In the Author Spotlight & Contest
CJ Johnson
CONTEST: For everyone who leaves a comment with their name and email address, they will be entered into a drawing for a copy of JarDan in the eBook format of their choice.
AL: Hi CJ Thanks for being in the “Author Spotlight” this week.
CJ: I have to thank you for asking me. I don’t know of any author who passes up an opportunity to talk about her books.
AL: So, tell us what’s happening with you.
CJ: Life is good. I’ve retired from working a “day job” and now have more time to listen to all those voices in my head screaming for their own story. I became a great-grandmother in October and THAT is a strange feeling because I’m WAAYYY too young for that!
AL: For those who may not know your work, can you please share a little about yourself?
CJ: We traveled a lot when I was growing up so I started day dreaming to pass the miles. It was a natural progression to writing. My husband is a retired career soldier so the traveling continued. My stories are nothing more than my adult day dreams with a lot of “what ifs” thrown in to give the hero and heroine something to fight through/fight for on the road to “happy ever after”.
AL: Do you have a mentor or critique partner that you work with consistently?
CJ: There have been several through the years but there is one who has always been there to offer a shoulder to cry on or an afternoon to brainstorm. Wendy Ferguson has been a friend since the night we both joined the fledgling Alaska Chapter of RWA. That was 20 years ago.
AL: What is the most difficult part of being a writer and do you write whenever the mood strikes, or do you have a specific routine?
CJ: I would have to say that discipline is the most difficult for me. I’m a definite “right brain” type with tons of interests from needlework to genealogy. It’s easy for me to get distracted by something else. I used to keep a notebook by the bed to jot down something that popped into my subconscious but now I try to keep to a schedule. It’s become easier since I retired. However . . . there’s always something else whispering from the closet.
AL: When did you know you had to be a writer?
CJ: Wow, I can’t imagine a time when I didn’t want to create a story. Even if I never sell another word I would still keep creating those stories.
AL: If I asked your best friend what type of person you are, what would he or she tell me?
CJ: She once said that when she grows up she wants to have an imagination like mine but I think she would say steadfast - someone she can always count on.
Ann: You are the heroine and you have the hero on the island in the middle of your kitchen. What food would you be feeding…nibbling off each other?
CJ: Hmmmm - it would HAVE to be something with chocolate - preferably syrupy so you could cover lots of territory.
AL: What would people be surprised to know about you?
CJ: That I campaigned for a radical Democratic presidential candidate in the 60s - I’ve been a hard-core conservative Republican for 40+ years.
AL: With the holidays around the rapidly approaching what's your favorite tradition?
CJ: Christmas dinner at my house with family. After all the presents are unwrapped and the food devoured my hubby settles down for football and the rest of us go to a special movie. It’s a way for me to relax before tackling the massive clean-up.
AL: Please share a favorite quote(s) with us.
CJ: “Nothing happens without a dream.” However, dreams are like prayers - when they come true the outcome may not be what you imagined in the beginning.
AL: Thanks so much for sharing with joining us this week, CJ.
CJ: That you for inviting me. I look forward to hearing from readers.
AL: If you’d like to find out more about CJ please visit:
www.cjjohnsonwriter.com
www.newconceptspublishing.com
FEATURED TITLE: JarDan
Blurb:
What would you do to save your dying planet? How far would you go to keep extinction at bay just a little longer? Those are questions the men of Anderas live with every day. For more than 2,000 years they have been unable to produce female children so now they must travel to other planets for their brides.
Melodie Smith has lived all her life on a small farm in Missouri. When JarDan rescues her from a storm and takes her to Anderas she is unprepared for the vast differences in life styles and feels overwhelmed and terribly out of place. She wants to go home.
As the two learn to trust each other and believe in the possibility of a life together they have to battle an unseen menace who threatens their very existence. When the evil wizard lays a trap for JarDan, Melodie acts without hesitation to destroy Morandoni. She becomes the Warrior Queen of ancient prophesy.
Excerpt:
She heard voices. Strange muted voices. Where was she? Melodie kept her eyes closed and tried to remember what happened.
She was trying to outrun the storm when lightening hit a tree near the road sending burning branches in all directions. A large limb came through her windshield. Jerking the steering wheel in reaction sent her truck sailing off the road, over a fence, landing in the middle of a field. The torrential rains had turned the freshly plowed dirt into a sea of mud.
The tornado coming straight for her!
The angel!
Forcing her eyes open she stared at the room around her. Beds lined both long walls of the room, each separated by curtains suspended from the ceiling. Everything was white and stainless steel. Strange, she never imagined Heaven would look like a hospital.
“Ah, so you’re awake. Good. Good.”
Melodie blinked as she focused on a very unusual man. This was definitely not her angel. If the wrinkles on his face were any indication, he must be at least one hundred years old. Bright blue eyes, much too alert to be so ancient, twinkled beneath the thickest, bushiest eyebrows imaginable.
“Your hair’s blue,” Melodie mumbled in stunned surprise as she stared at the stranger bending over her.
“What? Why so it is. A very pale shade of blue to be sure, but blue nonetheless. Do you dislike blue hair?”
She chuckled as the blue eyebrows twitched like giant caterpillars.
“My fourth grade teacher, Miss Clairmont, had blue hair but I think it came from a bottle.”
The strange man smiled as he pushed buttons and flipped switches on the equipment panel beside her bed.
“Who are you? Where am I? How long have I been here?” She stared at the smiling face of the blue-haired man. This is definitely not Heaven. Not unless angels had blue hair. Why would a man have blue hair, anyway?
“My name is Sladal and you’ve been here for about twenty-four hours.” He responded, patting her hand. “I’m a physician.”
“Physician?” She echoed in panic. “Am I all right?”
“Yes. Yes. You’re fine. You were suffering from a mild case of hypothermia. Once we got you dry and warm, it was just a matter of letting your body’s natural healing process work. Are you hungry? Would you like to freshen up? Clean clothes are in the drawer beneath the bed. Anything else you might need is in the bath through that door.” He indicated a closed door across the room.
Melodie smiled her appreciation, but before Sladal could leave she reached for his arm.
“Doctor …” she felt foolish for even considering the possibility, but she had to know for sure. “Was there a … a man with me when I arrived?” A fiery blush crept up her neck to cover her face as she pretended a great interest in the seam along the top of the sheet.
“Uh … yes,” the doctor mumbled. “A man did bring you here.”
Trying to cover her interest in nonchalance, Melodie shrugged as she slid her legs off the bed.
“I’m grateful he was passing by when the tornado hit. I wonder if it was his field I destroyed with my truck.” Gathering the clothes from the drawer beneath the bed she turned what she hoped was an innocent face to Doctor Sladal. Not for a minute did she believe that man was a farmer.
“Is he still here?”
“Um … mm … I suppose. I’ll see if I can locate him for you.”
She watched in confusion as the doctor practically ran from the room. Shaking her head, she headed for the bath. As she washed her face and brushed her hair, she tried to remember exactly how she got here. Wherever here was.
Slipping the shapeless grey garment from her body, she reached for the gown that came from the drawer. This was like no hospital gown she’d ever seen. No pale green cotton, that’s for sure.
Melodie gasped in pleasant shock as the soft, silky material slid down her body. The deep blue gown rippled and flowed around her with a life of its own. Every movement sent tingling sensations dancing across her skin from the caress of the fabric. Her hands smoothed the material across her abdomen and down her hips, intensifying the sensations. Soft moans echoed in the small room. Startled, she realized she was the one moaning. She stared in wonder at the face in the mirror. The flushed cheeks and too bright eyes looked familiar, but something was definitely different.
Pushing the disturbing sensations from her mind, Melodie returned to her bed and tried to bring some order to her chaotic thoughts. Questions tumbled around in her head. How did she escape the storm? Where was she? Although she rarely left the small community where she grew up, she was certain there was no medical center in the area. And the man? Who was he? Smiling to herself, Melodie tried to picture a Missouri farmer wearing long white robes anywhere. Nope, she decided with a grin. Definitely not a farmer.
It should be a sin and a crime for any man to be that attractive. Remembering the feel of his arms, the solid mass of his chest, the warn scent of his skin sent a shaft of heat from her throat to her knees. Sensations and needs she never knew existed sprang to life, growing stronger with each minute. His image in her mind sharpened until he consumed her thoughts, pushing all questions into limbo.
“Enough of this, Melodie Anne,” she muttered aloud. “You’re being ridiculous. No man is that perfect. With the accident and the storm, you’ve obviously magnified this man with your stupid fantasies. Now, braid your hair and act you age.”
Pulling the brush through her hair with more force than necessary, she tried to still the little voice whispering in her ear. Most women your age wouldn’t have to rely on fantasy.
Without warning, the memory of a voice became a deep, rumbling caress. Close your eyes. With a gasp, she obeyed the silent command, leaning forward to reach for what the voice promised. Again, the sharp stab of heat flooded her body with a longing she didn’t know how to fulfill. Shuddering with need, Melodie hugged her arms across her chest. Dear God, what is happening to me?
A commotion just beyond the curtain surrounding her bed alerted her to the presence of others in the room. Trying to ignore her growing restlessness, she quickly finished braiding her hair, praying no one would notice her trembling fingers.
Doctor Sladal appeared at the foot of her bed with an attendant close behind him. “Well, are you feeling better?”
Melodie knew she must have made an appropriate response, but for the life of her she didn’t know what it was.
“Good. Good. There’s someone who wishes to meet you so if you will follow me …”
“Wait. I can’t see anyone dressed like this.” She indicated the delicate blue gown that clung to her body, revealing every curve even if it did cover her from neck to mid-calf.
“What? Oh, of course.” A snap of his fingers sent the attendant scurrying away. “Thomas will soon return with a heavier robe then he will escort you.”
* * * *
“I will hear no more!” Roared JarDan, ending the argument he and Dak started several hours earlier. “The decision is mine to make and I’ve made it! The responsibility is mine!”
“I can’t believe you’re willing to risk so much over this woman. Have you read the mind-scan? Does she have people who will miss her? Not even the Prince of Tor would dare break that law.”
“Of course, I’ve read the scan. She has no one. Orphaned as a toddler, she lived with her grandfather on his farm in central Missouri. His death two months ago forced a public auction of the farm where they lived. The vehicle destroyed by the storm contained all of her possessions. She’ll make the trip to Anderas.”
“Then have her placed in space sleep, JarDan. Let the subliminal programming teach her of our planet and our way of life.”
“No. She’ll not be put to sleep so if you have nothing further to report, leave me.”
JarDan watched his best friend storm from the room. At least he couldn’t slam doors controlled by electronic sensors. This was beginning to be a habit with the two of them. What was happening to the closeness that once bound them like brothers? How could he make Dak understand? This woman was special but there were no facts he could give to make Dak believe it. There were no arguments he could offer that would support his belief that she was destined to be with him. He wanted her to accept him on her own, not because of some computer program.
Grabbing a goblet from the table set for dinner, he drank deeply of the rich, red wine of Anderas. A shower and a few hours of sleep had eased the strain of teleportation through the storm. Sladal had orders to bring the woman to his quarters when she recovered. JarDan paced the twenty-foot length of his room. He picked up a book from the desk and dropped it on the bed. He straightened the perfectly placed silverware on the table. He flipped the curtain from the window to stare at the retreating planet. Repeatedly, he made his journey around the room until he caught sight of himself in the mirrored bathroom door.
He never thought too much about the way he looked. Women often commented on his appearance but he assumed it was his rank as much as his face that created such interest. Now, for the first time in his thirty-five years, he took a hard look at himself. What would she think of his looks? Would she see the man beneath the crown of Tor?
Turning his face from one side to the other, he studied his reflection. Using the same clear, logical voice he used with his men, he recited what he saw.
“Six feet six inches, black hair that covers my shoulder blades – hmmm, I need a trim – blue eye, my mother’s nose and my father’s chin. Everything looks ordinary to me.”
Trained from birth to be a strong leader of powerful men, he found nothing unusual in his broad shoulders and thickly muscled chest. He took for granted the curling mat of hair exposed by the deep opening of his shirt. Most of the men of Anderas were of similar height and build. He found nothing exceptional.
“So impress her with your wit and intelligence instead of your face.”
With that thought firmly in his mind, JarDan settled into the one comfortable chair allotted in a travel craft chamber. Picking up the sheaf of papers, he resumed his study of the multi-page translation of the memory scan done on the woman.
No. Not the woman. She was Melodie. The name caressed his senses like a gentle breeze. He closed his eyes and her image sprang to life. She was magnificent. The courage it took to face the fury of that storm was remarkable for a woman. By the Beard of the Ancients! He knew of few men who would do the same. Even drenched with rain and covered in mud she took his breath away.
A soft smile spread across his face as he remembered the way she accepted his embrace in the teleport beam. The memory of her slender body against his sent heat rushing to his groin. His heavy arousal was a painful reminder of the effects of his extended celibacy. His needs were getting stronger by the hour, but he didn’t want the casual relief of a pleasure station. He wanted Melodie. He wanted to bury himself in her warmth. Wanted to melt in his embrace, to come apart in his arms with passion.
Muttering a phrase not suitable for mixed company, JarDan jerked himself from the chair, wincing at the pain in his lower body. Where was Sladal? According to Dak’s report, Melodie awakened more than two hours ago.
Pouring himself another glass of the potent wine, he tried to force his mind to think of other things. He knew from her mind-scan there had never been an emotional involvement with a man. One look at his aroused body would send her running in terror. He had to go slow. Too much was at stake. He would not risk his future on immediate physical gratification -- and he was positive she was his future.
* * * *
Following Thomas through empty hallways, Melodie had to admit that this was the strangest hospital. No nurses scurried from room to room attending patients. No visitors waited with cards and flowers. Not once did she hear the intercom call for a doctor.
“Where are the doctors and nurses?” She asked after passing several closed doors.
“Are you not feeling well?” Thomas stopped to peer intently at her.
“No, I’m fine.” She assured him. “It’s just … so quiet for a hospital.” In truth, she felt anything but fine. The strange sensations she experienced when she awoke continued to pulse, growing stronger with each heartbeat. The gentle friction of the soft gown against her breasts and hips as she walked was almost painful. Even the faint vibrations from the floor thrummed through her bare feet to settle low in her body keeping time with her heartbeat.
“This is a residential floor, not a medical center.” With a slight shrug Thomas continued down the hallway.
Melodie opened her mouth to object but lost her train of thought when a wave of longing hit her. The sight of Thomas’ uniform-clad body rooted her to the spot, unable to move, unable to look away. The term tight ass sprang to life as she watched his long-legged stride. Although young, he showed the promise of virility in his broadening shoulders and long, straight back. Need flared in her chest and brought a small whimper to her lips as heat turned to warm liquid between her legs.
“Are you certain you are well?” He asked again from his position a few yards ahead of her.
The flush of desire turned to a blaze of embarrassment as the wave crested and she was again in control. My God! He’s just a boy! Horrified at the direction her imagination was taking, she forced herself to breathe slow and deep. Mumbling an answer to his question, Melodie quickly closed the distance between them.
“Where are we going?” She asked without looking up.
“Here.” He indicated the door at the end of the corridor as he touched the wall and the door opened with a soft whoosh.
Between one heartbeat and another Melodie looked from the floor to Thomas to the open door, until she looked into the face of her angel. He nodded in acknowledgement of Thomas’ salute.
“Were you seen?”
It was the voice that whispered in her ear during the storm.
“No, Sir,” Thomas responded. “It was as you ordered.”
“Very good. Return to your duties. I’ll see our guest back to her room.”
Melodie decided she’d rather study the ruggedly handsome man standing in front of her instead of attending the conversation flowing around her. She could spend eternity looking at this man. As tall as she was, she had to tip her head back to see his face. His hair hung in thick waves past his shoulders, held in place by a gleaming band of gold that circled his head around the middle of his wide forehead. Never in her twenty-nine years had she seen a man so perfectly chiseled from bone and muscle. Her eyes traced the massive chest and shoulders covered now in a loose fitting shirt instead of the white robe. The neck of the shirt opened almost to his navel with every visible inch covered in a thick mat of soft black curls.
“Please. Come in.” The voice was as deep and warm as she remembered.
Melodie placed her hand in his outstretched palm. Warmth and security settled around her. Just like in the storm, she instinctively trusted this stranger. A portion of her mind told her it was irrational, but trying to understand why was just too tedious.
“I’m glad to see you’ve recovered from your ordeal.”
“I have you to thank for that. I would have died if you hadn’t arrived when you did.” She trembled as much from the memories as the strong grip on her hand.
“Are you afraid of me?” He whispered, tightening his hold on her.
She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but she was positive it wasn’t fear that caused her breath to come in shallow gulps. Please, Lord, don’t let he humiliate myself with another of those strange spells. Keeping her gaze on their joined hands, she shook her head.
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
She raised her head until she focused on an area just below his chin, jumping when he suddenly bent his knees and lowered himself to her eye level. The barely adequate intake of oxygen she was managing suddenly became too much for her lungs. His piercing cobalt eyes sparkled with humor and understanding. He’s teasing. As she stared in mute admiration, a lop-sided grin stretched across his face. She had no choice but to smile back, mesmerized as he slowly straightened to his full height. No one but her grandfather had ever teased her.
“Better. Much better. I had myself convinced I only imagined eyes the color of clouds at sunset.” His voice was low and husky. “My name is Tor JarDan and I’ve arranged for dinner to be …”
Melodie was still smiling at him when one dark brow arched and his words trailed off. Following his questioning gaze to their hands, she watched her own fingertips stroke his palm, caressing the ridges of calluses she found there. With a gasp she jerked her hand free of his and turned her back to hide her embarrassment. Melodie Anne Smith, just what in the world is wrong with you!
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Jordan.” She whispered in mortification, covering her flaming cheeks with trembling fingers.
“JarDan,” he stated quietly. “My name is JarDan not Jordan. It’s I who should apologize. When you spend much of your life in the company of warriors, you forget how sensitive women are to the scars and calluses of battle.”
Melodie turned to tell him he was wrong. His touch didn’t repulse her. She craved his touch. Her sensitive breasts ached with the need to feel those calluses against her skin. Don’t be ridiculous. This man would never be interested in a lanky old-maid farmer’s daughter. He’s just being polite so act your age.
“We have much to discuss, but first you need to eat. I know you haven’t eaten for at least a day, so if you’ll be seated, I’ll order our dinner. Later, I promise to explain everything.”
She watched him leave, wondering what he felt he needed to explain. She took advantage of his absence to regain her composure. “Good grief, girl,” she muttered. “You were pawing the poor man.”
Heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment kindled in her abdomen, sending fire racing through her body. No! Not now! I won’t allow it to happen again! Think about something else. Yes, that’s it. Think about snow storms or cold showers or Mrs. Peabody’s fat, ugly dog.
Slowly she regained control, repressing the disturbing feelings with shaky resolve. Determined to think only about common, everyday things, she took note of the room around her. The furniture was sturdy and functional, almost plain. She could see nothing remarkable in the neutral shades of beige and brown. Other than a white and gold blanket across the built-in bed and a few books stacked on the desk, there was nothing personal in the room. The table set with gleaming china and crystal was in vivid contrast to the utilitarian simplicity of the rest of the room.
She knew hospital personnel sometimes maintained sleeping quarters in case a critical patient needed extra attention, but gut instinct told her JarDan was no doctor. So what was he doing here?
“Jar Dan,” she whispered, savoring the taste of his name on her tongue. “Now what mother in her right mind would name her son Jar? Must be short for something.”
Picturing the black-haired giant as a small boy at his mother’s knee brought a smile to her face just as JarDan returned with a huge tray.
“I hope you’re hungry. We seldom entertain guests so the cook has outdone himself.” He loaded the small table with bowls and platters of food that filled the room with delicious aromas.
She couldn’t remember the last meal she ate and her stomach rumbled in appreciation of the feast. Praying that the trembling in her hands was due to hunger and not a prelude to another shameful hot flash, Melodie attached her meal. She had almost finished her dinner when she knew her prayer went unanswered. Sensation replaced reason. Texture became as important as taste.
The casserole coated her tongue with the taste of nuts and as the approaching storm of physical reactions intensified, she craved more of the unusual flavor. With a soft sigh, she trailed her finger around the plate. Rubbing the creamy substance across her lips, she savored the feel of her fingertips before allowing her tongue to pull the thick liquid into her mouth.
A strangled cough from across the table momentarily brought her out of her stupor. “Are you okay?” She asked, blinking rapidly to clear her vision.
“Fine,” was the tight answer to her innocent question. “Just swallowed wrong. Would you care for more wine?”
He was already refilling her glass with the blood red liquid. Never having tasted alcohol of any kind, she found her first experience extraordinary.
“This is delicious,” she said, running her tongue around her lips. “Grandpa said wine and spirits would lead a man into sin. Sin tastes wonderful. Why did you mother call you Jar, Mr. Dan?” Melodie drained the wine from her glass, holding it out for another refill.
“What?” He choked again.
Shaking her head at his inattention, she smiled. “You said your name was Jar Dan but I think Jar is a little, you know … different. Is it a nickname … or something?” Her voice trailed off while she watched a lone drop of wine roll from his lip before he captured it with his napkin.
“My name is JarDan. J-A-R-D-A-N. All one word.” He carefully removed the wine glass from her hand. “I believe you’ve had enough of this. Are you ready for dessert?”
“Oh yes,” she whispered, nodding her head. Such a strange man, this JarDan. Drop dead gorgeous, sex appeal to die for, yet he made her feel comfortable. Not once during their quiet dinner did she feel she had to think of something to say. He seemed perfectly content with her silence.
The ripple of muscle in his arms and across his chest was a source of extreme fascination while he cleared the table. When he brought the dessert dishes to the table, Melodie found herself eye level with his hips and thighs. Held in the grip of overwhelming obsession, she started in awe at the evidence of his masculinity, moaning softly as it swelled beneath her gaze.
The dessert plate landed on the table with a thud. “We need to talk.”
“Wonderful! I’ve never had a conversation with a man as beautiful as you. Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t have said you were beautiful. I didn’t mean to imply you were effeminate or anything. Nobody can look like you do and not be one hundred percent male.”
“Will you eat your dessert and shut up.”
She didn’t understand why he sounded angry. She couldn’t remember doing anything wrong but it was just so hard to concentrate. The fire between her legs was making her squirm in the seat. She managed to get a little relief by pressing her legs together as tight as she could, but it didn’t last long.
“Melodie,” he began, “what I’m going to say will come as a shock to you. You may not believe me. All I ask is that you trust me … as you did in the storm. Will you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he breathed. “I’m the commander of a travel craft. A space ship, Melodie. My home is millions of miles from Earth. Do you understand?”
She must have given him the answer he wanted since he was talking again. Melodie watched as he stroked the moisture from the side of his wine glass, wiping the water droplets against his palm. What was he saying about a virus? Maybe he was a doctor after all? No. He said he was a space man, but that can’t be right. It was just so hard to think. Dragging her gaze away from the hypnotic motion of his hand, Melodie followed the sound of his voice right to its origin. His mouth was full and framed by deep dimples. What would those enticing indentations take like?
“Do you have any questions?”
Propping her elbow against the table and resting her chin in her palm, she studied him, drawing her brows together in fierce concentration.
“Do space men kiss like normal men?”
When the choking across the table started again, she raced around the table to pound him on the back.
“You should chew your food better. I don’t know the Heimlich maneuver and even if I did, I don’t think I could reach around that magnificent chest.”
Their eyes locked when JarDan captured her hands to stop the assault on his body. His gaze darkened with some emotion she couldn’t identify before he looked away. When he turned back, his voice was as unsteady as his hand.
“You better finish your dessert so I can get you back to your room while I’m still able.” He gently steered her back to her own chair.
“This dessert is a great favorite on my world but it takes a little practice to learn how to eat it without getting it all over you. Here, let me show you.”
He reached across the table and picked up one slender confection from her plate. Shaped like a melon wedge, it was dipped in chocolate and rolled in crushed nuts.
“The outside is a crisp pastry but there’s a liquid center so when you take a bite, be sure to suck at the same time.”
Melodie watched his hand move closer to her mouth. When he touched her lips with the strange dessert, she opened her mouth and took a bite, forgetting the juice. She watched in fascination as the golden liquid flowed down his fingers and pooled in his palm. When he would have withdrawn his hand, she grabbed his wrist, holding him captive. Seeking and finding his burning gaze, she lowered her mouth to the puddle of liquid cupped in his hand.
“It tastes like oranges,” she whispered. When there was no longer enough liquid to drink, she used her tongue to cleanse, taking each finger into her mouth.
With a fierce growl, JarDan shoved the table out of the way and pulled Melodie into his hot, throbbing embrace.
REMEMBER: For everyone who leaves a comment with their name and email address, they will be entered into a drawing for a copy of JarDan in the eBook format of their choice.
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