NoNaAu

Well, it's two days to the end of the month and I will most definitely not finish writing my book by then. But I did get a fair amount accomplished. Both Bracken and Nyssa have names(thanks, GP and McB) as well as truly wicked reveals about Nea's parentage. That scene is a powerful turning point.

I've been going through scene-by-scene and expanding the notes and/or dialogue to actually flesh things out into a living entity of a manuscript. I'm pleased with my progress so far. Although the message I left on my own answering machine while I was walking to work needs some tweaking. It was a major breakthrough for Alex's motivation in the second half of the book. Yet another sagging plotline pulled taut by a long walk through town. Who knew I was exercising more than my legs?

Thanks to OH who started this whole NaAu writing challenge, I had a brilliant idea that played nicely off Arden's suggestion that I make each nymph's physical manifestation of meeting their soul mate as individual as they are. Again, it dovetails wonderfully with Bracken and Nyssa's personalities as well as revealing some more motivation, even if it is backstory.

I doubt these will be two-dimensional characters. But if they are, the fault lies with my ability to flesh them out, rather than the input I've received from all of you.

September doesn't involve as much craziness(that was a prayer, not a challenge to the gods) so I should be able to finish the last half of the book. I'm so excited about how it's coming along.

Wait 'til you read it.

PS Mary, Ky is much better now. He chased a raccoon over the back fence with his usual enthusiasm and energy. The raccoon is not as enthusiastic about Ky's return to health.

More characters

Help. I need the latin names of trees that grow around chestnuts. They will form the basis of several character names, both masculine and feminine, in sound as well as gender.

I had a male nymph step out of the shadows last night and whoa, is he hot! Phew! I think he's my next hero. He has plenty to say. Too bad I don't have time to listen to all of it. Man, does he have backstory. Unfortunately for the current story, he would like to kill my heroine. He's Nea's mother's current lover. Guardian. Protector. Nameless, as is the mother.

I'm going to have to dedicate this book to everyone who keeps doing my research for me. You all know who you are. I thank you sincerely. Getting up every night with a sick dog, repeatedly throughout the night, is killing more brain cells than I can spare. It's good to have people that fill in the gaps.

Whoosh

I'm a big fan of Douglas Adams, the brilliant author of the five part trilogy, The Hitch-hiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He also wrote the Dirk Gently Holistic Detective Agency, the third installment on which he was working when he died.

I've never been as quirky or original, but I do share one of his most infamous traits - procrastination. While he had it down to a science, I merely get caught up in research or other creative endeavors and lose track of time.

I am blessed with the ability to write just about anywhere;on the hood of the car at the drive-in, in the hospital waiting room,even the dentist's chair. It makes it harder to blow off deadlines.

But this month is hectic and while there's still time, sand is racing through the hourglass and crashing to the dunes below. I'll be shocked if I can finish this book while creating bracelets and a sculpture that have their own deadlines.

Fortunately the words of the incomparable Douglas Adams sustain me, "Deadlines.I love the whooshing sound they make as they go by."

NaAu

Our darling CB, orangehands, has declared August a novel writing month all on her own(hence the NaAu but I think it should be NoAu but will go with her acronym). She's going to write 100,000 words or 5 pages a day.

I like a good challenge but I'm not up to one like that. I'm going to a NASCAR race with my brother and nephew next weekend at Watkins Glen. I've picked up an extra shift a week with Science Diet, and I'm going to Dayton, Ohio at the end of the month for the Agnes and the Hitman book signing for Bob and Jenny.

It's not exactly my slowest month.

Thanks to last weekend's meeting with my witty and talented critique partners, I finally have a great working order for the pile of scenes that are sketched out. I was shocked to discover that I've actually written more than two-thirds of the book.

I'm going to a conference in New Jersey in October to pitch this book. It should be written and polished by then, don't you think? With that in mind, my goal for August is to finish writing Hell to Pay. Completely. From beginning to end, take out all the little notes and show instead of telling.

September will be the polishing month.

I'll keep you posted.

Margaritaville

Alex and Nea's father are in a bar having a few drinks and discussing how the demon can make amends for all of the evil he's wrought over time. As the scene has some other duties to perform, I'm fairly certain they will be there for awhile. These two are going to get skunk dead drunk.

I know what Alex is drinking. I want Pzuzu to try every weird concoction he's ever heard of, based solely on their names. I've got a rusty nail, tequila sunrise, slippery nipple, erotic dream, sex on the beach, and screaming orgasm(thank you Mary for the last two, although I must say thanking you publicly for such sounds, um, decidedly more interesting than it actually was).

I need some more. Please. Drinks for girly girls and manly men. What are fun sounding alcoholic beverages?

Ticking Clock

I decided that I need a ticking clock in this story. It's set over a four week period, actually a moon cycle. The goddess Inanna set the timeline and the challenge at the beginning of the book. Then I dropped her completely.

Last evening, I was staring at the ceiling, thinking hard about how to utilize Inanna and heighten the tension as the story advances. I'd just finished reading the latest Artemmis Fowl - The Lost Colony, in which the intrepid hero attempted to dismantle a bomb while the space/time continuum collapsed around him. That's a bit extreme for my story (extreme says the woman whose hero is fighting a demon on almost every page). Sunlight refracted through the window to play in the corner of the room. It was very pretty. Somehow it made me think of Alex's soul (I blame Harry Potter for that one).

The more I thought of it, the stronger the image grew of Alex's soul trapped in a clear sphere by Inanna and suspended in the corner of the room where he could watch its transformation. Once it reachs a certain stage, the demon will own his soul. I've been playing with it and really like the possibilities.

Originally it was a golden bird whose colours would fade, feathers drop and body shrink to a dried-out shell. But Alex is a creature of the water. He's not really a fish, he glides along the top rather than beneath the surface. I thought of a sea mammal but have yet to find the right one. I'm thinking something with long, colourful, fancy fins.

What kind of fish should his soul look like? If not a fish, which mammal is more at home in the sea than on the water? Giant river otters, while playful, are not dynamic enough in appearance for the visual I intended. It's not aquatic enough. Hmmm, maybe TFFKP could stand-in as Alex's soul. Tropical frogs are eye-popping in colour, especially the poisonous ones.

Suggestions?

Creativity comes in many forms

I rescued a tadpole a couple of days before my Indiana company arrived. I asked Katie, "the little artist" as my five year old niece Sarah called her, to name the tadpole/frog. On the long drive, the three of them named him The Frog formerly known as Prince. Katie was going to draw his symbol for me but she was busy drawing other things while she was here(two of which are framed in Canada)

The Frog formerly known as Prince(FFKP)loved to sit inside the orange and yellow lily on top of the pad in his little tank but he looked so lonely on the buffet beside the wine. To his credit, and my surprise, Bryan didn't make a single comment about which wine went better with frog's legs. Now that FFKP has moved over to Grover's tank, he's not as comfortable as he was. There's a big fish poking at him, trying to get him to play. I thought perhaps if he knew his roots, he'd gain confidence. So I drew a prototype for his unpronounceable name. I'm hoping Katie will embellish and add colour to my creative endeavour.


The lily shaped crown rests on the lily pad while the root trails through the water in an "F" shape. He can always rappel down the side if Grover gets too inquisitive for him.













Cathy and I are having an unrelated-to-writing discussion over on her blog where she invited me to guest post. Most of the discussion is happening in the comments. It would be interesting to have another Canadian chime in as I feel incredibly weird speaking for an entire nation. Thank you and have a nice day :)

Alex's view

I was running around Niagara Falls this past weekend. I tried to park as close to Alex's home as I could so that I could refresh my memory about background elements he deals with every day. It's vastly different in the summer from the winter but I snapped this picture quickly. I think he might launch his kayak from this spot.

It's hard to tell but the lip of the falls is right below the mist. The speed at which the river races towards the crest might be too quick for what I have in mind but it's fiction. I can manipulate the distance. But really thirty-seven degrees celcius is a far cry from the hypothermic conditions in which Alex is barely functioning. How do you empathize?

Inspiration

There are days when words rattle around in my brain. Great words, like lexicon and value, and zephyr, but they never connect into sentences. Or fit into the context of my story. My brain plays with those words, twists and distorts them beyond meaning and sound into a jumble.

Those are the days I play with the dog. I toss him a ball, sometimes a word, and he runs off to fetch it. He can play that game for hours. It frees me from the endless reptition of word-twisting.

Sometimes I play on other blogs. Dogs and Goddesses is my new favourite as it combines beloved authors with dogs, Mesopotamia and words. Jenny has spent an inordinate amount of time researching Mesopotamian dog art. Of course I had to go look for Ky after that. Sure enough, this is what I found.

My darling boy ready to pounce on all the recalcitrant words that I can't organize into any sensible order. Perhaps because the zephyr is actually a vortex.

Vortex

I was out with friends the other night, drinking beer by the pool and discussing the ill effects of overindulgence. Particularly "the spins". One of the girls wanted to know what caused the world to spin so dramatically, often violently. I tossed out the word vortex, not for any particularly scientific reason but because I liked its sound. Several were impressed with my word choice.

We decided it constituted my word count for the day. Not only did it have an x, one of the most difficult letters in the alphabet, but it also contained a z. It also conveys a maelstrom of activity that brilliantly sums up the last moments before one passes out.

The conversation continued to evolve about how many words vortex should count as in my writing journal. I was happy to let the silliness sweep us away from my genius. I didn't really have much to show lately for the time spent with my characters. One word was about the best I'd done in several days.

That one word swirled around in my head through the night.It churned through my dreams and woke me up to scribble down a scene. Not only that, the vortex sucked me deep into the perspective of our little weevil as well as Nea's father. It gave me a view I'd missed on different passes through some scenes.

It never ceases to amaze me the connections my brain can make, seemingly out of the blue, to writing. I have other words to toss onto the page. In the meantime, here's a photo that reminds me what winter feels like while I write in the summer. It was taken a few miles from Niagara Falls, and Alex's home base.

Right in Front of You

My friend and fellow CB, Jennifer Talty, is celebrating the release of her first book Right in Front of You. I had originally pledged to stand in Chapters and direct everyone over to Jen's book. Triskelion Publishing just recently reverted back to e-books only so I'm doing my bit to get the word out. Go. Download. Let Jen be your first (e-book that is)

Isn't that a gorgeous cover? I'm so thrilled for Jen.




Right In Front Of You:

Restless and bored, NYS Trooper Jared Blake accepts a transfer from his current position in Lake George. Jared lives on the edge and his present post just isn't cutting the mustard. Just when he thinks his life is as it should be, his long time friend is threatened by an unknown source. Jared has exactly two weeks to find out who is behind these threats. And in two weeks, he will lose his heart forever.

Ryan O'Connor has the world at her fingertips. She's strong, feisty and has everything she's ever wanted, except the right man. Jared represents everything Ryan doesn't want. He's controlling, overbearing and now he's moving. Having had a crush on him for years, Ryan decides to seduce Jared. What harm can it do? But when Ryan's life is on the line, she realizes Jared might not be perfect, but he's the perfect man for her.

Game Plan

I like to follow my muse and see where she leads me - to the statue of not-quite-Nea that I shared with you several moons ago, the article in the paper about the Toronto Power Generating Station, the trip to Clifton Hill and the weevils encased in acrylic - all the places that smite me with inspiration.

Planning things tends to interfere with that process. Or so I always thought. A few months ago, I wrote out a story outline. I broke the book down into four weeks and a list of elements that were going to change over that time period. Then I forgot about it and followed my muse around North America.

Now that summer and an extended work schedule are underway, I need to allot some dedicated writing time. It's too easy to just put that off like I do exercise(although, writing feeds my soul in a way nothing else does)when I'm exhausted.

I dug out the old outline and started to enter it into an Excel spreadsheet. (Thanks, Bryan for guiding me through that process so that I didn't lose another day)What did I discover? My muse and my outline have been working in tandem. The genesis of some things started with the chart, others with the muse but they've been helping me expand on all of it.

The blog has played a role as well. I've mentioned things here that are nowhere else in my documents, notes or charts. I've been able to come back and see what I can develop, what I can lose. Very good tool this blog. And I was worried it would steal valuable writing time.

Armed with all these tools,I'll be able to set reasonable deadlines - and more importantly - make them.

The book isn't done yet, thanks for asking, but it's much closer. I have a game plan.

Here's a photo for you to admire while I write. Alex can see this out his side window.

Deadlines

JoAnn Ross suggests that unpublished writers give themselves deadlines to write towards, and more importantly, keep. Not only will it prepare one for the demands of publication, it also helps keep the writing fresh. She writes every day and has done so since the beginning of her career when she was a working mom.

The last few weeks have been somewhat hectic for me and I've neglected to set some deadlines. Last week Dee challenged me to three days of exercise and one scene in a week. Considering I was in the midst of a long work spell with one day off in eleven days thanks to two jobs, it seemed unrealistic.

Here it is the night before my deadline expires. And I've written seven sentences. On the end of an existing scene. They're good sentences though. The dialogue came to me while I was walking home from work today(I like to multi-task). I should have stopped along the way to write it all down as it was coming pretty quick but it was so real, and a great tie-in to the early morning epiphany I had about Nea, that I wasn't concerned about losing any of it. Yeah, I know, but I did retain a fair portion.

It's tempting to stop where I am and wait for the rest of it to unfold. A lot of times the stuff I recapture is a murky imitation of the beauty that I let slip through my grasp. But the deadline looms.

And I know that the dialogue in this scene not only illuminates Nea's motivation;it reveals facets of Alex's personality that were somewhat unexpected. The plot is moving along. The characters are plunging ahead despite their reservations about their own behaviour. The conflict has taken a turn with Alex's reaction to Nea's pet bug.

Despite my inclination to call it a night and retreat into the book I'm reading - No Safe Place by JoAnn Ross - I'm going to wade back into the conversation between the characters I'm writing.

And make the all-important deadline. Because it prepares me for publication, keeps the story fresh in my mind, and gives me a success in a week full of perceived failure.

JoAnn Ross has written over ninety books following her own advice. She knows what she's talking about. Not to mention the woman knows her way around shoes. I'm gonna listen to her.

How are your deadlines coming along?

Update - who knows Morse code? It appears that Clio the chestnut weevil communicates by tapping out Morse code with her antennae. And of course, Alex knows some of that because...do we still use Morse code? This is why I shouldn't wait until the night before the deadline - a damn monkey wrench tossed in by a bug. Like there aren't enough kinks in this story. Not that kind of kink; plot twists, character turns. Sheesh. I'm not even going to ask about whether weevils can communicate. She's the pet of a demon. Clio can do whatever I, er, Nea, wants her to do.

Further Update - Thanks Me and McB. Morse Code is used far more in music than the average listener would imagine. Considering how much Alex moved as a child, and that his mother was musically gifted, I can use this. That would have been a cool way for him to communicate with his mother;something special only the two of them shared. That translator link was a lot of fun, perhaps too much.

Writing & travel

I thought of Alex and Nea on the 17 hour drive home from Memphis. Specifically, I thought about the fact that nothing about that trip triggered a single scene or idea for them. They are not Memphis characters. I thought they would be. The Blues City is hot, sexy and vibrant as well as steeped in history; all of which is true about both my hero and heroine.

As much as my characters think they live in the here and now, wring every ounce out of the moment; they are dragged down by the way things used to be. They are both desperate to return to a time that they understood, a life that required little of them.

Both Memphis and Niagara Falls are defined by the rivers that run along the shorelines on which they were founded. The former is slow and steamy, laid-back and ripe for savouring. The latter rushes and stumbles its way to a precipice that takes your breath away.

Last night I dreamt I had to go write a pivotal scene for Nea in which she struggles with the nymph she has become. That's all I remember but I think it's enough. Because nymphs are more at home along the banks of the Mississippi. It's the demon who enjoys being shoved headfirst over the edge of Niagara Falls.

I'm home. I know what to write. All is good.

What's sexy?

Everyone has a different idea of sexy, arousing, stimulating - take your pick.

I'm partial to a barefoot man, clad only in worn denim. His shirt, if he's wearing one, will be unbuttoned. But that's merely visual.

Alex's idea of sexy has as much to do with the scent of Nea's arousal; the sound of her uneven breathing; the taste of her. All of his senses are engaged.

Nea has always used sex as a tool; a means to an end. If you ask her, she has no idea what's sexy. Until she met Alex. There's something about the way he reacts to her that stimulates her. She doesn't understand it; doesn't understand him. It's the way he touches her; strokes her wings at the point between her shoulder blades. He doesn't mean to arouse her. He's offering comfort but it's that very act of putting her needs above his that she finds so sexy. Desirable. And incredibly arousing.

Sex is about so much more than the physical. This is a foreign concept to Nea but one that Alex is happy to help her explore; even though she terrifies him. That's sexy.

For OH

This is it. I'm done. I can't do the excerpt challenge any more. Stop shrieking. I have to write. I can't do that if I'm always trying to figure out what to put on the blog and what to save for myself. So while I was originally going to share what was written on the back of my shower wall - I have no idea why I get scene ideas when I'm in there - I decided I'd be able to hear the screaming all the way on the other side of two countries.

So here you go OH. I wrote this today. For you. Now go do your homework and let me write in peace. :sigh: it was worth a try.

With a dramatic crash the patio doors in his bedroom were flung open. Nea swept in with a blast of bitter wind and a swirl of leaves. Her hair and wings were tattered as if she'd been violently shaken. An unholy grin was lit from within.

"Good evening, Alex." She trailed a long nail up his thigh. "Are you ready to play?"

Every muscle clenched as he fought to keep blood flowing to his brain. "No, thanks."

"Really?" She leaned in, let her breath caress the sensitive skin beneath his ear. "I could help you relax."

He wasn’t some hormonal teenager she’d dragged off the street. He could resist her advances. She licked his ear.

Any second now.

A leaf fell from the demon’s hair and skittered across her breast. With her wicked tongue driving away coherent thought, he never would have noticed the leaf his gaze hadn’t been fixated on that tempting part of her anatomy.

The leaf gently undulated then reversed gravity to skitter back up Nea’s neck and tuck itself beneath her hair.

Alex eased away from her. Leaves didn’t skitter. But that one had. Twice.

“What the hell was that?”

Nea delved her fingers into her hair. Smiled, and withdrew her hand.

“That’s Clio.”

How he’d ever taken the ugly brown beetle for a leaf was beyond him. His only excuse was the distraction Nea herself had provided.

“You named it?”

She scowled at him. “Of course I named her. She’s been with me since I was a kid.”

A slender finger gently stroked the shiny brown carapace. The bug’s long nose was almost the length of its body and he watched in mingled fascination and revulsion as it burrowed into Nea’s hand. The affection between the two was out-of-character for the demon.

Tiny wings flicked. Nea inclined her head then it skittered up and disappeared beneath the fall of her hair.

A chill raised his skin as understanding dawned. “That bug lives in your hair?”

“Where else would she live?”

Naming characters

Sometimes a character shows up fully formed,complete with backstory and well-named. Others are less defined, especially secondary characters. You know the ones I mean, the guys who walk on, deliver some important information then exit stage left. They can't all be called stranger number three. Some of them are good friends. Or doctors. Doctors imparting earth-shattering, life-altering news.

Instead of writing that scene, I've been thinking about the doctor. What kind of man he is, where he comes from, how well he knows Alex. He's not a throwaway character. He has to know Alex well enough to anticipate his reaction to the doctor's dictates and demands. Alex is not going to accept the prognosis or prescription easily.

Alex has gone into this scene with a smile on his face. He's walking better, stepping lighter than he has since the accident. His morale is up. He has a game plan. You know he's not going to take it well when it's the opposite of the doctor's.

Remember the old Muppets character, Dr. Bob? He always made me laugh. Always. Alex is conditioned to smile the same as I am whenever he hears, "Paging Dr. Bob." Don't ask me why I still giggle all these years later. I simply do. Dr. Bob is Alex's specialist. He has to be a man that Alex respects enough to get past that lighthearted response. How many Bobs do I know? How many do I respect?

How important is the character's name to my interpretation of him? Fairly important because what Dr. Bob tells Alex is the first link in the chain reaction that has Alex seriously contemplate joining forces with Nea to become a demon.

The doctor's name? I'm sure some of you figured it out. Dr Bob Mayer. You know he's going to be tough, pull no punches and be absolutely correct in his advice, no matter how painful it is to implement. But you're also going to smile when you hear,"Paging Dr. Bob."

It might be awhile before you get to read it though. Because I'm mean that way.

Writing support

Writing has been called a solitary profession. All the words, ideas and characters live inside my head. No matter what kind of input or support surrounds me, it's up to my brain to transcribe my chaos and assemble it into an entertaining format.

There are a lot of days when that doesn't happen. Those are the days that I call my friends, email my writing buddies or read writing blogs. Some days I simply read. It's natural to compare myself to other people. As long as the competition is healthy, it drives me to improve my craft. It always inspires me to write faster, funnier, and with more heart.

There are days when I feel like I can't measure up. I am blown away on a regular basis by the talent of my writing friends. I occasionally threaten to burn my manuscript because there are only so many publishing slots and so many of my friends deserve it.

Then there are the kids, the next generation of writers, who have such enthusiasm for the written word that I have to suck up the insecurity. Some of them look to me for guidance. What kind of example would I be if I gave up when the writing got hard? Finishing the first book is the most difficult. Once you have that confidence under your belt, it becomes easier.

Oh, who am I kidding? Each book presents its own set of challenges - and rewards. Support from other writers, from potential readers,and from people I respect, is what keep me scribbling on the back of my shower wall, sitting up in the middle of the night to jot down ideas or recording snippets of dialogue.

Thank you. Here is a tiny excerpt for those of you :ahem CBs: who have asked so nicely. I have little idea where, if anywhere, it's going.

He had strong hands; wide, blunt-fingered and calloused. They were the kind of hands that would be equally capable of gripping the fraying knot-end of a zip line or stroking the soft underside of a woman's breast. They were the hands of her next victim.

I told you it was short.

An excerpt for Mary

The rest of you look away :-)
This scene has been permanently deleted for several reasons 1)Alex is physically injured and therefore incapable of this kind of activity 2)Nea doesn't walk away 3)I wrote this scene seven years ago when Alex was going to save the world, a quest I've since given to his sister. But I like it. I like this version of Alex. Alex before his sister's heroics made him feel insignificant. Alex before the accident. The carefree, laid-back Alex who lived each moment fully. This is backstory Alex.
Enjoy him.


The steady phwap, phwap, phwap of the helicopter blades usually drowned out the sound of Alex’s heartbeat as he prepared to jump out of the chopper. Not today. He stared down at the snow covered mountain top and wondered what was different.

Ice cold fingers of the altitude tugged at his wind suit while he braced himself in the open doorway. He watched the ground rush past 10,000 feet below. Overwhelmed by the erratic rhythm of his heart, Alex welcomed the rush of adrenaline like the lover’s caress it had always been.

He shook off the aberrant thought and focused instead on the task ahead. With precise movements, he went over the safety measures vital for a drop like this one. He had packed both the main chute and the auxiliary himself. He checked his bootstraps, helmet strap and snapped the goggles into place.

Once he shoved off there would be nothing between him and the mountain but air. The perfect moment in time. He reveled in it, fed off it, craved that moment like he craved nothing else in life. He nodded to the spotter and let go.

Air raced past him with a loud swoosh.

He screamed out a war cry and stood tall on his snowboard.

He curled his body around the wood and rolled with it through the air.

He’d been doing this for years. Jumping out of planes, careening over cliffs, surfing through walls of water to come through triumphant over nature at its most primitive.

Alex let loose with another whoop but it contained little of the fervor of the first. Something was missing.

He executed a brilliant back flip.

No one cheered.

No one grinned back at him.

No one returned his victory salute.

Freefalling through the sky, Alex had his moment of truth.

And it was nothing like it usually was.

His heart still raced, his breath still caught in a combination of awe and ball busting fear but it had little to do with the loss of control skydiving gave him.
There was none of the exhilaration he’d felt in a different moment.

A clearer moment.

He pulled the ripcord and ended his wild ride.

He didn’t want silence, didn’t want to be alone.

All the excitement Alex craved had walked out of his life two days ago.

Writing - not as easy as it looks

Thanks to everyone who had a comment on my last post. It's been a conundrum. Apparently, I had discussed the concerns about Alex's growth and motivation at great length with my critique partner. Once I finished inputting the notes, I realized we had dealt with his issues quite well.

While I was out shopping with my sixteen year old nephew tonight I found a weevil pendant. I have no intention of wearing the real bug encased in acrylic but it did remind me of Nea's pet - which in turn reminded me of the incident that shoved Nea out of the grove, the nymph world and away from her mother. There is some really heavy stuff in that moment and the weevil is a constant reminder of her mother's betrayal. Ultimately, the poor little weevil will also be proof of her father's true demonic nature. So it all works.

As soon as I have it finished, I'll post an excerpt for Mary(the rest of you can read it too :D ) It involves a tornado, a trailer park and a few unfortunate - wait, I can't tell you that it will spoil the surprise. It's nasty, but understandable. Isn't that what you said? You would forgive her anything if you could identify with her? Oh, I hope so. Cause this whole writing thing is no where near as easy as Bryan makes it look with his whole oh-I-just-thought-of-this-and-posted-it-without-reading-it-through posts. Yeah, I'm bitter. I'll simply channel it into Nea's character.