points of view, so I will often include third person to differentiate between them. I am a girl (duh) so writing the girl in first person comes a bit easier for me.

2. What are you trying to accomplish writing YA?

I am writing FEEL-GOOD ROMANCE.

I am a Christian, so my beliefs come out in my writing, as do those of any other author.Yet in any of my fiction stories, I'm not trying to convert anyone. Instead, I am providing readers with clean romance that when they've completed the book has made them happy. And with my YA, I want the stories to be something the parents and teens can read while in the same room without either one being embarrassed about the content.

Frankly, the current trend toward strange paranormal love stories is frightening to me. I write to provide stories without dark subjects and references to demonic beings as being acceptable. To me, they are not what a teen needs to be reading. Instead, I want teens who read my stories to find themselves in the tale. To think that it is possible for a boy and a girl who've passed each other at school or church to wake up one day and realize they're in love. For girls to know there are guys out there like Timothy Cooper. For boys to see it's okay to be gentle and kind and considerate. It's okay to abstain. And yet for both sides to know that being a teen is the best part of life ever and dealing with raging hormones and strong attractions can lead to amazing things.

That, for me, is the appeal of YA, and why I write it to begin with.



TODAY'S EXCERPT comes from a YA slated to come out next year. THE WORST DAY BEST WEEK OF MY LIFE. 

Accidents happen to Daphne Merrill a lot. So falling face-down at the feet of Carter Pruitt while on vacation miles away from home Is simply another in a long list of her misfortunes.

Yet what started out as the worst day ever is looking up with each minute that passes. Is it possible he actually likes her for who she is? Or is he yet another person laughing behind her back?

Could these seven days possibly be the best week of her life?

EXCERPT: 

All it took was a major face plant to make Carter Pruitt look my way. I’m talking a head-rattling, chin-jarring, sand-in-my-teeth plow into the sun-warmed concrete. I’d like to say I planned it, that I knew what would happen, but that’d be taking credit for something the heavens above must’ve ordained.
Of course, he laughed, and it’s sobering to have the guy you like laugh at you. But it’s so much worse to peel yourself off the ground and find your best pants ripped at the knee, your skin shredded, and blood running down your leg. Then top that off with the buttons of your shirt popped off right across your breasts and your bra hanging out like, “Hello, see me?”
Yeah, he saw. He wasn’t blind. And I was so embarrassed.
This was actually the second time I’d embarrassed myself in front of Carter. The other time was in English. The teacher asked what our most humiliating moment ever was, and I wasn’t about to tell mine because what am I, stupid? Carter Pruitt’s sitting right there. But then she called on me, made me stand up at my seat, and he’s looking at me and I’m wanting to make something up instead of telling the truth.
It was one of those please-God-have-a-hole-open-up-and-swallow-me moments.
But it wasn’t in me to lie. I’d eaten too many bars of soap at my mother’s hands to do that. So I gulped down the bullfrog leaping around in my gullet and launched into the tale. Come the end of it, he was laughing, the class was laughing, I was laughing, but mine was more out of pain.
Pain almost as bad as face-planting at his feet.
Weird thing was, we weren’t in school. We weren’t even in the same town, for that matter. And it’s not like my family schmoozed with his family and planned some vacation together. Honest Abe I was simply carrying my things from the car to our rental apartment, my thoughts on sporting my new bikini down at the Gulf and not so much on the height of the curb. Next thing I know, I’m eating concrete and there he is.
“Daphne Merrill, what are you doing here?” Carter asked.
Now, him speaking had two effects on me. First, it was nice to know he knew my name. Second, oh, no, he knew my name. Only person I’d ever heard of with my first name was that chick on TV, and she had a cool English accent that counter-balanced having such a dumb name.
I clutched the edges of my shirt together. “Apparently, falling at your feet.”
He started laughing again and wiped the corners of his eyes. “You kill me.”
But the only one dying here was me. After all, I’d just done an earth dive in front of Carter Pruitt.
Then my mom walks up and makes the whole thing worse. “Daphne? What did you do to your pants?”
Why are parents like that? Not, “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself? Let me check your knee,” but worry over my pants, as if they needed to be revived or something.
“I fell,” I said.
“You fell?” She said it like she had doubts.
I wanted to say, Gees, Mom, look at me. But I didn’t.
Then she notices Carter standing there. “Oh, you’ve made a friend.”
Sigh. Little kids make friends. Teenagers do not make friends. And girls especially do not make friends with boys by busting their kiester.
“This is Carter. We go to school together,” I said.
She lowered her shades, peering out over the top. “Well, that’s perfect. You two can spend time together.”
No sooner had she said that than my dad walked up. Now, Dad, was on an average day a complete embarrassment to me. But give him the week off, take him to the beach, and he becomes the epitome of parental horror. He had on these khaki shorts, the puffy kind with front pleats that made him look even fatter, a red floral Hawaiian shirt with dolphins swimming between the blossoms, and mandals.
Dear Lord, I hate mandals.
As if that’s not bad enough, he’s lugging the suitcase – 1972, yellow, hard plastic you could drive a car over and it’d not burst – and beneath his elbow, my mom’s car pillow. He stopped short at sight of Carter and negotiating his hold on the two objects, stuck out his hand. “Hello, son.”
Carter was trying his best not to laugh, and I can’t say as I’d’ve blame him if he had because there we were Geek Family #6. Mom in her sundress and little white sandals. Dad looking like a clown. And me – skinned knee, missing buttons, and all. But fortunately for my pride, he didn’t. Instead, he offered to help tote stuff, and Dad, being himself, took him up on it.
“Why, that’s kind of you.”
And I thought the already awful start to things wasn’t going to get worse, so I led Carter to the car where he reached into the trunk, and of all the things he chose to take out, he picked my clothes bag.
Why? Why? Why … did I use that bag?
Frayed straps, jiggy zipper, hole in the bottom. Hole in the bottom. Oh, yeah, did I mention there was a hole in the bottom? A hole that became a hatchway to release a week’s worth of undies all over Carter’s shoes.
If my face wasn’t several shades of red, it sure seemed like it. My ears burned. My cheeks flamed. I threw myself down on my knees, forgetting one was cut and remembering it instantly, and scrabbled at my underthings. I thought I’d pick them up real fast, and we’d both act like nothing happened.
Only one pair got caught on his toe, and my mortification was complete. This was officially the worst day of my life.

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Suzanne D. Williams  
Suzanne Williams Photography  
Florida, USA 

Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Active Peace

Depart from evil and do good; Seek peace and pursue it. (Ps 34:14 NKJV)


It has been suggested to me numerous times to do or say certain things labeled as "standing up for myself." Whether on a social network or in a personal situation, I'm encouraged to speak my mind, put my foot down, etc.

But I'm always cautious of this because it goes against the Word of God.

Now, I might rock the boat here, and if so, go ahead and toss me in because when all is said and done I plan on walking on water. But there is a distinct difference between a Christian and a non-Christian.

Okay, you say, that's not so controversial.

Oh, but it is. Opportunities to shove our beliefs in the face of another appear on a daily basis. But what have you really accomplished when you do that? Most often, you've driven the person away. I know no amount of pictures displayed on Facebook or Twitter as pro-anything will change my mind, so I'm sure no amount of anything I post will change their mind either.

Instead, we, as Christians, are given an instruction to SEEK PEACE. Seek implies we are searching for it in order to obtain. I seek chocolate sometimes. I know where it is or I go to find some. I seek photographs. I take myself outdoors. I check my camera settings. Those are simple examples, but they illustrate the same principle. In order to seek something, I must take action.

This makes PEACE not something passive at all. And that's what we've thought. We've thought by sitting on our cans and doing nothing, effectively allowing others to talk and often say the wrong things, we're not furthering Christianity. But that's wrong.

Because PEACE is an awesomely powerful weapon. Why do you think the Scripture says, "A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger?" (Pr 15:1 NKJV) You should try that sometime. In the height of an argument, trying apologizing.

Wait, what? Why would I do that? you ask. I'm not at fault.

But if you're furthering the atmosphere of debate and hatred, you are. I cannot wave the flag of anger and strife in the face of another and say I'm seeking peace.

This makes PEACE often the hardest thing you'll ever do. It's painful to stand there and say nothing. Excruciating to say, "I love you," when you don't feel it, but it's godly. And that's far more important.

Because the world will only be won by our behavior. It's when someone sees me and says, "You know, Suzanne goes to church, and maybe I don't understand it, but she's always nice to me. She never makes fun of me. She never argues with me. And I appreciate that," that people begin to look at Christians differently.

I can stand up for myself. All my friends, whether in the church or out of it, know how important God is to me. They know what I do or don't believe in. Yet I didn't have to yell at them to show it.

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Suzanne D. Williams  
Suzanne Williams Photography  
Florida, USA 

Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Book Blast for Lynn Dove


Img011 - Copy - CopyLynn Dove Lynn Dove calls herself a Christ-follower, a wife, a mom, a grandmother, a teacher and a writer (in that order). She is the author of award winning books: The Wounded Trilogy. Her blog, Journey Thoughts won a Canadian Christian Writing Award - 2011. She has also had essays published in "Mother of Pearl: Luminous Lessons and Iridescent Faith" and "Chicken Soup for the Soul - Parenthood" (March 2013). Readers may connect with Lynn on Facebook, Twitter and on her blogs: Journey Thoughts and Word Salt or on her website: www.shootthewounded.org Follow Lynn Dove Website | Facebook | Twitter

Title: Love the Wounded By Lynn Dove

About the Book:

�Love the Wounded� by Lynn Dove is the final and dramatic conclusion to her brilliant Wounded Trilogy series that has followed the lives of teenagers Jake, Leigh, Mike, Dylan and Tim as they come to terms with a series of tragedies and events that have made each of them question why God allows �bad things to happen to good people�. Leigh does not know who to choose�her heart tells her she will always love Jake, but he has changed so much since the death of their friend, Ronnie, and with his mother going through breast cancer, he has totally closed himself off from her emotionally. Now she is dating Dylan and try as she might to accept him for who he is, she can�t stop thinking about Jake! Dylan has never gotten over the loss of his father and little sister, killed by a drunk driver when he was just a young boy. After a horrific accident that has put both Tim and his little brother, Evan in the hospital, everyone knows that not only is he being bullied at school; he cuts himself to cope with it all. But meeting Cassidy has given him the courage to stand up to the bullies and at the same time give her what she so desperately needs�a life-giving bone marrow transplant. Jake�s mother keeps telling him that �God works all things out for good� but with all the things going on in his life and with his friends, he�s just not sure anymore. It is only after Mike is paralyzed in a car accident that Jake was partially responsible for that all the families and friends will be brought back together, not by coincidence, but by God�s design and then Jake will finally believe that God truly does �Love the Wounded�. �A life of working with youth has inspired Lynn Dove, a Cochrane mother to turn her experiences into a book trilogy�(the Wounded Trilogy) series that parallels the struggles of students�(and) covers the angst of some of the real serious issues that teenagers face today, particularly with bullying and gossip. � -Rocky View Weekly-

Enter to Win a $50 Amazon Gift Card!

Enter below to enter a $50 amazon gift card, sponsored by author Lynn Dove! a Rafflecopter giveaway This book blast is hosted by Crossreads. We would like to send out a special THANK YOU to all of the CrossReads book blast bloggers!

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Sunday Photographs

Here's this weeks 365 Project photographs. Enjoy! 

To view the entire album of photographs, visit my Photobucket.

Day 97, False Dandelion and Bee
Day 97 photo 500-DSC_5976_zps84e55fca.jpg

Day 98, Sunrise and Snapdragons
Day 98 photo 500-DSC_5990_zps580d111d.jpg

Day 99, Unknown Insect
Day 99 photo 500-DSC_6013_zps6b64a22f.jpg

Day 100, Amaryllis
Day 100 photo 500-DSC_6026_zps5bd71b03.jpg

Day 101, Red Saddlebags Dragonfly
Day 101 photo 500-DSC_6042_zps6eca9669.jpg

Day 102,Gladiola
Day 102 photo 500-DSC_6059_zpsbd2f765b.jpg

Day 103, Dandelion Seeds
Day 103 photo 500-DSC_6075_zpsbc3798e0.jpg 
  


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Suzanne D. Williams  
Suzanne Williams Photography  
Florida, USA 

Suzanne Williams is a native Floridian, wife, and mother, with a penchant for spelling anything, who happens to love photography.

A Note To My Readers

Dear Readers, I was in the path of Hurricane Irma. I still do not have power at home and so am living a bit like a refugee. I have ...