A book’s success is like surfing

Photo: Miguel Navaza (Creative Commons Flickr)

Years of practice (and failure) built this surfer’s graceful skill. Photo: Miguel Navaza (Creative Commons Flickr)

I’ve released a new book, and the process kind of reminds me of surfing. Okay, body surfing. I was never brave enough–or coordinated enough!–to try it with a board. Tanning on the beach? Forget that. Why lie in the sun when you can spend the afternoon catching waves? Many summer days at Santa Monica and Malibu taught me a thing or two.

Surfing is about position, skill, and timing. This means hours in the water, being ready, watching wave after wave. Learning how to know a promising wave from a dud. Being willing to swim like crazy to catch the awesome one. You can’t be lazy as a surfer.

Position would be the intriguing story premise and the cover. These are what put me in the water, and each one represents a risk. I wasn’t sure how the ‘magical reality’ element of the body swap would fly. And that sweet cover was spendy–but worth every cent.

Skill? I’ve been writing for 17 years. If Darcy By Any Other Name is an instant success, know that I’ve been rolled under by plenty of waves. (Yeah, the wipeout thing.) I’ve learned to escape the worst by diving under, but multiple thousands of clunky words lie at my back. Then too, I teach fiction writing to high school students. What I’ve learned in helping them improve is a lot.

And timing is about being in the right place at the right moment. There are more Austen readers now than ever before. No readers, no wave!

Photo: Swell Surf Camp (Creative Commons Flickr)

Photo: Swell Surf Camp (Creative Commons Flickr)

Surfing, like writing, only appears solitary. The photo at the top of this page shows a lone surfer, but I’m betting he wasn’t the only one in the water that day. Bobbing heads beyond the line of surf are not attractive, so they’re cropped out. Deal is, no one surfs alone. No one writes a book alone–or should.

The fellowship of like minds is crucial. As with surfing, skills are developed alone but there is safety in companionship. In the water and out, surfers hang together and talk. If writing greats C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien needed a support group, so do I.

Darcy By Any Other Name

Darcy By Any Other Name

Sales numbers continue to roll in, and not because of me. News about Darcy is being spread by people like you, my social media friends. A hectic school schedule has allowed me little time to compose ads or tweet or anything. I’ve put up a few posts on Facebook, and you have been sharing them.  I am beyond grateful.

You know you want this book, right? So enter to win it! There’s a giveaway going on right now at Just Jane 1813. It’s easy, simply post a reply by May 29, 2016.

Laura Hile (1)

Southern Fried Austen

I’ll Give You Something to Cry About

After church, everyone went back to the Bennet family farm for Sunday dinner. Elizabeth and Darcy were in the front hallway with her Daddy and Mama when Lydia came through the front door, draggin’ George Wickham behind her. Her daddy took one look at him and squinted.

Mr. Bennet: Boy, I thought I told you not to come ‘round here no more.

Lydia: (crying loudly) But, Daddy, Will Darcy’s here, and Charlie’s comin’. Why can Lizzy and Jane bring their boyfriends, but I can’t? It’s not fair!

Cry about

Mr. Bennet: Lydie, stop that cryin’, or I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about.

Mrs. Bennet: Tom, it’s not Christian to turn the boy away, and you’ve just got back from church. I say he’s welcome at my dinner table on Sunday, even if he can strut sittin’ down. We sat in the same church together this morning, and we can sit down together around a meal. Girls, come help me set everything out. You men can sit in the livin’ room.

The women went to the dining room, goin’ back and forth from the kitchen, settin’ out the food on the dinin’ room table, except the desserts. They went on the buffet table.

Lydia: Mama, George wants me to be in the Miss Sugarfield pageant. I need some new clothes, for I don’t have anythin’ fit to wear.

Mrs. Bennet: Lydia, you know what your Daddy said. If Lizzy isn’t in it, you can’t be either.

Lydia: But, Mama. Lizzy doesn’t like beauty pageants. You know she won’t do it, and I want to be in it.

Lizzy: Nobody’s asked me to be in the Miss Sugarfield pageant. Does it offer scholarship money?

Lydia: Yeah, but you already have a degree. What would you need with scholarship money?

Lizzy: I want to get my master’s degree in journalism.

Lydia: What for? There aren’t any jobs around here for that degree. You’d do better to get a master’s in education. There’re always openings for teachers.

Lizzy: I don’t want to be a school teacher. I want to report on the news and write. Jane’s the school teacher. Come to think of it, she’d get a raise if she had her master’s degree. She should be in the pageant, too.

Lydia: (crying loudly) But I want to win the pageant. I don’t want you two to be in it. It’s not fair! Mama, tell Lizzy it’s not fair!

I'll give you something to cry about

Mrs. Bennet: Lydie, hush up that cryin’, or I’ll let your daddy give you somethin’ to cry about. Here’s Kitty and Mary. Girls, grab those last few dishes and set the table. Jane and Charlie better get here soon. It’s time to eat before the food gets cold.

Kitty and Mary: Yes, ma’am.

Lizzy: I think that’s everything, Mama. It looks wonderful! Good enough to eat. Well, look what the cat drug in. What took you so long, Jane?

Jane: We talked a spell with Charlie’s Mama and Daddy. They wanted us to go out to eat with them, but I told them Mama had been up since dawn cookin’ for us. I promised we’d go out with them next weekend. I didn’t tell Mrs. Bingley, but you can bet the farm I’ll never swap Mama’s home cookin’ for a bought meal.

Lizzy: Everything’s ready. I’ll get the men.

Mrs. Bennet: Lydie, make sure George sits on the other side of you down at that end of the table, away from your Daddy. And put away that duck tape that’s on the buffet table. It’d make him nervous as a prize turkey on Thanksgivin’ day, and he’s a guest here. We want him to feel right at home. Jane, you and Charlie sit between Lydie and your Daddy. The more people we put between George and Tom, the better. Lydie, you’ve got us stuck in a dry pond, but we’ll make the best of it.

Lydia and Jane: Yes ‘um.

Lizzy: Here they are, Mama. Tell us where to sit.

Mrs. Bennet: Lydie and Jane, sit where I told you and take Charlie and George with you. Tom, sit here at the head where you always do. Darcy, you sit at the other end of the table. Lizzy, you’re across from George. Kitty and Mary, sit between me and Lizzy. That’s good. Now, Tom, say grace.

Mr. Bennet: Lord, we thank You for this food. Please bless the hands that prepared it. Amen. Kitty, don’t keep the sweet potatoes all to yourself. Mary, I’m so dry I’m spittin’ cotton. I need some more sweet tea.

Mrs. Bennet: Thankee kindly, Mary. See if anybody else needs more tea yet. You can just leave the pitcher on the buffet table.

George: Lizzy, Lydia tells me she can’t be in the Miss Sugarfield pageant unless you’re in it. I don’t get it.

Lizzy: You don’t have to get it. Daddy said it. The end.

George: Okay. Are you goin’ to be in the pageant?

Lizzy: I’m not big on crowns and sparkly dresses. I don’t like the idea of havin’ my parts judged like a prize hog at the county fair.


That’s me, fourth from  your left, in the 1972 Miss Pageland Pageant. How about those hot pants?


George: How about money? Everybody’s big on money.

Lizzy: I suppose I like money as well as the next person. What’re you offerin’?

George: The winner gets a $5,000 scholarship. Lydia says you already have a bachelor’s degree. Do you want a graduate degree?

Lizzy: A master’s would help me get the job I want, I suppose, but I don’t know anything about pageants. I’m sure I don’t have the right clothes, and I don’t wear much makeup. I’m fine as I am. Why shear a pig?

Darcy: I’ve heard there are coaches for that sort of thing in Columbia.

Lizzy: They probably cost a lot of money, and I’m as poor as a sawmill rat.

George: I’m starting a pageant consulting business in Roseland with a satellite office once a week in Sugarfield. If you and your sisters agree to be in the pageant, I’ll cut y’all a deal on the coaches, but I expect y’all to recommend my business to other contestants.

Lizzy: Sounds good. What kind of coaches will you have?

George: Evening gown walkin, swimsuit walkin’, interview and questions, nutrition, physical fitness, clothing, hair, makeup, talent, and spiritual advisor. I already have them lined up and ready to go.

Mary: Spiritual advisor? I like that, but I don’t want to wear a skimpy swimsuit on stage.

Lydia: (snorting) No wonder. You’re flat as a fritter. If you put your bra on backwards, it’d fit.

Mrs. Bennet: Lydie, watch your mouth, or I’ll wash it out with soap.

Keep crying

Lydia: (cryin’ loudly) But it’s the gospel truth. I didn’t say anything wrong! You know Mary’s so skinny you could give her a Big Red and use her as a thermometer. It’s not fair!

Mr. Bennet: Stop that cryin’ right now, Lydie, or I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about. Be nice to your sister, too, or you can go to your room. You know better’n to talk like that at Sunday dinner.

George: Mary, you can wear a one-piece suit, and it doesn’t have to be skimpy. Our personal shopper can help you get one that looks real nice.

Mr. Bennet: Are your coaches ladies who’ve already won pageants?

George: They’re mostly men.

Mr. Bennet: Well, I be. Have the men won pageants?

George: The fitness instructor has won several male modelin’ and body buildin’ competitions, and the interview coach is well-known for producin’ winners, as long as the girl has a brain. He can’t make a girl smart who’s dumb as dirt. The walkin’ coaches have all worked with multiple winners. No other pageant consulting business has as fine a staff as I’ve put together.

Mr. Bennet: Hmm… I don’t want my girls alone with men I don’t know. You’ll have to coach ‘em two at a time.

Darcy: That’s a great idea, Mr. Bennet, or I could come along if they need a chaperone. If you agree, of course.

Mr. Bennet: That’s mighty kind of you. I know you’re a busy man.

Charlie: If Darcy’s goin’ with Lizzy, I’m goin’ with Janie.

Mr. Bennet: I’m beginnin’ to get downright comfortable now.

Talking in church

Mrs. Bennet: Not to change the subject, but I saw you two talkin’ in church, Lizzy, noisy as two skeletons dancin’ on a tin roof. You know better, and I don’t cotton to it. Mrs. Long was cranin’ her neck so much watchin’ you two I thought she’d freeze that way, and the men would have to carry her out after the service. She’ll have it all over town by midafternoon that I didn’t raise you right. Don’t shame me like that again. I need that like a tomcat needs a trousseau.

Lizzy: Sorry, Mama. The sermon was about as excitin’ as waitin’ for paint to dry, but that doesn’t excuse it. We’ll be good next Sunday.

Mrs. Bennet: I’m right glad to hear it. How about you, Will?

Darcy: My mama taught me better. I’m sorry, Mrs. Bennet.

Mrs. Bennet: You mean that?

Darcy: I’m serious as the business end of a .45. I tried to get Lizzy to hush up.

Mrs. Bennet: I’m not surprised she didn’t listen. That girl is independent as a hog on ice, and she could talk the legs off a chair. Why’d you even try to tell her to be quiet?

hush up1

Darcy: Simple. She told me what you cook for Sunday dinner, and I didn’t want to miss it by bein’ sent home. I want my two desserts.

Mrs. Bennet: That’s layin’ it on thick as fleas on a farm dog, but I like it.

Charlie: I want my two desserts, too, and I didn’t talk in church. Everybody knows you’re the best cook in two counties.

Mrs. Bennet: Charlie, everybody at my table gets two desserts. You can hang your hat on it. No need to butter me up.

George: Do I get two desserts?

Mr. Bennet: I guess so, since you went to church, and you’re at our table. That makes you brave as the first man who ate an oyster.

George: So, you won’t use duct tape on me again?

Mr. Bennet: I can’t make any promises about that. I still got one eye on you.

George: At least you’re honest.

Mr. Bennet: I am. If I say a hen dips snuff, you can look under her wing for the can.

Darcy: (whispering to Lizzy) What does that mean?

Lizzy: (whispering to Darcy) Hush up, or you won’t get your two desserts.

Darcy: (whispering to Lizzy) But, I got all gussied up and everything.

Lizzy: (whispering to Darcy) Mama’s lookin’ again.

Mrs. Bennet: It’s fine, Lizzy. He was raised on concrete. I’ll have to make allowances. Let the man have his two desserts.

Darcy: I’m happy as a clam at high tide.

Mrs. Bennet: Eh?

Lizzy: Never mind, Mama. He went to college up North and in California. He’s a live dictionary, but at least he tries to fit in down here.

Mrs. Bennet: Lizzy, didn’t I teach you anything? Get him his sweets. When a man’s eatin’, he can’t talk.

Darcy: (whispering to Lizzy) Your Mama’s just like you. She speaks ten words a minute with gusts up to fifty.

Mrs. Bennet: I heard that. Don’t try to make a livin’ at whisperin’. You’re loud enough to wake the dead.

Darcy: Do I still get my desserts?

Mr. Bennet: I like that boy. Lizzy, give him his desserts.


They won’t say it but I will

As you saw on the previous post, Laura Hile’s Darcy By Any Other Name is now available in the Kindle version right now. Go and buy it. When the paperback version is available, go buy that as well. I have no idea what the price of the print version will be, but I’ll bet, even when added to the $4.99 for the Kindle version, you will be down less than what you’d spend on a movie and lunch. (HInt, Jane Austen’s Lady Susan, directed by Whit Stillman, is said to be a worthy offering.)

Below is a photograph of a woman working in an airplane factory in WWII.


QA. Quality Control. That what writers do just before the hit “SEND.” A writer has the idea. We draw up the the blueprints, or plot. The parts, or characters are molded by us, and we assemble the lot of it to make a novel. And most of that is done alone. Except for the coffee/liquor/chocolate that many of us use to medicate our way through the manufacturing process.

In the same way that we salute the civilian women of WWII, salute your favorite writers by buying their books. A nice payday is a great reward for a story well-done. Review their books. Nothing says “I care” like helping other readers understand the greatness of your fave author. And most of all, enjoy their work. Writers may never see their readers, but we do get a kick out of knowing someone is going to get that sly little joke in Chapter 10.

Again, DARCY BY ANY OTHER NAME is available at Amazon. Buy it. You will not regret it.

Released on Freaky Friday?

Hang on to your hat! A freak lightning strike exchanges Mr. Darcy and Mr. Collins.

Mr. Darcy, stuck in Collins’ body? And living as a guest in Elizabeth’s Bennet’s house? What a hoot!

Darcy By Any Other Name, my first indie publication, was released today. I ought to be celebrating–and I am–if staring at the screen in shock and wonder qualifies.

Amazon slapped the Kindle edition up for sale in something like twenty minutes, instead of the promised 12 hours. There is no ranking, but the “Look Inside” feature works. The book is LIVE, and you can see it here.

The publication date is the real stunner: May 13, 2016. Yesterday’s date, although I don’t know what caused that. Yesterday just happened to be Friday the 13th. Otherwise known as “Freaky Friday.”

So my Pride and Prejudice ‘body swap’ romance–itself a Freaky Friday tale–has that particular date. Will anyone notice or even care? Nope. But I know, and I’m smiling.

And now you can smile too. Darcy By Any Other Name is pretty much the perfect beach read, just in time for summer. Like my other novels, it’s an ensemble piece, featuring all your friends (and foes) from Pride and Prejudice.

It’s a book I thought I’d never write because, you know, every variation of Pride and Prejudice has been told. Ah, but that was before I came up with the swap idea. Such a hoot.

The print edition will be available presently. The price for that is dictated by length–all 662 pages. If I were you, I’d buy the ebook. It’s way cheaper.

Laura Hile (1)

Southern Fried Austen

Have a Conniption

On Sunday, Darcy picked Lizzy up to go down to the Mount Pisgah Baptist Church in Sugarfield. They hadn’t been there five minutes before George Wickham swaggered in, holdin’ hands with Lydia in front of God and everybody. Jane Bea was up in the choir with Mary Bess, and Kitty sat with their parents on the seat two rows front of Darcy and Lizzy. The entire set of Bennet ladies slapped their hands over their mouths and let out a muffled “Oooo!” in unison. Key of D. Then Lizzy heard her daddy grunt, and she saw her mama put her arm around his shoulders to hold him back. She shivered.

Darcy leaned over to whisper in her ear.

Darcy: You cold, Sugar? I can go get my jacket from the car. Won’t take a minute.

Lizzy: I’m not cold. It’s Daddy.

Darcy: Your daddy’s cold? He’s wearin’ long sleeves.

Lizzy: He’s not cold either. Good gracious, man. Didn’t you see Wickham come in with Lydia? He’s flirtin’ with death, and right here in church, too.

Flirting with death

Darcy: I don’t see them. Where are they?

Lizzy: They’re on the other side, right across from the row in front of us.

Darcy: I see them now. What’s he thinkin’? Your daddy will go postal, right here in Mount Pisgah Baptist Church.

Lizzy: Go postal? What does the mail have to do with the price of tea in China?

Darcy: “Go postal” means “Have a dyin’ duck fit.”

pitch a hissy fit

Lizzy: He’ll have a conniption. People will think he’s speakin’ in tongues, ready to roll in the aisles, there’s a squirrel running under the pews, goin’ Pentecostal. Not that that’s a bad thing. You just don’t go Pentecostal in a Baptist church. You do that in the Pentecostal church down the street. Or you could go to the Holiness church one street over. Then there’s the Church of God just down from that, or the First Assembly of God church right across from it. Or the ARP church across the street, or the Methodist church right at the town limits, but you can’t have a conniption in those. You can’t have any kind of fit in the Lutheran church out toward Ruby, or the Catholic church in Roseland, or First Baptist Church downtown, or Second Baptist Church just outside the city limits. Anyway, you pitch a fit and have a conniption. You can throw a conniption, too, but you can’t throw a fit. Southerners know the difference.

conniption engaged

Darcy: Good grief! How many churches are there in Sugarfield?

Lizzy: Let’s see. I guess about twenty. More than you can shake a stick at.

Darcy: There’re more churches than stores or businesses.

Lizzy: Well, duh. You’re in the South. We’re not heathens down here. If you count churches in the whole county, there’s probably a hundred or more. Churches come in different flavors to suit whatever people want to believe, and some people like really small churches with only six or seven people, including the preacher and his family. A Baptist isn’t just a Baptist. He’s a Southern Baptist, or a Regular Baptist, or a Freewill Baptist, or a Primitive Baptist, or an Independent Baptist. Same with Methodists and Presbyterians. Anyhow, George Wickham is lower than snake’s belly in a wagon rut to come struttin’ in here with Lydia, right in front of Daddy. Lydia’s goin’ to get another sermon when she gets home – from her Daddy. What in world is that girl thinkin’? Nobody ever accused her of bein’ a genius, but this is plain stupid. If brains were leather, she wouldn’t have enough to saddle a June bug.

have a conniption

Darcy: She’s not thinkin’ about anything except good-lookin’ George Wickham. He’s sweet talkin’ her, and she believes every word. He’s lower than a limbo stick at a Hawaiian luau.

Lizzy: Huh? He’s lower than Aunt Maddie’s ex-husband’s lawyer.

Darcy: Sometimes when I’m talkin’ to you, I feel like a monkey tryin’ to do a math problem.

Lizzy: Keep tryin’, Darlin’. Just leave out the foreign places.

Darcy: (tryin’ not to laugh in church) Hawaii isn’t a foreign place. It’s the fiftieth state.

Lizzy: If you can’t drive there in a car, it’s foreign.

Darcy: So, Hawaii’s foreign, but Alaska isn’t. I guess Canada and Mexico aren’t foreign either.

Lizzy: They aren’t in the USA, but they aren’t exactly foreign either. We share a continent.

Darcy: Got it. Back to what Wickham’s lower than. If low could fly, he’d be a jet.

Lizzy: I like it. That boy’s so stuck on himself he thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow.

Darcy: Didn’t you just change directions in mid-air?

Lizzy: Yep. Go with my flow, Honey. Just keep talkin’ about how bad Wickham is.

Darcy: He’s as crooked as a barrel of snakes.

Lizzy: You’re getting’ there. He’s like a bad penny – always turnin’ up.

Darcy: Your mama’s starin’ at us.

Lizzy: I think we’d best hush now, or you won’t be welcome to Sunday dinner, and Mama always has two meats, five vegetables, homemade bread, and two desserts. If we wait until the choir sings to talk some more, she won’t be able to hear us, but you’ll have to whisper right in my ear, and I’ll whisper in yours.

Darcy: Whisper in my ear, and I’ll follow you anywhere.

Good golly miss molly

Lizzy: There you go, bein’ like sugar in my hand again. I’m startin’ to get used to havin’ you around. Don’t go getting’ a big head about it, though.

Darcy: The choir’s about to sing. Why aren’t you in it?

Lizzy: ‘Cause I couldn’t sing my way out of a wet paper bag if my life depended on it. Good golly, Miss Molly! Just look at Caroline up there in front of the preacher and everybody, ‘bout nekkid as a boiled chicken. She needs to pull that tight skirt down. We can see clear to the Promised Land. And the preacher’s face is so red, I’m afraid he’s fixin’ to have a stroke. Next week, the men will make that choir rail taller.

Darcy: She does like to display her, ah, assets.

Lizzy: You think? She’s starin’ at you so hard, I’m about to tell her to take a picture. It’d last longer. Now, look at my sister Mary. She can sure bud sing. She’s tearin’ it up.

Darcy: You change subjects so often and so fast I’m about to get whiplash from tryin’ to follow you.


Lizzy: Try to keep up, Sugar. I just don’t understand Lydia, though. I’d rather jump off a six-foot step ladder into a five-gallon bucket of porcupines than let that man touch me. Look at them. All cuddled up like two hamsters in a gunny sack.

Darcy: He’s about as useful as a steerin’ wheel on a mule.

Lizzy: Uh oh. Mama’s lookin’ mean at us. Don’t look at her! Look at the preacher and act like you’re listenin’.

Lizzy: Darcy?

Lizzy: Darcy?

Lizzy: Will?

Darcy: (looking straight ahead) Don’t have a conniption, woman. I want my two desserts.




Guest Sons

Facebook has added a “Thankful” button to its gallery of Likes.  It’s Mother’s Day, and the timing is perfect. I could click that thing all day long. My mom has overcome a series of serious illnesses and is doing well, and so are my sons.

But I am also thankful for Guest Sons. I have a number of them, boys who came into my life after school and on weekends. Who played video games and swam in the community pool and ate whatever I served (pizza or lasagna or shepherd’s pie). They belched and cracked jokes and laughed. Oh, how they laughed.

From Nathan's era, here are Guest Sons Nathan, Tyler, Luke, and Sean

Here is Nathan with “Guest Sons” Tyler, Luke, and Sean. Their beloved choir director made them form a quartet, and he coached them. They sounded great!

“Mom, you should make shepherd’s pie for Stephen.” I heard this several years ago, when Nathan’s pal Stephen was on leave from the Navy. “He loves your cooking,” Nathan added. Excuse me, my cooking? I am a utility cook, flinging out meals on a skinflint budget. Surely Stephen was mistaken!  But I got busy in the kitchen just the same.

Michael with Will

Michael with “Guest Son” Will (Photo: Sue Blackwell)

It’s not that these Guest Sons were ungrateful–no hungry teen ever is. It’s just that I never realized how much they enjoyed hanging out at our place. Nothing special was offered. The boys’ shared bedroom was cramped at best–especially with all those scrounged TVs in there. Through the closed door I could hear hooting and hollering as they played Super Smash Brothers Melee for hours.

Hospitality, not entertainment, was all I had to offer. An open door. And in they came. Now I miss having them around.

Ben (center, flanked by brothers) and Guest Sons Sam, Tyler, Ryan, and Brent

Ben (center, flanked by brothers Nathan and Michael) and “Guest Sons” Sam, Tyler, Ryan, and Brent (Alexandra Grace Photography)

What I gave to them was Guy Time. Apparently that was what they needed most. This scene, from Susan Elizabeth Phillips‘ Match Me If You Can, captures the feel of those days at our apartment. Yeah, she gets it.

When did my house turn into a hangout for every grossly overpaid, terminally pampered professional football player in northern Illinois?”

“We like it here,” Jason said. “It reminds us of home.”

“Plus, no women around.” Leandro Collins, the Bears’ first-string tight end emerged from the office munching on a bag of chips. “There’s times when you need a rest from the ladies.”

Annabelle shot out her arm and smacked him in the side of the head. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to.”

Leandro had a short fuse, and he’d been known to take out a ref here and there when he didn’t like a call, but the tight end merely rubbed the side of his head and grimaced. “Just like my mama.”

“Mine, too,” Tremaine said with happy nod.

Annabelle spun on Heath. “Their mother! I’m thirty-one years old, and I remind them of their mothers.”

“You act like my mother,” Sean pointed out, unwisely as it transpired, because he got a swat in the head next.

Do you have Guest Sons and Guest Daughters? Know that you are loved by them as well. Happy Mother’s Day!

Laura Hile (1)

Wedding photo: Alexandra Grace Photography