Q:
What super power did young Mike hope to wake up with one day?
A: Completely serious -- when I was
young, I would walk around and sometimes clench my fist, then imagine Wolverine
claws coming out from between my knuckles. I suppose that means that I hoped to
have Wolverine’s accelerated healing power that allows him to pop the claws
(depending on which version you’re looking at). As someone in his early 40s, I
would really appreciate that accelerated healing right now.
Q:
What super-characters influenced Zoe and Jamie's development? Are there
parallels you're hoping the audience will draw?
A: I wanted to riff off of the basic
tropes of someone with mental powers (Professor X) and someone with physical
powers (Superman). A lot of this book is based on existing comic book/superhero
tropes and turning them sideways, so it felt appropriate to have these two
common types of powers as ways to ground reader expectations. That way, when
you start to really get to know Zoe and Jamie, you realize that beneath the
traditional superhero/supervillain facade, there’s much more going on to their
characters.
I should also note that the name “Mind
Robber” is not my own. When I name characters in a book, I usually pick a theme
to riff on, because I am terrible about coming up with my own names. Zoe and
Jamie are from classic Doctor Who -- specifically, companions of the 2nd Doctor
(Patrick Troughton). And “The Mind Robber” is the name of an episode from that
era, though the eponymous villain has completely different abilities than
Jamie.
Q: What inspired you to write this story?
A: This book was originally based
on a short story called “Anonymous”, which I’d published in the summer of 2017
in Storyteller Magazine (which is now defunct). In that story, it was a version
of this book’s fifth chapter: Jamie and Zoe are arch-rivals similar to the
book, but it’s an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting rather than a memory loss
support group. The same themes inspired that story, which is essentially nature
vs. nurture and the roles society assigns us. When those are stripped away who
are we? Can people who were supposed to be enemies actually be friends?
When I expanded this to a full
book, I decided that I wanted to write a friendship story -- not romance. Zoe
is straight, Jamie is pansexual, so the potential is there. But there is a very
conscious internal moment for both of them where they each consider that
friendship is more fitting for them. I think as a culture, we don’t get enough
emphasis on the importance of friendship in stories, or the importance of trust
to maintain those friendships. I wanted to dive deep into that, but just with
superpowers!
Q: Describe your main characters in 3 words.
A: Jamie: Careful, fearful,
untrusting.
Zoe: Careless, impulsive,
untrusting.
This is why they’re such good
fodder for each other!
Q: What was the most challenging part when you wrote
this book?
A: Even though all sorts of
superhero shenanigans happen throughout the story, the heart of it lies in the
chemistry between Jamie and Zoe. As soon as they’re forced to work together,
their banter develops and it’s a very natural thing to write. I hit a certain
stride in drafting where their banter became completely natural and I could
basically put them in any situation and hear exactly how they’d interact.
Because of that, I actually wrote too much banter and I had to do an editing
pass to specifically cut dialogue. This is most significant in the second half
of the book where Jamie and Zoe are waiting high up in a tree for someone,
there was a whole beat where they’re just bantering about how ridiculous their
situation is. But it didn’t move the story along, so it had to go, regardless
of how fun it was.
Q: What was your most favorite part and why?
A: It’s hard to pick a favorite,
because it really comes down to the moments where Jamie and Zoe are bantering
with each other. If I have to pick a specific one, I think it’s probably a
quiet moment where Zoe and Jamie are planning on infiltrating a building after
a night of investigating. Jamie shows up with his plans ready to go and Zoe
arrives while completely ignoring their plans. It’s very representative of who
they are and how they work and just thinking about it makes me laugh even now.
Q: What's a typical writing day for you?
A: Before the pandemic, I’d write
before my daughter got up, take a break at my day job at some point to do some
light editing, then a little in the evening as well. When my daughter had a gym
class or playdate, I’d use that time as well, in addition to spurts using
Google Docs on my phone. Now, it’s a little more chaotic as we have to do home
kindergarten, so it’s basically anywhere I can, whenever I can. I’ve started
doing writing sprints of 15-30 minutes to try and work around fatigue and
schedule. So there’s no typical writing day anymore, and I imagine the next six
months will be this way.
There are a few silver linings,
though. The sprint method has actually really been a great new tool, and I’ve
found that in the stressors of 2020 and early 2021, writing is a wonderful
escape for my mind. So even though it’s chaotic, writing is one of the things
that’s keeping me going.
Q: Where do you like writing and why? Favorite snacks
and/or beverages? Music?
A: I like writing anywhere quiet.
Which can be anywhere, as I write on my phone regularly. But it’s often chaotic
with a 6-year-old around all day, every day. Two things that have helped with
this: 1) noise-cancelling headphones, which is a must-use with my daughter
around when I need to think creatively 2) going for walks with my phone
available. I find the natural rhythm of walking is very helpful, and when with
Google Docs on my phone, I can make a quick outline of notes when it comes to
me. I need all of this with quiet, or possibly soft instrumental music that I’m
not too familiar with (generic zen spa music). If I’m familiar with it, it takes
my train of thought, especially with lyrics despite being a huge indie rock
nerd.
However, there is one essential
and that is coffee. In WE COULD BE HEROES, Jamie’s obsession with coffee is
modeled after my own.
Q: What was your last 5-star read and why?
A: Since the pandemic, I haven’t
been able to read nearly as much as I want to (or watch movies or play video
games or work out). But I did squeeze in HENCH by Natalie Zina Walschots, which
is the other superhero book of the season. It’s a really clever take on the
sub-genre -- unique but completely different from my own. Natalie looks at the
destructive cost of superheroes through hard data, which is just a hilarious
concept and she executes it with brilliant characters. We’ve jokingly discussed
a crossover between our characters.
Q: How would your main character fare with a
stay-at-home order?
A: I actually think Jamie would be
totally fine with it. He’s a homebody anyways, so he’ll be staying at home with
his stack of books, his cat, and his cup of gourmet coffee. If he does rob a
bank during that time, it’d actually be easier because there will probably be
fewer people involved, and thus his goal of keeping people safe will be easier.
Zoe, I love her but she’s not
exactly the most careful type. I think she’d try, she’d really try to stay at
home but she’d probably get stir crazy. She would, however, be really busy with
her food delivery gigs, so she might be earning enough money to get a Netflix
subscription rather than just watching free public domain movies.
Q: What author or story inspired you growing up or
inspired you in some ways?
A: I read a lot of genre fiction
growing up, particularly space opera, gothic horror, and of course superhero
comic books. But I also read a lot of contemporary fiction, and I always found
myself drawn to books that highlighted interpersonal relationships with a
strong voice. That probably explains why Nick Hornby’s HIGH FIDELITY and ABOUT
A BOY were the first books that made me think “I’d like to try this.” In fact, I
signed my agent for my first book HERE AND NOW AND THEN with the pitch of “THE
TIME TRAVELER’S WIFE as written by Nick Hornby.”
Q: Is there anything you can tell us about the book
that is not a spoiler and not on the blurb? Something you'd like to share with
us?
A: Through a special program, some
book clubs were able to get advance copies of WE COULD BE HEROES. I was invited
to chat with a library’s book club in early January, and they admitted that
they typically read literary fiction and historical fiction. So this was out of
their comfort zone, but they universally enjoyed it and said they would be
recommending it to friends and family that don’t normally read science fiction.
So I think that even though this is a superhero book that riffs on some comic
book tropes, at its core it’s a story of unlikely friends that can appeal to
readers of any genre.
We
Could Be Heroes
Mike
Chen
On Sale Date: January 26, 2021
9780778331391
Hardcover
$27.99 USD, $34.99 CAD
336 pages
ABOUT
THE BOOK:
An emotional adventure about two misfits who
have extraordinary powers, but have forgotten who they were before. The
vigilante and the villain must team up to stop a mad scientist who threatens
the city, while trying to figure out who they really are.
Jamie woke up two years ago in an empty
apartment with no memory and only a few clues to who he might be, and also with
the power to read other people's memories. In the meantime, he's become the
Mind Robber, holding up banks for quick cash. Similarly, Zoe is searching for
her past, and using her new extraordinary abilities of speed and strength...to
deliver fast food. And occasionally beat up bad guys, if she feels like it.
When the two meet in a memory-loss support
group, they realize they are each other's best chance at discovering what
happened to them. The quest will take them deep into a medical conspiracy that
is threatening to spill out and wreak havoc on their city, and maybe the
country. As the two get past their respective barriers, they'll realize that
their friendship is the thing that gives them the greatest power.
BUY
LINKS:
Excerpt Sneak Peek:
Chapter 3
Jamie stopped, catching himself. He’d gone too far this
time. Close eyes, deep breaths, count to five, and then open eyes to see the
damage.
Damn
it. He’d really done it. He looked at the grout brush, then the lines between
the countertop’s tiles, then back at the brush. Yes, he’d gotten the coffee
stain out, but he’d also scrubbed too hard, wearing away some of the grout.
Twenty
minutes ago, he’d arrived home, throwing his cashfilled backpack on the futon
cushion. It landed with a thump, startling Normal out of her cat tuffet next to
the window. And though he stopped to give Normal a calming pet, his instincts
took over, starting with a meticulous cleaning of the litter box, then a
complete vacuum of the small apartment. Then organizing his stack of library
books into a preferred reading order, putting away the neatly folded clothes in
the laundry basket, cleaning the pour-over coffee carafe and kettle before
brewing a fresh cup. As it settled, he noticed some drips of coffee had
absorbed into the grout lines adjacent to his row of ceramic mugs, thus kicking
off his quest for a completely clean and reset kitchen. All of the fear and
concern and guilt from the day funneled into his end-to-end cleaning spree even
though it wasn’t Sunday, the day he typically reserved for getting his home in
order.
But
this. Flecks of dried grout stuck to the brush bristles, and Jamie squinted,
examining them as if he tried to break into the memory of the synthetic fibers.
He blinked when Normal mewed at him, snapping him back into the present. He had
to slow down. He had to regroup. He’d gone too far this time, and though the
counter looked clean, a closer examination showed a tiny degradation in the
grout.
Damn
it. Jamie blew out a sigh and surveyed the room.
So
neat. So organized. In fact, it was nearly identical to when he’d woken up
here, standing in the middle of a barely furnished apartment two years ago. On
that morning, he had blinked as he came to, his eyes adjusting from blurry to
focused, taking in the sun shining through the cheap tan drapes onto the futon
in the middle of the living space. Once he’d realized where he was, it had
dawned on him that he didn’t know who he was. He’d walked methodically through
the semifurnished apartment, looking for triggers. Coffee table, bread, water,
sink, bed, toothbrush. He knew what those were, their purpose, but none offered
clues about himself. Even the mirror produced zero recognition; he didn’t know
what history lay behind those eyes, what the story was behind the scar on his
palm.
So
neat. So organized. In fact, it was nearly identical to when he’d woken up
here, standing in the middle of a barely furnished apartment two years ago. On
that morning, he had blinked as he came to, his eyes adjusting from blurry to
focused, taking in the sun shining through the cheap tan drapes onto the futon
in the middle of the living space. Once he’d realized where he was, it had
dawned on him that he didn’t know who he was. He’d walked methodically through
the semifurnished apartment, looking for triggers. Coffee table, bread, water,
sink, bed, toothbrush. He knew what those were, their purpose, but none offered
clues about himself. Even the mirror produced zero recognition; he didn’t know
what history lay behind those eyes, what the story was behind the scar on his
palm.
And
now? What he wouldn’t give for that blissful ignorance, free from knowing that
the injured woman from today was all his fault.
How
could he have been so stupid, so reckless?
As with
each of his bank robberies, he’d taken his time, planned a strategy, even wrote
out his script beforehand and memorized it. He still lacked in execution, but
that was why he had checked out some acting books from the library. The whole
goal, the entire focus was to get in and out as quickly, as cleanly as
possible. That meant brain-stunning the people in the building in a very
specific order under a very specific time frame, all while cackling like a
cartoon character and reciting over-the-top lines in a not-quite-there American
accent.
If he
controlled the entire situation, then no one got hurt and he did his job.
Except
when one of them had a medical condition.
Jamie
cursed at himself, cursed his fake-it-till-you-make-it attitude, cursed the
whole damn situation. Not once, not a single time had he ever considered the
possibility of a medical issue.
He
finally broke, forcing himself to move. A click on the remote control brought
his small TV to life, flashing a news report about electrical surges throughout
the city before turning to the bank heist. His fingers fumbled to hit the power
button again, taking several tries before the screen thankfully went to black,
leaving only the sounds of a hungry cat meowing to remind him that he hadn’t
given her dinner or her nightly treat of coconut water yet. Jamie set the grout
brush in the sink, and obliged the demanding cat.
Seconds
later, the room filled with a content rumbling of purrs.
But
even Normal’s happy noises failed to remove the trauma of the day. The sound of
the woman’s head hitting the tile. The sight of the blood pooling. The
desperate cries of her coworker.
Don’t
think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it.
Onward.
Next task: the money. He grabbed the backpack and headed to the bedroom. The backpack’s
large top zipper got caught as he tugged on it, and the stress of the day
gnawed at his patience, skipping past his normal mode of meticulously fixing it
and jumping right to forcing it free. On the underside of the zipper, the
corner of a hundred-dollar bill clung in between the metal clasps.
Jamie
sighed, a sound soon mimicked by Normal yawning at his feet. “You have no
idea,” he told the cat before reaching in and starting his post-robbery sorting
process for cash.
A
buzzing sound rattled the room, causing a handful of loose coins on the end
table to dance; it broke his focus, jolting his shoulders and neck in surprise.
From the hallway, he heard Normal’s claws catch in the thin carpeting before
dashing off to find a hiding spot from the abrupt noise.
He
picked up the phone, heart pounding that it might be someone on his trail. But
a glance at his screen caused a sigh of relief. Reminder: Support Group. San
Delgado East Side YMCA. Six o’clock.
Right.
The weekly support group—more specifically, San Delgado Memory Loss &
Dementia Support Group.
Not
that Jamie cared about the giant gap in his personal life, the big cloud of
nothing stemming from the moment he awoke in this apartment all the way back
to, well, his birth. Something pulled him away from those thoughts whenever he
even approached the matter, like staring into a bright beam of light until the
intensity forced his eyes away. Every time. That avoidance happened so
frequently it felt instinctive at this point, skirting whatever that was and
whoever truly stood behind the impenetrable fog.
It
didn’t matter. No, the support group was for learning more about memory loss in
general, to guard himself from any further memories vanishing.
The
irony of the Mind Robber dealing with all that didn’t escape him.
He
resumed unloading the cash, first putting the stacks by denomination from left
to right, then counting and rubber-banding any loose ones complete with a
Post-it note with the total on each makeshift bundle. In the closet sat a
safe—something that had been absolutely terrible to get into his apartment. He
pulled off the blanket hiding it and turned the dial. Left with click click
clicks. Then right. Then left again.
It
opened up, revealing a larger version of the stacks assembled on his bed. Jamie
took new bundles, two at a time, and neatly set them in the appropriate spots,
making each tower of cash grow until the backpack and the bed were clear of
evidence. A notebook leaned on the cash; Jamie pulled it out and opened it to
the ledger he’d crafted, filling out the columns with the latest tally of
earnings, anticipated expenses, safety-net cash and overall savings.
At the
top of that column was a little drawing he’d made of a palm tree and a beach.
Based on today’s earnings, he was nearly 80 percent to his goal. Depending on
the size of each haul, a few more robberies—especially if he remembered to ask
for the stacks of hundreds specifically—would provide enough financial comfort
to retire on a tropical beach at a much lower cost of living. He’d read that
the coffee in the Caribbean was excellent.
A
comfortable permanence, as long as the Throwing Star didn’t track him down.
That further complicated things, and Jamie wondered if he’d jinxed it all by
invoking her during his bank performance. He gritted his teeth.
So
close to a fresh start. For him and Normal, and he wouldn’t let the Throwing
Star jeopardize that.
Normal
gave an urgent meow, which translated in cat speak to “Where is my bed?” Jamie
folded the blanket exactly and draped it over the safe, then put a small cat
tuffet back on top of it. A gray-and-orange blur zipped by, and in one leap,
landed on the tuffet, turning his trail of crime and/or source of income into
the world’s most valuable cat bed.
Jamie
exhaled, and his mattress bounced as he flopped on his back, eyes glued to the
ceiling but brain refusing to shut off. One blink and he saw the woman fall
again. Every time he closed his eyes, the image reappeared, except each
instance seemed to intensify in its color and sound, the sheer vibrancy of his
mind seemingly taunting him.
He
could lift the memory out. He’d done it before as an experiment, including
writing a note with steps and details as proof that he’d removed his immediate
recall of the moment. It left him with what he presumed to be the same nausea
that his victims experienced, and other than a few follow-up trials, he hadn’t
done it for any practical purpose.
A small
price to pay to be relieved of the guilt.
Jamie
raised his hand, this time pointed at himself, and he closed his eyes, digging
deep to flip through his own memories. Bright and fresh, full volume and
movement, no haziness or missing pockets of moments. One wipe and it’d be gone.
But
what would that make him? A possible murderer without a conscience? He treated
his villain persona and robberies as a job, an income. Not to hurt people, not
with malevolence or sociopathic apathy.
No.
This
memory had to stay.
Jamie
lowered his hand.
There
was a knock at the door, jolting him to his feet.
He
closed his eyes and stretched out with his mind, sensing the ghostly silhouette
of a single form at his door.
No one
ever came to his door.
“San
Delgado police. Is anyone home?”
The
very idea of having law enforcement at his door caused Jamie’s hands to tremble
and a thin layer of sweat to form on his forehead. He could brain-stun the
officer and run. He could dive into the officer’s memories, see what happened,
why he was here—maybe it was just a fundraiser for the Police Athletic League.
Another
knock rattled the door.
If he
brain-stunned the officer, that wouldn’t exactly be inconspicuous. You couldn’t
just leave gawking, unresponsive police on your doorstep. And the officer’s
location was probably tracked by SDPD, which meant that lifting memories and
sending him on his way would only lead to more trouble.
No, the
only way out of this was through it.
Jamie
took a deep breath, put on a baseball cap with a logo of the local San Delgado
Barons hockey team, then marched to the door. He opened it halfway to find the
very serious, very professional face of a plainclothes officer. Despite the
fact that he stood shorter than Jamie, his sturdy build made him far more
intimidating.
“May I
help you?” Jamie held the door ajar. “Sorry,” he said, native English accent in
full display, “I have a cat that tries to get out if I open the door all the
way.” As if on cue, mews came from behind him and Jamie scooped up the pudgy
feline. Mental note: she deserved extra coconut water tonight. “Be nice,
Normal.”
The detective
tilted his head at the name, then chuckled, sunlight gleaming off the light
brown skin of his shaven bald dome. “No problem. Sorry to bother you this
evening. Detective Patrick Chesterton. I’m the lead on the Mind Robber case.”
No
reaction rippled through Jamie. Which was probably a reaction in itself. He
waited, seconds stretching into vast chunks of time, and though he somehow
managed to keep a polite expression on his face, the pounding in his chest
might have given him away.
“We get
anonymous tips all the time about the Mind Robber. Some people even claim to be
him. But this one was very specific. And since we know he left on a train
heading eastbound about ninety minutes ago, I thought I’d check it out.” He
glanced over his shoulder, eyes tracking past the courtyard and toward the
parking lot. “Traffic is going to be hell getting back to the station.”
Jamie
told himself to laugh, though in a completely different way from the forced
maniacal display of the Mind Robber. Calm, quiet, a little nervous—the natural
kind of nervous anyone got when questioned by law enforcement. Normal must have
agreed, as she continued mewing in his arms.
“Well,
aren’t you a nice cat?” the detective said, his voice softening. He reached up
to pet Normal’s round head, but the cat replied with a hiss. Before Jamie could
stop her, she swatted at Chesterton. The cat kicked out of his arms, and Jamie
turned to see a streak of pudgy fur dashing for the bedroom.
“Oh,
I’m so—” Jamie stopped himself at the realization that the detective nursed a
fresh scratch across the knuckles.
If they
weren’t going to get him for being the Mind Robber, what about assault via cat
scratch?
“I’m
so, so sorry. Normal usually loves strangers.” That was a lie, or it might have
been a lie. Normal never met anyone, regular or stranger, so the sample size on
that remained small. “But she gets weird occasionally.” That part was true.
Jamie held up his hand, palm out. “See this scar across my palm? Normal got me
good one time.”
Flat-out
lie: Jamie had no idea where that scar came from, though whenever he focused on
it for too long, a strange mix of nausea and embarrassment would flood over
him.
“It’s
okay,” Chesterton said. “I had a cat growing up. They can be temperamental. I
should know better than to do that. Anyway, the tip said that someone who fit
the build and look of the Mind Robber was in this area. This block, actually.”
He looked Jamie up and down. If Jamie decided to risk it, he probably could
have poked into the detective’s memories and seen specifically what he was
thinking, even the source of the tip. “Have you seen anyone who fits that
profile?”
In the
courtyard, Jamie caught sight of the old couple across the way trying to get
their mini schnauzer puppy to obey commands. They looked over at Chesterton,
then Jamie, and Jamie offered a reassuring wave. Despite being a theoretical
villain, he still wanted to be a good neighbor. “I, um, actually don’t watch
the news much. I find it triggering.”
“Ah,
got it. He’s Caucasian. Around six feet tall. Thin build. Strong chin. That’s
about it, really, though. His hood and mask obscure everything else.”
“Well,”
Jamie said. A response came to mind, and he debated whether or not he was being
too clever. His arms extended and a wry smile came over his face a little too
easily. Maybe learning to play a villain had turned the gesture into muscle
memory. “That sounds like me.” The words came out smooth, just enough of a
joking lilt that they threaded the needle between bullshit and levity. It came naturally,
almost uncannily so.
For a
moment, nothing happened. Neither man blinked, and even Normal stayed quiet.
The only noise came from squeaking brakes as a car pulled into the adjacent
parking lot.
Then
the detective burst out laughing. “I like you,” he said, before reaching into
his back pocket. Jamie’s hand moved into position, a subtle gesture that only
he could detect should he need to brain-stun. His fingers raised ever so
slightly in preparation when a buzz in his back pocket caused both men to stand
at attention.
“Sorry,
just my reminder,” Jamie said after pulling out his phone. The device’s
blinking screen gave him an idea. “My weekly support group. I, uh, need to get
going.”
“Oh, of
course. Good for you,” he said. “It takes a strong person to seek out help.”
Jamie’s head bobbed at the compliment, and the detective finished reaching in
his back pocket. He held up a business card. “Do me a favor and call if you see
or hear anything that strikes you as suspicious. About him or the Throwing Star.
We’re no fan of vigilantes, extraordinary or not. You can’t just run around in
a suit beating up people. I don’t care if they’re good or bad. You know, if
either of them just called us first and said, ‘Hey, we’ve got these abilities,’
you can bet we’d have found a job for them.” Chesterton glanced at the cat
scratch on his hand before letting out a short laugh. “I heard she tripped in
the Metro station and let the Mind Robber get away,” he said with a headshake.
“I guess ‘extraordinary’ comes in many forms.”
All
forms. That skepticism, if not admirable, at least provided some cover.
“Right,” Jamie said, taking the card. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Even
if you hear anything about weird crimes in Hartnell City. Their PD asked us
about the Mind Robber. Guess they’re seeing some strange activity too.”
“Of
course, Detective.”
Jamie’s
exhale was nearly as loud as the slamming of the door. He’d never been that
close to getting caught before.
Who
could have possibly tipped the police? He’d wiped the memories of any OmegaCars
driver that took him close by, and even then, he’d always walked the last few
blocks, taking different routes each time. Could the Throwing Star have tracked
him? Possibly, but she seemed more like the “punch in the teeth” than “call the
cops” type.
Questions
circled as Jamie heard the roar of the detective’s car coming to life. Through
the blinds, Jamie watched a dark blue sedan pull halfway across the parking lot
before pausing for a handful of seconds and then finally rolling away. Chesterton
was gone for now, but if he suspected anything, the best course of action would
be for Jamie to act as any normal civilian would. In this case, it meant going
exactly where the detective expected him to be.
Normal
meowed a farewell as Jamie grabbed a jacket—not his black hoodie—and locked the
door behind him.
It was
almost time for the support group. Even if he didn’t want to go.
Excerpted from We Could Be
Heroes by Mike Chen, Copyright © 2021 by Mike
Chen. Published by MIRA Books.
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR:
Mike
Chen is a lifelong writer, from crafting fan fiction
as a child to somehow getting paid for words as an adult. He has contributed to
major geek websites (The Mary Sue, The Portalist, Tor) and covered the NHL for
mainstream media outlets. A member of SFWA and Codex Writers, Mike lives in the
Bay Area, where he can be found playing video games and watching Doctor Who
with his wife, daughter, and rescue animals. Follow him on Twitter and
Instagram: @mikechenwriter
SOCIAL
LINKS:
Author website: https://www.mikechenbooks.com/
Twitter: @mikechenwriter
Instagram: @mikechenwriter
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