“The turkey. The sweet potatoes. The stuffing. The pumpkin pie. Is there anything else we all can agree so vehemently about? I don’t think so.” – Nora Ephron
I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you purchasing, reading, and reviewing my books. Thankful for You.
The weather did a swift 180 from perfect to downright chilly, making it a challenge to convince myself
that it’s still prime leaf-peeping time in the good ol’ USA. Yet, despite the sudden cold snap, there’s a silver lining – and it’s not just the frost on the pumpkins. Drumroll, please… enter Thanksgiving, the pièce de résistance of this glorious autumnal saga!
Sure, I’m thankful for the pumpkin pies and apple delights, but let’s not forget the real MVPs – the friends and family who gather around the table to tackle those desserts with me. And topping the gratitude list? The sheer privilege of calling this country home.
As I mentally brace myself for the impending winter blues, I’m determined to squeeze every ounce of joy out of fall.
Winter may be knocking, but for now, let’s soak up the fall vibes like there’s no tomorrow – or at least until the turkey coma kicks in. 🍂🦃
So, as I bid a not-so-fond farewell to the thought of winter’s icy grip, I’m raising a pumpkin-spiced latte to autumn and all its glory. Let’s cherish these moments, from the laughter around the dinner table to the crunch of leaves beneath our boots.
Here’s to embracing the warmth of gratitude, the joy of fall, and the anticipation of a holiday season that promises not just cozy nights by the fireplace but an abundance of love and laughter.
Wishing you a Thanksgiving filled with warmth, joy, and a whole lot of pumpkin-flavored everything! 🍂🍁🦃
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
– Ernest Hemingway
Sanela Ramić Jurich is a distinguished author and accomplished public speaker with a compelling background.
Q: “How do you solve a writer’s block?” A: I wish I had some magical and quick answer to give you, but I don’t. I only experienced writer’s block once, but it lasted for a few years. I was going through some really tough times in my married life, and I simply lost my ability to create. I was depressed and mentally absent. I couldn’t concentrate on anything except what was happening in reality. It was tough because my ability to escape into my writing had always been my savior.
Then, unexpectedly, during a playful banter with a friend, a whimsical idea struck me. I joked, “I bet we knew each other forever. For eons. I bet we were best friends in all of our previous lives. Before we were born into this one, we decided to be born together. But because we are such opposites and always bicker, halfway to our birth, we argued. And because you’re so stubborn, you let go of my hand, and I got sucked in first. You panicked and waited a few minutes, not knowing that five minutes there meant 19 years here. That’s why there’s such a huge age difference between us, and that’s why I was born across the seas and you were born here…”
That playful moment unblocked my writer’s block. It hit me hard, and I sat down to write a short, four-page story. But I couldn’t stop there; the story kept haunting me until it grew into a whole book. That’s how my latest book, Between the Worlds, was born. This particular story is dear to my heart because it helped me find my way back to creating new and amazing worlds for myself.
So, in summary, when your writer’s block cure involves interdimensional disputes and playful paradoxes with pals… well, that’s the secret recipe to solving writer’s block!
Q: “Did you ever join a writer’s group?” A: Never been one for writer’s groups. If I did, I’d probably be that enigmatic figure in the corner, talking to the characters in my head.
Q: “Where and when do you write?” A: I’m a mood writer—whenever inspiration taps me on the shoulder, I’m at its mercy. My go-to spot? You’ll find me orchestrating literary masterpieces from the comfort of my couch, laptop propped up on a pillow.
Let’s take a look at the world of my new novel BETWEEN THE WORLDS.
Sanela Ramić Jurich is a distinguished author and accomplished public speaker with a compelling background. Hailing from Prijedor, Bosnia, she entered the world in 1976, just as the complex tapestry of the Yugoslav war began to unfold in the early 1990s. Precociously navigating the challenges of those tumultuous times, Sanela was merely fifteen years old when the conflict erupted.
Her literary contributions, exemplified by notable works such as “Remember Me” and “Haunting from the Past,” stand as poignant testaments to her lived experiences during the war. These masterfully crafted books not only showcase her prowess as an author but also serve as powerful conduits through which she shares her personal recollections of the era.
Currently residing in the vibrant city of Chicago, Sanela Ramić Jurich has established a harmonious life alongside her two cherished sons. Her journey from the ravages of conflict to her present abode is a testament to resilience, determination, and the indomitable human spirit. Through her words and public addresses, she continues to captivate audiences, shedding light on her remarkable narrative and the broader lessons that can be gleaned from her compelling journey.
It’s been a while since my last blog post, and I have to admit, not much of note has happened lately. I’ve been keeping busy and writing away – it’s my sanctuary. Right now, I’m immersed in crafting a sequel to ‘Between the Worlds,’ which will be the second installment in ‘The Story of Us’ series.
Last night something magical happened, however, I went to a concert. It’s been a long time since I had so much fun and I’m eager to share this thrilling adventure with you.
Picture this: Milwaukee, Wisconsin, an electric atmosphere, and the unmistakable presence of Tool. It was a night of epic proportions.
Photo by Sanela, Downtown Milwaukee, Wisconsin
I was so excited to have a reason to dress up and put on some makeup. Oh, and, I got carded when I went to get a drink! I was genuinely surprised and couldn’t help but ask the bartender, “Me? Really? Why?”
She appeared taken aback by my question and, with a hint of attitude, replied, “We card everyone who looks younger than 30!”
I burst out laughing while handing her my driver’s license. I looked at my 21 year old son and said: “You heard that, right?” I was beaming and he just rolled his eyes. I’m 47, by the way. She truly made my day.
From the moment I walked into the venue, I knew I was in for a memorable experience. The air was buzzing with anticipation, and the crowd exuded a shared excitement that was infectious. Fans of all ages had gathered, all united by their love for Tool’s music.
The Venue
The opening act was a pleasant surprise – a guy named Steel Beans performed singing while playing drums and a guitar at the same time. I hadn’t heard of him before. His high-energy performance got everyone in the audience on their feet, and by the end of his set, I found myself dancing and singing along with the rest of the crowd.
Then, the moment we had all been waiting for finally arrived. The headliner, Tool, graced the stage, and the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. As the lights dimmed, the first chords of one of their most iconic songs filled the room. The energy in the venue was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before, and I was immediately swept away by the music.
The band’s performance was nothing short of phenomenal. Maynard James Keenan’s voice was even more powerful and captivating live than in their recordings, and the band’s stage presence was magnetic. The entire crowd sang along, creating a sense of unity and shared love for the music.
It’s hard to pinpoint a favorite moment because the entire night was a whirlwind of excitement. The combination of the music, the mesmerizing light show, and the unison of the crowd was a moment I’ll treasure forever.
As the night went on, it felt as though time had suspended, and I was entirely consumed by the music. Experiences like these are a reminder of why I love live music so much.
After the encore, the band bid their farewell, and I left the venue with a heart full of joy and ears still ringing. The thought of having witnessed Tool live is something I’ll always cherish.
They asked us not to record or take pictures until the very last song. I recorded a short snippet of the song to share here. Enjoy!
Well, hello there! As I gear up to celebrate my 47th trip around the sun, I can’t help but marvel at the view – quite literally, because my towering sons make quite the scene! 🎉🎂 Yes, I’m that mom who needs a periscope to make eye contact with her college-level giant and high school-level titan. But you know what they say, life’s too short to take height too seriously!
Sanela at home with her sons
Living life on the shorter side – literally and loving it!
It’s official: I’ve been blessed with two strapping young men who decided that reaching for the clouds was their life’s mission. As I stand beside them, proudly sporting my unofficial title of ‘Shorty Supreme,’ I can’t help but feel like a character in my very own coming-of-height movie.
Turning 47 is no small feat – pun intended – and as I embrace this new chapter, I’m reminded that age may just be a number, but height is a genetic lottery. While my sons are busy touching ceilings and changing lightbulbs without a ladder, I’ve come to accept that my natural habitat might just be right here, perfectly poised to find loose change in the sofa cushions.
As I blow out the candles on my 47th birthday cake, I’m not just celebrating another year added to the tally; I’m celebrating the joy of raising two extraordinary young men who keep life interesting, enlightening, and just a tad bit taller. From their first steps to their towering achievements, every moment has been a testament to the incredible journey of motherhood.
From small shoes to big heights – the adventure continues!
So, here’s to turning 47 and never quite reaching the top shelf without a trusty stepping stool. Here’s to the chuckles, the hugs that require a slight leap, and the love that knows no height limit. Here’s to being the mom who might not stand tall, but who sure stands proud.
Happy birthday to me – the vertically challenged but endlessly proud mom of two towering titans. Here’s to many more years of height-related humor, and the delightful journey of watching my sons reach for the stars (while I reach for the step stool).
Cheers to being 47 and still keeping my head high – even if it’s only because I have to crane my neck to see those tall smiles!
The Koričani Cliffs massacre was the mass murder of more than 200 Bosniak and Croat men on August 21, 1992, during the Yugoslav War, at the Koričani Cliffs on Mount Vlašić in central Bosnia and Herzegovina.
Here is my own memory of that day: August 21, 1992 (five days before my sixteenth birthday)
Families honor Koricani Cliffs victims by throwing 200 roses down the abyss
We took just a change of clothing with us. My father’s friend told us not to bother bringing anything else, because it would be taken away anyway. He was there to show us which truck was the safest one for us. My father had to go sit at the front of the truck with other men, and my mother and I sat in the back with women. It was so crowded; I half-sat on mother’s lap. They covered the truck with some brown tarp and off we went.
It was an unbearably scorching August day, the air thick with a suffocating heat that clung to our skin like a second layer. We were crammed together, pressed against one another like frightened animals seeking refuge, yet there was no escape from the oppressive closeness. The stench of sweat mingled with the acrid smell of fear as we huddled beneath a tattered tarp, trying to shield ourselves from the harsh sun that beat down mercilessly.
In that stifling darkness, my stomach churned with a mixture of nausea and anxiety. The bag that held our final remnants of belongings became my reluctant confidante, bearing witness to the physical and emotional turmoil within me. I retched into it, my body betraying me as the revulsion and dread threatened to overwhelm every fiber of my being.
Horror Revisited: Exhuming the Bones of a Bosnian Massacre
Amidst the agony of the moment, a different kind of urgency surfaced—my desperate need to relieve myself. The very core of my being seemed to ache with the necessity, as if every discomfort I felt was a microcosm of the larger suffering we were enduring. Each passing second felt like an eternity, my bladder aching as if it held not only my own desperation but the collective weight of our shattered lives.
A little while later, we stopped moving. An armed soldier peeked in, waving his gun. He demanded someone to come out and be his helper. After a few torturous moments of hoping and praying I wouldn’t get to be the chosen one, the soldier pointed a gun at “Him” and demanded “He” be his helper for the day.
The soldier handed him a bag and ordered him to go around and make sure people put all their valuables into the bag.
That went on the whole ride: they would stop the convoy every few minutes to steal from us. People ran out of things to give, so they started putting nail clippers and toothbrushes into the bag.
The soldier ordered us to lift up our shirts to make sure we weren’t hiding anything there. And I wanted to die. At that moment, I wished I could just die. I would have preferred “Him” to see me dead rather than with my shirt lifted up. When he got to where I was sitting, he opened up the bag, but he closed his eyes. I had to lift up my shirt. The soldier watched the whole time; I figured he would rather humiliate me than kill me. But “He”… he must have seen my humiliation, and so he closed his eyes. He will never know how much that meant to me.
30th anniversary of the crime on Koricani cliffs: Roses thrown into the abyss
The pain we endured transcended the physical, burrowing deep into our souls. It was a pain that defied words, leaving only a raw and unrelenting ache. As the hours dragged on, I couldn’t help but wonder how humans could inflict such suffering upon one another. The soldier’s demands, the humiliation, the theft—it all seemed like a twisted manifestation of humanity’s darkest aspects.
And then, in the midst of this nightmare, my gaze met his for one final moment. In those fleeting seconds, a world of unspoken emotions passed between us. His eyes held not just the fear and despair that clouded our lives, but also an inexplicable shame—as if we were the guilty ones, as if surviving this ordeal was itself a transgression.
The last stop the convoy made (before reaching our destination) was on Koričanske Stijene on Mount Vlašić. The Serb soldiers pointed their guns at all the men they wanted to take out and kill. “He,” too, was one of the chosen ones. He was seventeen.
The Serb army slaughtered over 250 innocent, unarmed (civilian) men that day.
The rest of us were taken to the other side of the mountain and thrown onto a field of mines…
The memory of that day continues to haunt me, an indelible mark etched upon my soul. The Koričani Cliffs massacre wasn’t just a historical event; it was a canvas of suffering, painted with the hues of fear, anguish, and desperation. Even now, years later, the weight of that day presses upon my heart, a reminder that the scars of such horrors never truly fade.
Have you ever met someone for the first time and felt like you’ve known them forever? Against all odds, you know deep inside that you know them. They feel familiar and comforting. You are drawn to them, but you only just met them. How can that be? Could it be some kind of a karmic connection? Soulmates? Could it all be just a figment of your imagination, or could there be an actual rational explanation for feeling this way? Is there a scientific explanation or is it fate?
Sarah Wilson was a woman of extraordinary powers descended from a legendary figure known as Air. Joined by her two sisters in power, Sarah’s existence took an unexpected turn when her ex-husband’s violence led to her untimely demise. It was in that moment of passing that Sarah journeyed to a place she recognized as home, where memories of her true self and her soulmate, Jachin—now known as Jack Adams—resurfaced.
But the sisters in power intervened, bringing Sarah’s spirit back to life, empowering her to confront her assailant. With her rebirth as Sarah Wilson, a flood of memories from her past lives and her connection to home surged within her being.
“I stand by the mothers of Srebrenica
I know that Chetniks are a violent herd
I think that the entire world should know that
Serbs tried to ensure the truth was blurred”
― Aida Mandic, Justice For Bosnia and Herzegovina
There are stories that have the power to grip our minds and hearts, stories that force us to confront uncomfortable truths we’d rather avoid. One such story emerged from the pages of the enlightening book, Bourgeois Virtues, and has lingered in my thoughts ever since. It transports us back to July 15, 1995, when a chilling sequence of events unfolded in Srebrenica, forever tarnishing the legacy of a Dutch force operating under the United Nations’ command.
General Ratko Mladic (right) confers with Dutch peacekeepers in Srebrenica in July 1995.
In an astonishing turn of events, the Dutch troops, stationed there specifically to prevent such atrocities, handed over a staggering number of 8,000 Muslim men and boys to the Bosnian Serbs. What makes this episode even more bewildering is that it happened without a single shot being fired. Instead of resisting the Serb demands, the Dutch forces, fearing their own casualties, willingly complied. It was a decision that would haunt them for years to come.
The gravity of the aftermath cannot be understated. A massacre ensued, claiming the lives of those 8,000 men and boys, as well as numerous women, children, and even infants in arms. This horrifying event stands as the largest massacre in Europe since World War II. Yet, what struck me the most was the lack of remorse or shame exhibited by both the Dutch army and the majority of the Dutch people. In fact, they vehemently denied any responsibility for the tragedy, instead pointing fingers at others.
Blame was cast upon the Canadians, who had previously controlled Srebrenica but had subsequently handed over control to the Dutch. It was argued that the Canadians should bear the burden of blame for what unfolded. The French, too, were held accountable for failing to provide necessary air cover. The Dutch commander himself was hailed as having made the right call, asserting that he chose not to open fire to avoid Dutch casualties. He had placed his trust in the Serb commander’s promise that none of the surrendered men and boys would be harmed; they would only undergo scrutiny to identify potential war criminals among them.
This narrative, however, raises a multitude of questions. Shouldn’t the Dutch forces have prioritized their duty to protect innocent lives over their own self-preservation? Why did they choose to believe the assurances of a known aggressor? How could they reconcile their actions with the devastating consequences that unfolded?
The Srebrenica massacre forces us to confront the uncomfortable truth that even those tasked with upholding peace and justice can falter in the face of unimaginable circumstances. The Dutch army’s refusal to acknowledge their role in the tragedy speaks to a collective denial, a desperate attempt to absolve themselves of guilt. Yet, true progress and healing can only begin when we face the truth head-on, acknowledging our mistakes and working towards rectifying them.
This story, though distressing, serves as a reminder that we must hold accountable those entrusted with protecting human lives. It calls upon us to reflect on the complex web of factors that contribute to such failures and ensure that history does not repeat itself. As we delve deeper into the pages of our collective past, let us learn from these haunting stories and strive to build a future where the value of every life is unwaveringly upheld.
Unraveling the Disturbing Absence of a Narrative: Lessons from Srebrenica
The Dutch commander’s decision to comply with the Serb demands, avoiding potential casualties among his own forces, is often seen as the “right” choice. After all, he couldn’t have known that the Serbs would unleash a massacre, killing those 8,000 people. However, when examining the context, it becomes evident that certain aspects should have raised alarm bells.
The Serbs had a notorious reputation for their lack of honesty and had been conducting “ethnic cleansing” operations throughout the region for years. Given these circumstances, anyone who had pondered the situation for even a short while could have predicted the Serbs’ intentions. Moreover, the presence of UN forces in Bosnia was precisely due to the possibility of such atrocities. The Dutch commander’s priority seemed to be safeguarding his troops rather than preventing a potential genocide of Bosnian Muslims. This begs the question: if this army was unwilling to accept any casualties, could it truly be considered an army?
Reflecting on this narrative, it’s hard not to consider the contrasting reactions that would have ensued had an American commander been in charge. Outrage would have reverberated worldwide, with the American people demanding justice and the commander facing court-martial. The phrase “heads will roll” would have taken a literal meaning. However, let us momentarily set this aside and focus on a deeper aspect.
We, as humans, construct narratives to make sense of the world and our place within it. These stories allow us to explain ourselves to ourselves. From a vantage point across the Atlantic, the prevailing European narrative appears to be one of self-righteousness, boasting that they are the champions who will forever halt genocide. Having triumphed in World War II, they claim to have built the world’s first genuinely anti-racist society, positioning themselves above the Americans, Russians, and Chinese.
What strikes me about the events in Srebrenica and their aftermath is the absence of any coherent narrative. It lacks a compelling story, consisting merely of feeble, self-justifying excuses akin to those uttered by a petty thief caught shoplifting. There’s no substance, no shape, no arc. It’s as if Gertrude Stein’s famous phrase, “there’s no there-there,” perfectly encapsulates the situation. Curiosity led me to embark on a Google search, hoping to find a cohesive Dutch narrative, but to no avail.
I couldn’t help but wonder if, with enough searching, I would stumble upon a metanarrative for pacifism—a story that would rationalize the idea that regardless of the consequences for others, it is vital to ensure one’s own safety. Surely, such a narrative could exist, or perhaps another narrative that would reinterpret the same facts. The Germans, for instance, managed to create several narratives that encapsulate Nazism, even though they may not be entirely true. Similarly, the French skillfully crafted a narrative of a valiant resistance movement, overlooking the collaboration of certain individuals during the occupation. Criticism and scrutiny of these narratives have been relatively subdued.
The absence of a narrative, or rather the apparent lack of a need for one, is truly astonishing. It hints at a deeply rooted conviction that self-preservation is paramount, with an assumption that everyone shares this sentiment. It implies that there is no other way to feel and that those who claim otherwise are deceitful or misguided. Diverging from this mindset is deemed wrong. Apologies if I’m rambling, but this observation has troubled me for years.
For quite some time, I’ve heard claims that the US intervened in Bosnia and did what the UN failed to do. Now, the reason behind these statements becomes clearer. I must admit, it brings me a sense of relief to know that the American people, indeed, hold a different perspective. Because the absence of a need for a narrative to justify what should have been an unequivocal horror is far more disconcerting than the combined fears of fascism and communism.
“–I turn around and on the screen I see Chetniks (Serb Army) executing a group of men. Among them, my son, Azmir. I’m watching, but I’m not believing my own eyes. My heart stops, my jaw stiffens. Yes, it is my Azmir. They are shooting at his back. My child falls. Barefoot. He wasn’t even seventeen years old yet!” –Hatidža Mehmedović
“It is an emotionally moving book and you tell it in rich, vivid words allowing your listener to not hear of your journey but experience a small piece of it.” –Audio Book Reviewer, email to Sanela
Although Selma has faced her demons in the first book, she is forced to deal with those that still haunt her. Although she has become successful, married the love of her life, has a wonderful son, and earned the respect of her colleagues she is still hated by some for revealing the truth of the Bosnian war. She is safe, loved, and enjoying her life until someone reaches out to her asking her to tell his story. Now she must relive it all to confront all her demons finally.
The author, Sanela Ramic Jurich, is a gifted writer. She takes her pain and puts it in words that are eloquent, sensitive, and picturesque so that the listener has no choice but to feel and experience her journey. The dialogue is authentic sounding and moves the story along at a good pace. Jurich tells the story using a first-person point of view which further captivates and draws the listener in. It is more than just the pain that Jurich communicates – it clearly addresses the inequity, evilness, and passion that occurred then and continues today.
The narrator, Lindsay Carrillo has a powerful voice that further enhances the message of Jurich’s story as she clearly communicates the raw emotions experienced by the main character, Selma. Her delivery and pauses are deliberate and effectively used to communicate emotions and feelings accurately. Her intentional pauses and cadence, and her energy and passion further enhance the story and haunt the listener well after the end of this story.
This is a book that will elicit an emotional response from the listener. It is not one that you will likely forget for a very long time. You will continue to think about it as well as the stories being told about this event and others – how much truth is there actually being told by the media and governments in power? Where does one begin to trust? A riveting book!
IN CELEBRATION, I’m giving away a FREE audiobook to anyone promising to leave a review after they listen. Simply email sanela@sanelajurich.com and let me know you’ll do it. I will send you a code (US and UK only) to one FREE copy of Haunting from the Past to listen and review.
A Voice for the Voiceless – Deep and Honest; a Five Star Book Review by Author Gregory S. Lamb
“In spite of the dark tales contained within the pages, Jurich manages to leave readers with the hope that deep wounds can still heal. Ms. Jurich’s writing craft is superb and is well matched to her riveting debut novel, Remember Me. Jurich doesn’t hold back anything.”
—Gregory S. Lamb Author of The People in Between
“Sanela Jurich continues to captivate book lovers in this sequel to Remember Me. She shows readers that having the courage to confront a painful past can bring hope to an uncertain future.”
—Lisa Tortorello Author of My Hero, My Ding
Publisher’s Summary
As Selma tries to move on and recover from the horrible experience she had went through while living in Bosnia in 1992, where she and her parents had found themselves targets of the Bosnian war and where Selma had lost nearly all those she loved, was abused by those whom she once trusted, and had witnessed prejudice at its ugliest-the hell from which, she thought, she had finally escaped, found her in America and started haunting her again, reminding her that there was unfinished business someplace else.
Selma is a respected business woman, living in Chicago with the love of her life and their son. From the outside, it looks as if she finally has it all; career and family many people could only wish for. She thinks she is the luckiest person on the planet who had survived and escaped hell. One day she receives a phone call that forces her to go back to the place she had left behind almost two decades before. She had promised never to go back there, but now, she finds herself in a desperate situation from which there is no way out. She goes back to face her demons once again.
Will this trip finally push Selma over the edge and be the end of her? Who knows, it might even help her get some kind of conclusion. Follow Selma’s journey back to the past through despair, hatred, love, hope, and peace in this sequel to Remember Me by author Sanela Jurich.
“Sanela has a gift for sharing the very real feelings of her characters with the reader. I felt I really knew what Selma and the other characters created by Sanela were feeling. My emotions rose and fell with the feelings of her characters.”
When I was fifteen years old, my whole life changed in a blink of an eye…
I truly believe that I survived for one reason and one reason only: to tell our story, to give a voice to those who don’t have it anymore. I was there as a witness. As a survivor, I have an obligation. I have to talk about what happened in Bosnia in the early nineties, no matter the cost.
Once, a friend of mine was reading a particularly engrossing novel on a long flight. She was so absorbed in the story that she didn’t even notice the plane had landed and everyone was getting off. She only realized what had happened when a flight attendant tapped her on the shoulder and asked her to please exit the plane.
Feeling embarrassed, she quickly gathered her things and rushed off the plane, still clutching her book. As she walked through the airport, she was so engrossed in the story that she accidentally walked into a large potted plant! She stumbled and nearly fell, but managed to catch herself before she hit the ground.
Feeling a little frazzled, she looked around to see if anyone had noticed her mishap.
My friend couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all, and it certainly made for a memorable end to her journey.
REMEMBER ME is out in audio! (Plus a Giveaway!)
“Unforgettable!” –Readers’ Favorite; Reviewed by Alice DiNizo for Readers’ Favorite
“Amazing Book – A Must Read” -Vine Voice; Reviewed by Elaine Littau for Vine Voice
“Credible, Compassionate, and Courageous” -PDX Author; Reviewed by Gregory S. Lamb for PDX Author
In celebration, I’m giving away a FREE audiobook to anyone promising to leave a review after they listen. Simply email sanela@sanelajurich.com and let me know you’re interested. I will send you a code to one free copy of Remember Me to listen and review.
About the author
