Saturday, January 24, 2009

Towards Understanding by Dave & Lillian Brummet

1st Chapter

Book: Towards Understanding

Author: Dave & Lillian Brummet



This book has been organized in Chronological order according to the year in which the work was written, beginning in 1987 – when I was 17. I began writing poetry about the age of 16, but that work does not appear in this book as it was too blue and angry for the public – in fact I completely deleted those files some time ago.

Poetry was one of the tools that I used to crawl out of hell. Never intending it to be read by others, it was my way of dealing with things. You will see me battle past demons, raise my voice in anger, discover self-awareness and recover from an intense relationship. You will witness the healing as I become aware of the value of my life. Finally, I begin to see beyond myself and start to question society and endeavor to understand others. I also discover a love for, and a dedication to, the health of the Earth.

I hope that you will enjoy the journey as much as I have had fun in experimenting with different writing styles and using different rhythms wit words.


The girl in white lace and shiny gray stockings,

Attacks every man with her nightmarish taunting.

Her beauty is rare, her movements are sure.

Her casual flirting leaves minds in a blur.

Women both hate her and dote on her too.

They wish they could be that woman anew.

But they're only themselves - though jealous they be;

Thinking from women like that, no man would flee.

But she's covered in make-up and shading and light.

And she'll take many photos until she gets it just right.

These women wish with all of their foolish might,

That they forget who their man's with tonight.

As they wrack themselves over this orchestrated myth,

They enlarge the distance from the one they're with.


The waves softly touching desert-like sands...

The sea gulls making known their demands...

The wind whispering through budded leaves...

The water rises as the snow grieves...

Familiar birds fly back home,

To ready their nests for the unborn.

Colors change from gray to green...

As the rain washes earth's face clean.

The stars shine brighter than before...

As the do the eyes of those who adore,

The glorious feelings from this wonderful place;

Brought by the tides of February's silent embrace.


Tears and heartache, and pain, and all;

Are just part of this treacherous game.

Insecurities, jealousy, and control;

Are just weapons with a name.

This game is a serious one,

Where wonderful dreams of sweet romance,

Give power to schemes of deceit.

By now you should know the name,

Of this exciting, yet dangerous game;

Whose joy-filled moments of sweet romance,

Entice us to gamble, again and again.

Yet no matter which move a player makes;

Though the pieces may still separate;

The board is in continuos play.


Of yesterday, I dream.

The happiness then, it seemed,

Would never really end.

Yet, now, to live...I must pretend.

Helplessly, I slowly die.

In pain, I stumble, I fall...

My mind is slipping away...

My movements jerk and sway.

My children and husband have gone...

Leaving me to suffer alone.

Afraid, I hover in my dreams,

For I've only my walker, on which to lean.

There's so much I would change...

...Times I'd rearrange...

All my possessions I'd gladly give,

If one more yesterday, I could live.

I would a cure to come…

To save my defenseless corpse;

As this disease eats my muscles and bones...

I muffle my furious groans.

...In humiliation, I weep,

How fast this disease did creep!

And in night, I find my only haven...

My one comfort comes from sleep.

...I would to dream forever...

Where I have yesterday once more;

And never again would I have to take,

The disappointment, each morning I wake.

ODE TO VICKY WARD: A good friend & a victim of multiple sclerosis.


I grieve for this world, as it fights its wars;

Where humans, all slam their doors;

Here, people starve, knowing only pain...

While others, rich, stake out their claims.

Sad to see...such emptiness I feel.

This world can't last forever;

Life's just a one-time deal.

Man - thinking ourselves unbeatable,

Tried to conquer with knowledge we lacked.

Now, so far destroyed, earth takes her final stance,

While we pray for just one second chance.

We watch, knowing what our children will see.

Helpless, we can't undo this awful disease.

So watch, my people, my educated men...

Just watch your ancestor's victory descend,

While you sit at your desks & thunder your speeches...

Cry, for your child's child will live to die,

Because of educated men...educated to lie.


Is there a purpose for us all?

Do we learn each time we stumble and fall?

And as we bleed, do we feel appreciation?

Bleeding, we suffer our own creation...

Shallow little hearts beat out sophisticated lives;

Lungs wheezing air in our polluted hives.

Bitter bile churns and chars our core,

As we worry and bite, how to take more.

Purpose in chaos - or a religious dream?

Disorganized intentions push us upstream.

And perilous waters carry our tiny hives,

Through the whirlpools of our pressured lives.


We'll dig ourselves some grit,

And with our cardboard spoons,

And with our stiffened hands,

We'll work to find a spec of gold.

Never forgetting what's bought and sold,

Ever neglecting those we've worked to hold,

Forcing us on, the longing taking us there.

It's always lurking and beyond our control.

The pan grows rusty and holes appear,

Where the stones wore their way clear,

A pan, once new - once brought dreams,

Today - brings little more than despair.

Wondering where the paths we seek,

Could have hidden from our blistered feet.

The labyrinth shines well beyond our doors…

We are called the lost and the working poor.


Self-criticism denies me experiences while shame holds me in my past.

Doubt in social circles leads me to my own grounds where thoughts are cast.

Shadowed by a hint of sorrow my glee over my acquirements dwindles.

A sense of an invasive realism blossoms, firmly melting fiction away.

And as I stand in a puddle of wholesome ideals once preached,

I insanely stamp in it, sending it splattering to the heated ground,

So that it sizzles away with my anger.

And rising, the steam reaches for the stars...

And as it rises I dare it to return in showers of answers and brilliant justice...

Which will cool my fury over the beguiling innocence of youth.


Locomotion keeps me moving through the confusing compulsive waves of life.

And, lost in this rush, I consume & exhaust myself for the unknown.

Feeling awfully tired I pause & look in at my routines in disgust.

And a desperate yearning to escape beyond the maze & into self-sufficiency arises.

Excerpt from Trash Talk by Lillian Brummet

Book: Trash Talk
Author: Dave & Lillian Brummet

Excerpt from Pg: 21-


Production of plastic grocery bags actually consumes 40% less energy, generates 80% less solid waste, produces 70% less air pollution, and releases 94% fewer waterborne wastes than paper bags! Both can be reused and recycled, but paper bags can also be composted. Plastic bags accumulate quickly and many people want to reuse them, but they are soon bulging uncontrolled from our cupboards and drawers. There are now storage containers available to organize this, to be either mounted to a wall, or hung from a hook. They have a hole at the top where bags are contributed, and a hole at the bottom where they can be pulled out. We use two of them in our home, one for grocery bags and one for bread bags.

Grocery Bags

Many people bring their own cloth or canvas bags for their grocery shopping. Gudrun, our friend from Germany tells us there is often a deposit on shopping bags, and so the use of cloth bags is much more common throughout Europe. Relatively inexpensive, cloth bags can be washed and reused many more times than plastic and are unlikely to tear when full of groceries. The stores will have an easier time maintaining prices if there is a reduction in plastic bag demand.

Cloth bags are an excellent advertisement feature and would make fine customer appreciation gifts for your business with your logo on them.

The plastic grocery bags have so many uses in our home that we often run short of them. The most common reuse is for wastebasket liners. Why buy wastebasket bags for dry waste areas when we get them for free? A box of 24 bags costs $3.50 (more when tax, shopping time, and fuel spent getting to the store are figured in), and the average house consumes 2-3 boxes a year. So just by lining your dry wastebaskets with grocery bags, you could save $10.50 a year. It does not sound like much, but this is just one example of the many uses for these bags.

We use them to carry various things during transport for items such as used clothing that we are donating, or books we are bringing to a friend. We take them to farmer’s markets when buying fresh produce. Use them to store your own garden harvests in the fridge, or to send off with visitors. We take them to dog-friendly trails to donate to the bag dispenser at the trail head. Hopefully it may encourage other owners to clean up after their loved ones.

For those of you who have extras, you may want to consider donating to the food-bank or thrift stores, which are often in need of bags. Use when camping to store laundry and to keep items dry. Because they take up very little room crumpled into tiny, weightless bundles, we pack them inside paper towel and toilet paper tubes. To reduce weight in the backpack and prevent tempting scavengers, we make our camping and trail meals from dry ingredients. Dried meals only take a few minutes to absorb the hot water—reducing fuel consumption, lingering odors, dishes, and cooking time. We often cut bread bags to fit the size of the dried meals or snacks and then double bag the lot of them as an added insurance. This storage method reduces food odors, thereby decreasing the chances of enticing wildlife to the bear bag or backpack. On the return hike, carry a bag in hand and scan the trail for garbage. – see Clean Walking.

Years ago, we watched a news special on an elderly lady who made grocery bags into rugs. She tore the bags into rough, uneven strips and crocheted the strips together. She began the hobby just for herself, but the rugs became so sought after that she was kept busy with a constant supply of bags and requests. Looking at the rugs you would have never guessed they were made from recycled bags. Ruth, a very creative friend, used her over-abundance of bags to stuff her valance curtains.

Clear (Bread) Bags

Smaller plastic food bags usually come clear or translucent and, unlike shopping bags, have no holes. Sealed plastic bags (from frozen peas or powdered milk) can be cut open and reused many times as well. However, thin produce department bags often use water-soluble inks, so we do not wash them or reuse for food.

Using a sink of fresh hot soapy water, open the bag and swish around. Fill it about 3/4 full with the soapy water, grip the top together, lift above the sink and move it about to check for leaks. Where there are holes, there will be a steady stream of water. Throw those bags out or reuse them where a perfect seal is not required.

Rinse the bags and hang to dry. You can do this a few different ways. The simplest is to droop the bags over a full dish rack allowing them to drip dry. Or, pinch one corner in a cupboard door over the sink or dish rack. Some people have strung lines for the bags to hang with a clothespin but, again, it should be over a sink or drip tray. If you have the time, they can be dried by hand but a little moisture will remain, so leave the bags out in the open air for a while. In a few hours, turn them inside out so they dry completely before storing.

We reuse plastic yogurt containers to freeze foods but because they do not have a seal suitable for freezer use, we make sure by doubling up with one of our bags. After placing the full container in the bag, gather the top together and suck the air out before sealing it with a recycled twist tie, or simply tie a knot in the bag. Placing your sticky label on the bag eliminates the problem of getting labels off the plastic containers.

Use to store garden produce and home baked goods. At our home, they are used all the time for lunches on the go. Used for pet waste, used oil, meat scraps, and bones, bags will help contain and isolate offensive odors in the garbage can. A smelly can tends to be taken out whether it is full or not, resulting in more garbage bags being used.

Clear plastic bags can also be utilized in the greenhouse. This is where those leaky bags come in handy. We cover flats of newly sown seeds with a bag that has been cut open so that it lies flat. This provides a mini-greenhouse effect and keeps the moisture in. As the seedlings grow, prop up with little sticks so that the plastic does not sit on the leaves and cause rot. Insert plant pots into plastic bags to eliminate the need for drip trays. When cloning, create a mini-greenhouse by bringing the bag up over the cutting, and close with a greenhouse twist tie.

Zipper lock sandwich and freezer bags can be washed and reused more than a dozen times. Let us quickly estimate how much this one simple act saves the household money. At $2 a box, reusing the bags a dozen times saves your home $24. We are avid gardeners and between food storage and lunches, we save about $50 a year by reusing zipper bags. For this reason, we purchase the best quality we can find on the shelf. Recently, snack manufacturers have started to use strong foil bags with a zip top, making them ideal for reuse.

Food bags are not the only kind one can reuse. Our pet food bags are reused for sorting recycling, and to line the larger workshop waste bucket. Bags used to protect mailed magazines work well for containing odors in the garbage bag. The list goes on and on.

• Extend the life of the landfill.
• Save money by reducing the number of bags you need to buy (along with their packaging).
• Reduce the number of trips to the grocery store.
• Cloth bags:
- are very unlikely to tear when full of groceries.
- can be washed and reused many times.
- make an excellent advertisement feature.
- make fine gifts.
• Stores will have an easier time maintaining prices if there is a reduction in plastic bag demand.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Chapter 1 - The Mind of a Genius by David Snowdon

Chapter One

The phone began to ring and freelance MI4 agent, Jason Clay reluctantly disengaged himself from the girl he was kissing and reached for the phone.

“Hello,” he said, grabbing the receiver.

“Is that Clay?” said the voice at the other end.

It was a posh, home county voice and Clay thought it sounded vaguely familiar. But at that very moment, he couldn’t place it.

“It is,” he said frowning. “You sound familiar, who’s that?” Clay spoke with a mildly posh London accent.

“You’ve got a poor memory. It’s Colin Shooter.” Clay smiled.

Shooter was the assistant head of the MI4 and he knew that Shooter never called him just to say hello. Whenever Shooter called, there was always a reason, and a very good reason at that.

“Hello you,” said Clay cheerfully.

He was grinning now, and the girl sitting beside him on the sofa, a tall, slim blonde with lovely blue eyes, and who was about 24-years of age, was staring at him, a curious expression in her eyes.

“Long time, no see.”

“Listen, Clay,” said Shooter, “I’ve got something that might wet your appetite. “You haven’t got anything on, have you?”

“Only the shirt on me back,” said Clay smiling. “And that’s coming off very soon.” The girl chuckled.

Just like the girl sitting beside him on the sofa, Clay was tall, slim and Handsome with blonde hair, and lovely blue eyes. He was 34-years-old and had a smile that made the girls go wild. All he had to do was smile and within minutes, they’d be telling him the story of their life.

Tonight, he was wearing a white silk shirt and a pair of white cotton trousers.

“I’ve got something that’s right up your alley,” said Shooter. “This one’s irresistible. You’ll love it.”

“Will I?” said Clay jokingly, wondering what it was, and what was in it for him.

“I know you will,” said Shooter, at the other end of the line.

“You know my terms, don’t you?” said Clay, smiling. “I won’t even contemplate getting out of bed for anything less than ten thousand a day.”

“You’d be lucky to get half of that for this one,” said Shooter. “But come and see me tomorrow morning in my office at ten, and we’ll talk business, okay?”

Clay continued to smile. “Ten thousand a day plus expenses or no deal.”

“I’ll see you in my office at ten sharp tomorrow,” said Shooter. “And don’t be late.” And the line went dead.

“That guy,” said Clay, dropping the receiver, shaking his head and turning sideways to stare at the girl sitting beside him. “He drives a hard bargain, but he’s all right.” The girl smiled invitingly, but didn’t say anything.

“Now where were we?” said Clay smiling, as they started to kiss passionately, again.

The time was now 20.47 and they were sitting on a beige leather sofa in Clay’s spacious, luxurious living-room. The TV was on, but the volume had been turned down low. As they continued to kiss, they could hear it raining hard outside, and there was the occasional rumble of thunder. But that didn’t bother them, as they were now in paradise.

At 10.00am the following day, Colin Shooter sat in a conference room, at a conference table, in the MI4 head office in Vauxhall, overlooking the River Thames and worked on his laptop.

At 56, Shooter was tall, well-built, and had light brown hair. He was an ex-banker.

Today, he wore a brown suit, a yellow shirt and a brown tie.

Also in the room, sitting around the conference table was Special Agent, Paul Hudson and Special Agent, Janet Bond.

Hudson was 38, tall, dark and lean with handsome features and dark brown curly hair.

He wore a well-cut, navy blue Italian Suit, a white shirt and a black and blue stripped tie. He was an ex-solicitor, and a very good one, and it was his track record more than anything else that had impressed the M14 into employing him.

Janet Bond was 32, 5-foot-7, slim with a nice curvy figure, and blonde with blue eyes, and Scandinavian features.

She was a beauty, but she was also very intelligent. And it was the combination of beauty and brains that had attracted Shooter to her.

The phone started to ring, and Shooter snatched the receiver.

“Colin Shooter,” he said, speaking into the receiver.

“Mr Shooter, I have Mr Jason Clay here to see you.” The receptionist’s voice came clearly through the receiver.

“Give him a cup of tea,” said Shooter. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready to see him.”

“No worries,” said the receptionist.

And Shooter put the phone down. As he put the phone down, he continued to work on his laptop, and both Hudson and Bond sat in silence, with a blank expressions on their faces. They knew that whatever Shooter was doing on his laptop had to be vital, as Shooter was always very punctual.

Ten minutes later, Shooter finished working on his laptop and reached for the receiver.

“Send him in,” he said, when he got through to the receptionist. And he put the receiver down.

Three minutes later, there came a knock on the door.

“Come in,” said Shooter.

The door slid open and Clay wandered into the room. He wore a beige coloured suit, a beige coloured shirt and a red tie. He was looking very smart and there was a cheeky smile on his face, as he wandered into the room, and walked towards the conference table.

“Morning, all,” he said, aware that everyone was watching him.

The others returned his greeting.

“Take a seat,” said Shooter, waving him to a chair.

Clay moved towards the chair and sat on it.

“Thanks for coming,” said Shooter. “This one’s a beauty and you’re gonna love it.”

“That remains to be seen,” said Clay, smiling at him. “Let’s have the details and we’ll take it from there.”

Shooter stared at Clay.

He didn’t like Clay’s cocky attitude. Come to think of it, he wasn’t too fond of Clay. But Clay had his uses.

“Malcolm Prince, the scientist, remember him?”

Clay thought for a moment, then he remembered.

“He died a few months ago, didn’t he?”

Shooter nodded. “And that’s why you’re here.”

“Come off it,” said Clay, his smile turning into a grin as he looked from Shooter to Hudson, from Hudson to Bond and from Bond back to Shooter.

“I didn’t kill him. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” said Shooter, smiling at Clay. “You’d do anything for money, wouldn’t you? But if you’ve got your facts right, you’ll know that Prince died of a heart attack.”

“I could have told you that,” said Clay, smiling at him.

Shooter continued to talk. “Malcolm Prince was one of the finest scientist in the world. And at the time of his death, he had just completed a major project; a project that could change the world; a project that could benefit the world.” There was a pause, then Shooter continued to talk.

“We don’t know what the project was about. It was a well-kept secret, but we do know that the project was completed shortly before he died. Shortly before he died, he was on the verge of revealing the project to the world. But now he’s dead, and nobody really knows what that project was based on.”

“That’s sad,” said Clay.

Shooter continued to talk. “We’d like you to try and find out what that project was about.”

“And how do you expect me to do that?” said Clay, changing his position on his chair. Shooter smiled at him.

“Prince has a very lovely wife, and rumour has it that he was very fond of her. We have a feeling that she might have some vital information. Your task is to seduce her and to find out what that project was about.”

Clay gaped at him. “I thought you said I was gonna to love it.”

“You’re a very impatient man,” said Shooter, smiling at Clay.

He was thoroughly enjoying himself. “Patience is a virtue, Clay. Agent Bond has a present for you.”

Special Agent, Janet Bond produce an envelope and slid it across the table towards Clay. Clay opened the envelope, removed a glossy photograph and stared at it.

A beautiful, middle-aged, blonde woman with blue, friendly eyes, wearing a navy blue shirt stared at him.

Clay studied the woman in the picture and a wave of excitement swept through him.

The woman in the photograph looked classy, exciting and sexy. A combination that Clay considered to be irresistible. Shooter was right. He had a feeling that he was going to love this assignment. Here was an opportunity to have a good time, and at the same time, to make some decent money.

Clay smiled as he studied the photograph. It was a passport photo that had been enlarged into a 6 x 4 photograph.

Shooter and the others watched him, as he studied the photograph, and Shooter had a feeling that Clay was hooked.

“Nice girl,” said Clay, dropping the photograph on the table in front of him and smiling at Shooter.

“Laura Prince,” said Janet Bond. “45-years-old, 36-26-36 and an ex-secretary. She has a penchant for handsome toy boys. Had a few lovers when Prince was alive, but isn’t seeing anyone at present.”

“Very nice,” said Clay smiling and looking around the table.

“I told you,” said Shooter. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“But what makes you think she gonna fall for me?” said Clay.

“You fit the bill perfectly,” said Hudson, in his posh accent “You have a way with women. You can charm the birds out a tree. We’re sure you can swing it.”

“I can try,” said Clay. “But I can’t guarantee success.”

“That’s good enough for me,” said Shooter. “We don’t know for sure if she knows anything. She may be none the wiser, but all we can do is try.”

“That’s fine,” said Clay. “Ten thousand a day plus expenses, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I don’t think so,” said Shooter, shaking his head. There was a crafty, little smile on his face. “Five thousand a day plus expenses, and you can take it or leave.”

Clay smiled at him.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re wasting each others time. Ten thousand a day plus expenses, or you can get someone else to do it.”

Shooter stared at him.

There were other agents that he could use, and who would work out a lot cheaper than Clay. But he realized that if anyone could pull this one off, it was Clay. And this assignment was far too vital to be bungled.

“Seven thousand a day plus expenses. Not a penny more, not a penny less. And that’s my final offer.”

“Done,” said Clay.

“Money, that’s all you ever think about, isn’t it?” said Shooter.

“What else is there to think about?” said Clay, smiling at him. “Money makes the world go round. And where would we be without it.”

“Sometimes I wonder why we pay you so much money,” said Shooter resentfully. We’re wasting hard-earned taxpayers money on you.”

“I’m value for money and you know it,” said Clay with his cheeky smile.

“I can get three good agents for what I’m paying you,” said Shooter.

“That’s three for the price of one. But you’re one of my best guys, and I’ve got a soft spot for you.”

“Come off it,” said Clay jokingly. “You haven’t got a soft spot for your own mother, let alone a guy like me.”

Shooter smiled at him, but this time the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Watch what you say, Clay. You shouldn’t speak about anyone’s mother like that.”

They regarded each other for a moment, then Shooter continued to talk.

“An advance payment of £70,000 will be paid into you’re account. Spend it wisely. Agent Bond will give you all the necessary details.”

“Cool,” said Clay, grinning at Shooter.

Money was very essential to him and he never got tired of talking about it. The more money he could lay his hands on, the better.

“Has Prince got any other relatives that you know of?”

“He’s got a grown up daughter and a grown up son from a previous marriage,” said Hudson.

“I hope so,” said Clay, looking down at Laura Prince’s photograph. “He was old enough to be this chick’s father.”

“She was his second wife,” said Hudson.

Clay regarded Hudson.

He had been so busy concentrating on Shooter that there had been times when he had forgotten that Hudson was also in the room.

“Can’t Pretty boy, Hudson handle this job?”

“I haven’t got your knack with women,” said Hudson, smiling at Clay.

“You’re tailor-made for the job.”

Agent Janet Bond smiled.

“And why is Agent Bond smiling?” said Clay teasingly.

Janet Bond lost her smile and stared at him. There was something about Clay that she didn’t like.

“I wasn’t smiling at you.”

What a chick, thought Clay giving her his dazzling smile. She reminded him of the girl that he had spent the night with. They both had blonde hair and blue eyes, but Bond was undoubtedly the better looking of the two.

“One of these days, we’ll go for a curry.”

“I don’t like curries and I don’t like you,” said Janet Bond.

“One of these days, you’re gonna love me,” said Clay teasingly.

Bond’s eyes flashed angriliy.

“One of these days, Clay, I’m gonna…”

She suddenly stopped without finishing her sentence, aware that Shooter was watching her with interest. She would have loved to have given Clay a piece of her mind. She would have loved to have told him exactly what she thought of him. But she didn’t want to lose her composure in front of her boss.

“Enough of that,” said Shooter, sensing it was time that he intervened.

“Now Agent Bond will give you the details.”

Special Agent, Janet Bond regained her composure and started to talk in her posh accent.

The Mind of a Genius by David Snowdon

(The Formula That Could Change The World)

Special Agent, Jason Clay from the MI4 is hired to find a secret formula that was invented by the famous British scientist, Malcolm Prince. The only weak element in Clay’s strategy to accomplish his mission is Laura Prince, the beautiful wife of the scientist, who Clay has to seduce in order to obtain the formula.

But the CIA, the Denmark Intelligence, the Australian Intelligence and many other very determined individuals are also after that formula, and can’t wait to get their hands on it. The competition is fierce, but who’s going to win?

The story develops as a travel through the world; with the action starting in London, then moving onto Copenhagen, Hong Kong and Australia.

Clay appears to be the right man for the job; extremely handsome and a natural charmer, nothing could be easier for him than seducing a beautiful woman in order to obtain a top secret.

For more information visit

About the book:

The Mind of a Genius by David Snowdon

ISBN: 978-0-9552650-1-3

Publisher: Pentergen Books

Pages: 288

S.R.P £6.99/ $13.56

Available from Waterstone’s, Blackwells, and from the author at his website

About David Snowdon -

British thriller writer, David Snowdon was born in London, and lives in London. He started writing in 1983, and wrote his first book, which hasn’t been published in 1984. His first published work, Too Young To die, was published in August 2006. And his second novel, The Mind of a Genius, was published in November 2007.

To learn more about David Snowdon and The Mind of a Genius, visit and to learn more about his virtual tour in early 2009,

Post comments on any of the blog tour stops and be entered in a drawing for a copy of The Mind of a Genius.