So looking forward to the RAW 2009 event happening at the end of this month. This is my second year in attendance (as a reader, not a writer . . . but maybe someday) and I’m looking forward to reconnection with old friends and making new ones. And buying books. Because who am I kidding. A Reader’s Appreciation Week without books is like a movie without Johnny Depp.

Summer got away from me, as it has a tendency to do. I woke up yesterday morning with chilled feet for the first time, and tromped downstairs to the bathroom thinking about how summer is now officially over.  September has given us glorious blue skies and that strange golden sheen on the leaves that makes everything look like its made out of spun glass, but like it or not, that just means things are going to get colder from here on out. I. hate. the. cold. *Grumps*

Work has been going well on the book. I’m having a few problems with figuring out how I want the next section to flow. Other than that, I’ve been astonishingly productive for this time of year, and hope the trend holds up. Nothing like finishing the daily wordcount with a huge buffer on the end to make one feel awesome.

So this is more or less a snippet of what’s been going on in my hectic whirlwind life *grins* and I hope the next time I check in, I’ll have something interesting or at least embarrassing to report. I usually get smashed at RAW (something about people thinking getting the cute redhead drunk is fun) so I’ll probably have something to lament when I get back.

If I can remember it.

I recently finished a book by an author I’m not going to name. She has a huge fan base, which obviously means her books appeal to someone, and what I have to say is just my opinion, based on my own very subjective tastes.

First, urban fantasy is my favorite genre right now, but paranormal romance is a very close second. A lot of what’s out there isn’t your mother’s Harlequins (not that there aren’t a few of those stashed in my closet either). Strong heroines, hard-ass baddies, heroes that can be just as much a monster as the bad guy, and problems that don’t go away with the wave of a fairy wand. They’re all there now.

But, unfortunately, for every good paranormal romance, there seems to be another one that takes every one of those hammered-flat clichés and runs with it. Hackneyed heroes, too-stupid-to-live heroines, bad guys that aren’t, vapid misunderstandings . . . I could go on for another ten pages. I hate that, because those clichés are what gives paranormal romance such a bad image.

I’ve read a previous book of this author before, and while it was cute, it really didn’t make me sit up and say, “Wow, I’m glad I just spent three days on that!” It wasn’t a bad book, just a lot of ‘meh’. I don’t have a lot of free time (as I imagine most of the world doesn’t) and really want the time I spend with my books to be special. I could be watching a Johnny Depp movie, after all.

I prefer my urban fantasy on the darker side. Hard questions, no easy answers, characters you love to hate, antiheroes and heroines, that’s what I enjoy. I knew this author wrote more toward the fluff side, but I do enjoy fluff from time to time. However, a book reviewer said this new series had branched to the darker side. I was interested in seeing how this author handled merging these two styles. And, I’ll admit, I was sucked in by the cover. This author has the best damned cover artists of anyone else out there. I don’t know who they are, but when my book goes up to bat, I hope the cover gods see fit to slide my book into their pile.

The book had an interesting, if well-trod premise. A vampire is on the loose, and other vampires have to bring him to justice before his rampage causes all of them to be discovered. The heroine and hero have to work together to stop this rampage, with all the problems one might think of when dating a creature of the night, coming to the fore.

I knew something was wrong when I was seventy pages in and still waiting for something to happen. I mean, the story was well written, I’ll give the author that, and that’s what kept me reading to see what would happen when things finally did pick up.

But they never picked up. I kept waiting for something to happen, but the character seemed to amble around with no real sense of urgency, or even concern. I know this is a paranormal romance, which means the romance takes the front seat and the mystery is the spice, but it’s hard to care about the crisis that drew these characters together when even they don’t care.

And that bring us to the characters themselves.

The Hero and Heroine were supposed to be hard-core professionals, an enforcer and a lawyer respectively, but I just couldn’t buy it. I know people goof off when they’re not on the clock, and my friends and I carried on like the characters in this book when we had our cheesecake/margarita parties in college. When I was in my late teens/early twenties. I hope law firms aren’t hiring kids that young to be lawyers these days, that’s all I can say.

The hunters weren’t much better. Maybe it comes from having police and law enforcement officials in the family, but I hope they take their jobs a little more seriously than the hunters in this book. For a vampire-run-amuck story, no one seemed to be concerned that, well, there was a vampire running amuck. I wasn’t very impressed with their deductive reasoning skills, either. I guessed the villain before he even made an appearance in the book. From a one-off line, I guessed it. Once again, I know that this is a romance first and foremost, but a little effort in developing the bad guy wouldn’t harm a thing.

That brings me to the biggest problem I had with the story itself. After two hundred and fifty pages of waiting for Hero and Heroine to face the big bad Baddie and stop the evil vampire from hurting others, it turned out that (SPOILERS for anyone who might have guessed the book I’m talking about) it was all a misunderstanding. There was no Big Bad Vampire. It was all just a misunderstanding and everyone just went home. (End SPOILERS)

What. The. Hell? I spend three days on this book when I should be working on MY book, and THAT’S the twist? I apologize for the caps, but that’s better than the two a.m. “What the freaking hell?” shout that rattled the pictures on my roommates’ walls. I even woke the dog.

Anyone keeping up with this blog has already read the post I made about Villains. You should know my feelings on this subject.

This just left me so unsatisfied. Every problem in the story was so simple to solve. Ultimately, there were no stakes, no real danger to anyone, and yes, of course the Hero and Heroine got to shag like bunnies. If you consider that a spoiler, you definitely need to read more. At the end, I felt like I’d been conned. The author promised something, and she didn’t deliver.

That’s the worst thing a writer can do. Not deliver. Like I said above, there are plenty of people who are going to love this book, and I’m obviously not the target reader. Maybe the fault lies more with me, since I picked this book knowing the author’s style, and yet still expected it to deliver the kind of story I enjoy.

But forget the urban fantasy part. Even as a romance, it just didn’t feel right to me. The Hero and Heroine spent all their time angsting like teenagers, not like adults. Or thousand year old vampires, in the Hero’s case. I certainly hope to God someone who’s been around the block that many times would have a little more maturity than the average horny teenage boy.

This one just didn’t do it for me. I felt there was so much the author ignored that could have made this a powerful story, more than a piece of fluff.

If nothing else, it’s inspired me to back through my own writing to make sure I’m not letting my own characters off too easy. Or letting them act like teenagers.

I love to read. I have a large pile of clothes in my floor, consigned to their fate there because I needed more space for books. I read a little of everything, nonfiction bring my favorite, but of fiction, I think urban fantasy is my favorite genre right now. The Harry Dresden series by Jim Butcher is my ongoing favorite. I was lucky enough meet Mr. Butcher at a book signing in Lexington, KY. He was a wonderful speaker, gracious and generous with all the questions, most of which he’s no doubt heard a hundred thousand times by now. He took the time to sign every single book, even after the bookstore had closed for the night, and never faltered in his friendly attitude. He even posed for a picture with yours truly. Once I get the pictures back from the developer (dingbat forgot to take her spiffy expensive digital camera and had to make due with a disposable one) I’ll post them here if my hair isn’t too heinous. Humidity and flaming red curly hair doesn’t mix well, and I refuse to look like Bozo any more than I can help.

Getting back to the point of the story, I hope I’m as cool as Jim Butcher once I get my book published and go on tour. He’s definitely a cool guy. Take the time to stop by his book signings if you can, and pick up the Harry Dresden books. You won’t be disappointed if you like your paranormal with a side of Sam Slade.

Ha! I told you I’d get around to writing something not about music!

I spent a wonderful past Wednesday with friends back in the Tri-Cities. I went to finish a project I can’t talk about yet. Hopefully I’ll be able to fill in the details for the three people who actually read this blog sometime in the near future.

If you’re ever in eastern Tennessee or thereabouts, I highly recommend stopping by Bays Mountain Park http://www.baysmountain.com/ for an afternoon. They have barge rides, camping areas, a wonderful tourist center, plus a brand new Planetarium you just have to see to believe. For less than you would pay for a burger, you can spend a wonderful half-hour learning all about the cosmos on a dome projection screen that puts you right in the middle of outer space. How realistic is it? I got motion sickness and nearly barfed all over the new carpet. But it was totally worth it, and yes, I’m going again as soon as I get back down there. I’m just going to take a Dramamine next time.

Bays Mountain also has a nature center and programs designed to introduce people to nature. They have bobcats, raccoons, a raptor center, wild deer, and wolves. If you don’t see anything else, definitely stop by the wolf pens and say hello. They have eight wolves and each one is gorgeous. Lucky me, I was fortunate enough to get the chance to help the keepers feed the wolves (a special treat) and I’ve never had more fun sticking my hands into squishy, bloody meat. Just grab a handful and toss it over the fence, and the wolves jump and beg like dogs. Like big, happy, hairy dogs big enough to ride like horses. But I wouldn’t advise it.

I’d never been fortunate enough to see a wild wolf before, but here you can get close enough to look into their eyes. Until you’ve done that, you have no idea what it means to be a part of nature. Their eyes gleam like moonlight, and there’s something so intelligent and alien there, it’s indescribable.

The herpetarium has plenty of snakes and reptiles for those of you who like creatures of the slippery, scaly variety. If you’re lucky, you may get the chance to meet Daisy the possum. She was hand-raised from a baby by one of the park employees, and loves attention. And marshmallows.

This only touches on everything Bays Mountain park has to offer. Hiking trails, lakes, rivers, wildlife. It’s all there. Just be respectful of nature and you’ll be welcome.

I spent most of my day there, finishing up the super-mysterious top-secret project, and then went out to dinner with what ended up being a truckload of friends. Mexican food has never tasted so good. Thank you La Carreta on Kingsport’s Stone Drive. Wonderful service, wonderful food.

I didn’t get home until after two that morning, and the drive back nearly killed me. It was totally worth it.

Plus, spending a day out in nature, away from home and work, put my mind in a place where it was happy to play. And play always means good ideas. Good ideas mean new stories, and yes, I’m working on yet another story. I couldn’t be happier.

Again with the music thing. I know, eventually I’m gonna get back to the writing thing, I swear. But I read this on www.Evilbeet.com and it pretty much ruined my day.

Dan Seals, of England Dan and John Ford Coley fame, passed away today at the age of 61 from complications with lymphoma. He was a talented musician and one I’ve loved since I was little and first heard him as a country musician. Bop is one of my all time favorites, a cute, fun little song, and the video is also adorable. I recommend hitting up Youtube to see if you can find it.

Everything that Glitters (is not Gold) chokes me up still when I listen to it. And I’m listening to Nights are Forever (Without You) as I type this. His soft, mellow voice conveys so much more than one would think, yearning and gentleness that’s cosmic in its reach. I have a soft spot for the seventies sound, being brought up mostly on that, but his music sounds just as fresh today as it did the first time I heard it.

So, to all his friends and family, I offer my condolences and my sincere appreciation to someone who followed his dream and gave so much to the world through his music.

Rage on, my friend.

Yes, its another song title. You’ll come to find that music has a big impact on me and the way I write. It’s been an important part of my creativity since the beginning. Movies I could mostly take or leave, but music always opened doors to me that an otherwise isolated childhood would have kept closed. My record player, and then cassette player, were my most prized of possessions, next to crayons and paper. CDs were the greatest of the great inventions, forget the wheel. No longer did I have to worry about wearing out the tapes or scratching fragile vinyl.

I’m a music snob, self-admitted and unapologetic. Not the snob in the sense of one certain genre or artist being greater than another, through I can be insufferable at times in that regard. No, I’m a snob in regards to whether music feels honest and real to me. Modern music, not so much. Canned and processed within an inch of its life, it will do what it needs to do, namely sell and make money, but as far as nourishing the soul, it leaves me as flat and unsatisfied as a can of Spam.

I am a fan of the classics. I’m an Elvis fan, for sure. I grew up on mostly blue collar rock and hard country, with some hard bitchin’ rock to counterbalance that. Eagles, Alice Cooper, Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen, John “Cougar” Mellencamp, those were the voices I heard. American Fool was one of the first albums I could sing all the way through. Jack and Diane still mean as much to me as it did when I was little, maybe more now that I’ve gotten some of the distance and perspective to appreciate lost time. Pink Houses chokes me up every time, and if you happen to pass me driving down the road, belting out something at the top of my lungs, it’s probably that song. It just gets me.

As I grew older, I found opera and classical music. It’s not my cup of tea all the time, but when I’m in the mood for it, nothing else will do. Once I got to college I opened the door to alternative, country and rock, and all for the better. I discovered a great band, now sadly broken up, The Tea Party. Their sound was an amalgamation of Eastern and Western influences, melding them together into something wonderfully unique. The Tea Party got me through the hardest parts of college, and for that I could never thank them enough. Triptych is an album I recommend to anyone and everyone I know.

Each of these genres and the artists in them have helped shape the writer I am. Country music (I’m talking the old stuff. Real country, not this sappy pop-rock American Idol b.s they’re shilling as country now) is exceptionally good at storytelling. Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash are my favorites in this genre. And yes, I was a fan of Cash before being a fan of Cash was cool. Eat it, hipsters. Ahem.

Waylon Jennings music has that ballsy, bluesy edge to it, just angry enough, just wistful enough, to draw you into the tale he’s telling, leaving you wanting more and satisfied all the same. It doesn’t hurt that he’s got a wonderful voice and knows how to use it. Cash has more of an epic feel to his music, like he’s reaching out beyond the dust and grit into the larger unknown.  Writers should take lessons from both these guys. They know how to tell a story.

Where am I going with this? Not really sure. I’m feeling a little nostalgic tonight, so I’ve dragged out a lot of the old tunes to see what memories and stories they conjured for me. People divine in various ways. Tea leaves, coffee grounds, rune stones: it literally runs the gamut. Me, I conjure with music. I throw in a CD and see what kind of story comes out of the feeling the music makes in me. They don’t always make sense. I’ve written gunfights to Celine Dion, so I don’t have a clue how my subconscious works. As long as it does the job, I don’t feel the need to break the machine apart to find out how the gears are put together.

By the way, the song Seven Turns? It’s by the Allman Brothers Band. If I had to pick a song out of any I know that fits where I am in life right now, its has to be Seven Turns. I’d love to quote some lyrics to you, but I don’t have permission, so the next best thing you can do is find a copy of this song and listen to it. It might not do it for you, but no matter how blue or bummed I feel, I can put this song on and it helps me get a little perspective on where I am. Then I can get my head back to work on the books, because that’s where I am.

I’m paraphrasing here, so don’t pelt me with rocks if I get this wrong, but I think it was Gustav Flaubert who said “Live you life as a bourgeouise so that you may write like a madman.” I’ve always liked that quote, because I’ve found it more or less to be true. My life has never been what one would describe as “sedate”, but the less outward stress I have, the more creative I tend to be. I think focusing all one’s creative energy on solving real life crises takes away from what you can put on the page for your imaginary friends.

Let me tell you. In the last couple of months, I haven’t had a lot to spare for the page. I’m glad this year is over. I’m not going to bitch about all the badness, that’s not what this blog is for. This is mostly just a year-end wrap up, so hopefully next time I check in, I can see how well things have progressed.

Like that optimism, do ya?

An illness in the family has forced me to move back home to be closer to my family. Which means I’m giving up my first apartment. My very first all on my own apartment. And I hate that. I really love that place. It was the first space I had that was truly all mine, that I could leave as pigpenny or clean as I wanted. I had all my junk spread out the way I wanted it, decorated it with all my pictures and whatknots, and made my own. I’m not looking forward to boxing all that crap up again and driving it across two states, but you do what you have to do. Family always comes first. I’m hoping it will be only a temporary arrangement, that by summer I’ll be back in my own digs again, but I don’t feel very confident about that.

On the upside, I finally got another job after two months of unemployment. The job was literally an out of the blue, right place right time thing, and the money was good, so I pounced. Now maybe I can get out from under that mountain of debt I’ve tunneled into. That will do a lot to get rid of that burden on my creative thinking. You get pretty damn creative when you’ve got creditors calling you at all hours of the day.

If moving back in with the family doesn’t drive me over the edge, if I can pay off my debts, if I can just hang in there, baby, by this summer I might be a published author. Regardless, I will always be a writer. I write, publishing be damned, because I love it and it keeps me sane. A friend once asked me what I would do if the book I was working on never got published. I told her that I would just put it in a shoebox and move on to another one. It’s all I can do.

I’ll leave on a positive note here by listing things I’m thankful for. It’s cliche, but sometimes I think its a good idea to take inventory.

Things I’m Thankful for:

• good friends
• my dog
• a car that runs and has heat most of the time
• two hands and ten fingers for typing
• a home (and all the things that go with it, like food and warmth)
• a job
• a new beginning, again

That being said, I hope the New Year is a new wonderful beginning for everyone.

I’d planned to write a huge blog for Halloween, seeing as its my favorite holiday (free candy and dressing like monsters. Monsters who gorge on free candy.) but that came and went in a sugar coma, and I find myself in the middle of November wondering where the hell the rest of the month went. The trees have finally shed most of their leaves, and a thick morning fog winds through the mountains. It’s a nice, cozy scene to wake up to, one I that find stokes my creativity. As I knew it would. As much as I love early autumn, with its explosion of colors, sweet woodland smells, and Halloween itself, I think it just overstimulates my mind. I need the cold November nights (hah, you thought I was going to say rain, didn’t you?) to give me a chance to filter everything through.

And with that comes good news. The 350 page novel I trashed may be salvageable. I’ve given it another looky-loo, and I think I can rework it into something I can finish. It requires killing a bunch of subplots, axing several of my favorite characters, and worst of all, throwing out my favorite conversation between two certain characters, but all in all, I think I can make it work. It’s worth another shot, definitely, so I’m cutting everything that needs to go away and saving it in a file that I might go back to later. I’m sure I could rework a lot of it into later stories, so I’m going to hang onto it. Just in case.

I’m also writing a story for NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month to those who think I just passed out and mashed various keys on the keyboard with my forehead. It’s a neat thing to do, writing a 50,000 word novel in a month. I’ve competed in it for the last three years, but only finished it once. But still, it’s fun and I usually end up with something I can work on later. I highly recommend it to anyone who would like to try writing a novel. You can just dive in without worrying about whether the novel is good or great literature, or what have you. The goal is the word count, and it can be a liberating thing for someone who gets hung up on getting it right, as opposed to getting it down. You can always make it better, but you can’t improve on something you never write. I can’t tell you how many times I had to tell myself that. Still have to tell myself that, actually, though not as much as I used to.

Well, I’m heading back to work. Gotta get those words down.

Another country music song title, this time by the talented and awesome Tanya Tucker. And it fits my mood tonight. Its been a week of ups and downs, and I’m trying to focus on the ups. One of my best friends recently came back from her tour of duty. (Hug a veteran or soldier today. Seriously. Do it. No matter what you think about the current war, respect the soldiers. These people deserve it.) So that’s a definite up. As soon as she gets back from family time, she and I are going to have a lot of catching up to do. She’s been gone for seven months, and I can honestly say I’ve been about to lose my mind because of it. She’s helped me through so much, personal and professional, and she keeps me grounded and boosts my ego when I need it. And trust me, as a writer, your ego can gather a lot of shoeprints on its backside.

I’ve gotten back another batch of rejection letters, which sucks, but I’ve gotten some personalized letters, which is a boost. It means I’m doing something sort of right. I’m going to dive back into my synopsis and sample chapters and see if there’s anything I can do to spruce them up. I’ve spoken to several authors who hate the synopsis/query part of writing more than any other part. Don’t know why, since they’re the shortest part of the book. I think that in and of itself might be the problem, at least for me. I tend to be a long-winded storyteller (it’s a southern thing) and I have a difficult time condensing my ideas. Why say it in five words when you can throw a couple of subjunctive clauses and prepositional phrases in just for the hell of it? My writing group is helping me with it, pointing out my repetitions and helping me be more succinct, but sometimes it feels like someone is taking a file to my teeth- it grates me that hard. I write very stream of consciousness, and spend more time refining my thoughts than getting them on paper. I like to tell people I’m not so much a writer as a rewriter. I may have mentioned that once already, though.

Another up: I’ve started another story, which I’m having fun with. Its a paranormal erotica, quite a departure from the stuff I usually write. I like urban fantasy and mysteries best, blame Poe for it, and even though I have some romance in most of my stuff, it tends to be spice to the stew, not the stock. This time, though, I decided to write a full-on erotic romance. With paranormal overtones, of course. Got to have something of a safety line there. Still, I’m having fun with it, and right now, I could use a little fun. Especially since I just trashed 350 pages of a novel I’ve been working on for over a year now.

I’ve known the novel was in trouble for a while now but, like a bad relationship, I just refused to give up on it. I thought there might be something in it I could salvage, that I could somehow make work. Then, last night, I realized that I’d been working on this novel for over a year and a half, and I was still tweaking Chapter freaking One. I should be to the point where I have to go back and reread the chapter just so I can remember what I’ve written, not still be writing the damned thing. Its my fault, though. I got in a rush with it, and then panicked when I realized how boring it was. I went back and tried to shoehorn a bunch of things in to make the story more interesting. The result? I lost control of the whole thing. My main character is lost in the maisma of secondary characters, my plot is completely gone, and I have no idea even how to begin to salvage it. So I chucked everything into my dump file, to possibly salvage later, opened up a new word.doc file, and started at page 1 again. But I’m going to let the story rest for a while before I start again. I’m going to finish the erotica novel, and maybe dive into NANOWRIMO again this November before I start again on this novel. I want some time apart so I can fall in love with it all over again.

I have the hardest time reminding myself that this job is supposed to be fun. If I’m not having fun while I’m writing, then I’m not going to finish the book. It’s that simple. I can’t count how many projects I’ve thrown down because I got so bogged down in getting them finished that I forgot to have fun with them. And I’ll be honest here. When I stop having fun with the book, that’s when they start sucking. Like bilge-water sucking.

So like I said, its been ups and downs this week. Autumn tends to be the roughest time for me as a writer. It’s the most fertile time for my imagination, but my restless nature tends to take over and I have a difficult time buckling down to one thing and sticking with it. I thought for a while that it was just because I was used to the upheaval of getting ready for another school year, but since I’ve been out of school for quite some time now, I don’t think that’s it. I think its something deeper than that, but darned if I know what.

So, in any case, I am working on something. I usually need a couple of projects to keep me happy. I work much better if I have a couple of balls in the air than if I’m just working on one thing. I’ll just ride it out. It’s all I can do at this point, honestly.

By the way, does anyone have any good music to recommend? All the bands I listen to have either gone on hiatus or broken up, and I am in desperate need of some good toonage. I like just about everything, so any suggestions are welcome.

I survived West Virginia, and had a blast. I got to spend some time with both old and new friends, drank more than I should have, and bought more books than I’ll ever have time to read. But I couldn’t have enjoyed three days more if they’d involved a secluded beach and a cabana boy.

It’s the only vacation I’ve had this year, and between working and throwing my book at anyone who’ll read it, I think I deserved a little R&R. Although, in retrospect, all I did was work and throw my book at anyone who would read it. Hmm. Maybe I’m just not getting this whole “vacation” thing. Anyway, I spent a lot of time with a lot of nice ladies who listened to me blather on about my book, both drunk and sober, and encouraged me to write and not give up. They also gave me a few heads-ups about where to submit my manuscript, so I’ve spent the evening doing just that. And I can’t believe how much of a nervous wreck I am!

Believe it or not (and those of you who know me won’t be shocked by this at all) but public speaking doesn’t bother me. I’m a ham and and attention whore, so any time I get to be the center of attention, I adore it. But standing up in front of a group of people I don’ t know and talking about things I’m only partially informed of has nothing on licking that envelope and dropping it in the mail and waiting for an agent to respond back.

My first agent query almost ended up as a felony crime. I’d agonized over the thing for days, and finally decided to just throw it in the mail and deal with the devil as it came. My workplace has a handy mail box right outside the building on the curb, so I took my little manilla envelope full of all my hopes and dreams and shoved it into the slot. Only to freak out the moment my fingers let go and jam my arm as far as it would reach into the slot, trying to get the envelope back. Maybe I could go over it one more time! Send it to another beleaguered friend! Spell check it just once more to make sure I hadn’t forgotten a period or a semi-colon! I’d crammed my arm further than it ever should have gone, only to look up and find the mailman staring at me as if I’d lost my mind. I only made it worse, trying to explain it to him, so I sheepishly tugged out my poor bruised, mangled, and mashed arm out of the mailbox and slunk inside my workplace, where of course my coworkers had a hoot at my expense.

Why does submitting a query letter freak me out so much? I really don’t know. I think it might have something to do with the finality of it. I will admit, I’m a tweaker. I don’t write so much as I rewrite. And it doesn’t bother me to let other people read my stories because I can always go back and tweak them if I want. Sending off that letter, though, means no more tweaking, missy! It’s all bets down, no holds barred and no turning back. And let me tell you, that is scary with shark’s teeth!

So I’m going to reward my bravery with a nice hot bath now. And then back to work on the books. I have a few things I need to tweak . . .