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Lawchic
"Cyniquian" Level Poster
Username: Lawchic
Post Number: 112
Registered: 10-2004
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Monday, November 08, 2004 - 04:56 pm: | 
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Not satisfied with the rejection and humiliation of agents and publishers alike, I thought I would drop a chapter of my novel here for some feedback. Don't worry. I'm prepared for harsh criticism. Please forgive the formatting. It wouldn't carry over from the original Word document.
Set-up. This novel is about a black woman lawyer who was raped by a professor while in law school and had a child. Twelve years later, he is being nominated to become Attorney General. This chapter takes up where the professor has approached our heroine about their child and tried to convince her to leave the country. The child's paternity (secret until now) is about to be leaked to the press.
CHAPTER 11
“So, it seems the worst is over,” Dr. Geddes said calmly, as she sipped hot coffee from a worn white china mug.
Jillian had called her as soon as she felt sober enough to drive. It was two a.m. and they sat in a circa 1950’s booth at an all-night diner. The vinyl was sticky in places and the once white ceiling fans swirled overhead with a furry skin of dust-coated cooking grease. The server had placed coffee in front of them and drifted back to the end of a long counter to continue her conversation with a trucker who was passing through. Her giggles punctuated the women’s conversation in inappropriate places, but at least they didn’t have to worry about the other two overhearing them.
Jillian nodded. “Somehow, I deluded myself into believing that I would never have to see him again. What was I thinking? As long as he draws breath, he will be a part of my and Derek’s life.”
“That is true,” Dr. Geddes agreed. “But how much influence you allow him to have is up to you.”
“I just don’t know where to go from here. I’m sorry for getting you up in the middle of the night.”
Dr. Geddes shushed her. “No apology is necessary,” she insisted. “I’ve had plenty of late night sessions with clients, but few of them have this magnitude. You did the right thing if you feel that this is what you needed.”
Jillian gave her a thankful smile. Dr. Geddes continued, “But I do want to steer your train of thought in a different direction.”
“What’s that?” Jillian queried.
“I want to discuss the alcohol you consumed. You told me that you had a very traumatic encounter with your child’s biological father. But you didn’t mention the drinking. Why have you been drinking?”
“Drinking?” Jillian echoed. “I really hadn’t even thought about why.”
“Well, I think we should talk about it. Your life has just taken a very important turn and I believe you should have a clear head to address your issues. So, tell me about today. Not what happened again, but when you drank, why, and how it made you feel.”
They were interrupted by the server returning with steaming plates of bacon, eggs and hashbrowns. She set them down carefully, warning the women they were hot and returned to her flirting with the trucker.
“Okay,” Jillian began. She had learned to trust Dr. Geddes’ method. She had learned from past sessions that sometimes what she thought was bothering her was merely a symptom of a more deeply rooted problem.
“I had the first drink after I returned from my boss’s office. I knew Professor Dawson would be coming down to my office soon and I wanted to steady my nerves a little before he arrived.”
“Do you always do that before meeting with an important client?”
“Oh no. In my mind, this was personal; not business. I keep a bottle of cognac in my desk drawer. I take the rare drink out of it after I’ve ended a big case. More as a little celebration than anything else. And I don’t do it every time.”
“But from your appearance,” Dr. Geddes nodded at her, indicating the rumpled clothing and smudged makeup, “and the smell, I take it that you had more than one drink today.”
“You’re right. I got very drunk. I had to wait quite a while before I called you.”
The aroma from the plate in front of Jillian was stimulating her senses. She couldn’t believe how hungry she was and attacked the breakfast.
Dr. Geddes gave her a minute to swallow some food before she continued.
“So, you had a drink to steady your nerves before he arrived. Just one?”
Jillian swallowed and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin from the dispenser on the table. “No, I think I had two before he arrived, then I finished the bottle after he left.”
“I see. You remember that you had a lot of alcohol at the party at his house that night? What about the years in between? Have you had other occasions to consume alcohol in large quantities?”
“At a party or dinner, I might have one or two drinks. The only time I have more seems to be when I’m at home alone. I’m usually feeling lonely at the time.” Jillian leaned back and looked down at her lap realizing where this was going. “Do you think I’m an alcoholic?” she raised her gaze to meet Dr. Geddes.
Dr. Geddes sat back as well and shrugged. “What do you think?”
Jillian chuckled grimly at the dreaded question. “I think that I am drinking to excess at stressful or depressing times.”
“Some health care professionals might define that as binge drinking. Have you ever thought about the pattern of your drinking?”
“No, I haven’t. This is the first time I’ve ever tried to analyze it. In some ways, I blame the drinking I did that night on what happened at Professor Dawson’s house. But beyond that I haven’t really thought about it. If I drank a lot, it was always at home where I wasn’t driving, my son was asleep, and I couldn’t cause any harm to others.”
“Only to yourself?”
Jillian thought for a moment. “Yes, I guess the only one I was hurting was myself. I thought the drinking was anesthetizing me from pain, but in reality I was just participating in self-destructive behavior.”
“What do you think would have happened had your boss discovered you drunk in your office today?”
“I probably would have lost my job.”
“And would that have hurt just you?”
“Of course not. It would affect everything in my life, especially Derek. And my family and friends would be so disappointed and ashamed.”
“So, the drinking is self-destructive, but it also takes its toll on others in your life.”
“Yes.” Jillian lowered the fork to her plate, comprehension strangling her remaining appetite.
“Do you believe you can stop on your own?”
Jillian opened her mouth to respond, but Dr. Geddes held up her hand and said, “Wait. I want you to consider your answer very carefully because you must know that this situation with your professor is not over. He will seek you out again. You need to prepare yourself mentally for more conflict with him. To be prepared for that conflict, you must not blunt your feelings. You must experience them and allow your judgment to guide you on resolving these issues.”
Dr. Geddes slowly lowered her hand. “Now you may answer.”
Jillian nodded. “You’re absolutely right. My behavior is dangerous to myself and everyone around me. I have to stop.”
“Do you believe that you are an alcoholic? That you are addicted to alcohol?”
“I really don’t know the answer to that. My time isn’t consumed by thinking about the next drink. The urge strikes me suddenly. And there are long periods of time that I don’t drink at all. I mean months and months. So, I really don’t know the answer to that.”
“Well, can you commit to not drinking any more until we resolve the issue with your professor? If not, then we will tackle it now. And Jillian, I believe you can do this. It is simply a matter of choices, and you are a very smart woman.”
Jillian smiled. “Yes, I can make that commitment.”
“Good.” Dr. Geddes smiled. “I’m glad that’s settled. My food is getting cold.”
Sitting in a small hospital cafeteria, Gina Ward languidly picked over the lunch of fruit and yogurt as she paged through a leftover paper on one of the tables. Her interest was peaked by the picture of a handsome, smiling black man on the cover of one of the sections.
“I don’t believe it,” she mumbled to herself.
It had been twelve years since she’d seen Bill Dawson, and he was still as handsome as before. She pushed her lunch aside and began to carefully read the article. When she was done, she folded the paper beneath her arm and walked over to a trashcan and dumped the rest of her lunch. She couldn’t eat just thinking about the hideous things this man had asked her to do.
She returned to her station and worked the remainder of her shift. Afterwards, she climbed into her mini-van and headed for home. She would meet the kids at the house, take them to soccer practice, then try to make some dinner before Jon got home. She had been up since five this morning, but it was no different than any other day. She was exhausted, but she kept moving like an automaton. She really didn’t have any other choice.
Later that night after the kids were fed and the trash was emptied, she lay in bed beside her postal worker husband and said, “We need to go see a lawyer.”
The lump beneath the cover moved slightly. “What’s the matter? You want to divorce me? Okay, you can have the kids and I get that blond with the big tits down the street for my next wife.” The lump shook as he giggled.
Gina rolled over and pulled the covers from over his head. “I’m serious.”
Jon squashed a pillow to prop behind his head. “What’s wrong, baby? I promise I never even look at her giant tits,” he said, spreading his hands innocently before him.
“First of all, you need to keep your day job and give up the comedy routine because you suck. Second, I have something I need to tell you. And then we have to go talk to a lawyer.”
Gina pulled out the limp newspaper and began the story of how and when she met Bill Dawson and everything that had transpired between them. It took her several starts and stops to tell him everything, but she did. It was time she told someone.
“I don’t think I did anything wrong, but I just want to be sure. I just hope he didn’t find somebody else after I left.”
Her husband took her in his arms and said, “Don’t worry about it, babe. We’ll get this thing straightened out.”
Miki leaned back into the plush comfort of the Lincoln Town car. Absently watching the Charlotte skyline roll by on the interstate, she estimated it would be about thirty minutes before she reached her destination.
Her plans for the day had certainly taken an unexpected turn when she got a phone call from her boss this morning telling her she needed to be in Charlotte before the end of the day. Field agents from the local FBI office had met her at the airport and were now taking her to her appointment.
Pushing her briefcase farther away on the seat, she stretched her bony legs beneath the skirt of the merino wool suit and wished she had worn something else; something that covered her ankles. They looked so fat.
The agent driving the car turned and asked, “Ma’am, do you want to stop for something to eat first?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine. I had something on the flight.” Which was true. She’d eaten some monstrous sandwich she’d purchased in the Dulles terminal. The fat man squeezed into the coach seat next to her had been salivating the entire time she was eating the sandwich since all he had was a lousy bag of peanuts from the flight attendant. Afterwards, she went promptly to the tiny lavatory, stuck her finger in her throat and vomited, her gagging drowned out by the roar of jet engines. She had leaned back against the lavatory door and savored the disgust of having eaten that sandwich and the elation of purging it. She was full just thinking about it.
“Does she have any idea we’re coming?” she asked one of the men in the front seat. It didn’t matter which one. They were both clones with bad haircuts in bad suits.
“No, ma’am,” the one in the passenger seat drawled. “We’ve kept our surveillance at a distance. She doesn’t know anything.”
The field report lay in her briefcase, but she asked the agent instead, “So, where has she been going? Has she been meeting anybody interesting?”
“Not really, ma’am,” he replied. “Just the regular: work, church, to the mall with her child. The only unusual thing seems to be that her mother is visiting from Atlanta and she’s spent a lot of time with her therapist. But then again, maybe that’s because her mother is visiting.” He chuckled at his own circular logic and glanced back over the seat. “That’s about it.”
“Good. That’s good,” she said. “That’s just how we want it.”
Squirming in her seat again, Miki wished she could summon her ordinary composure. Outwardly, she was as calm as a lake with no wind rippling its cool, mirrored surface. Her platinum blond hair was sleek with absolutely no flyaway strands; her suit had no static-cling, and there wasn’t a wrinkle anywhere, despite the flight and the car trip. She was perfectly calm outward. Inward, however, was a different story. She wasn’t nervous or afraid. She was excited, electrified even. At last something she had hoped for was about to climax. She smiled serenely to herself. It’s true, she thought, what goes around does come around. And I’m going to be standing right here watching when it comes back around. In fact, I’m going to orchestrate it personally.
The door next to her opened and filtered sunlight streamed in on her face. The agent who was driving stood outside. “We’re here, ma’am.”
Smiling, she took his extended hand and got out of the car.
Jillian heard automobile engines in her driveway and went to the front door to peer curiously at the Lincoln Town Car and the other dark unmarked sedan. Four men emerged from the two vehicles followed by one emaciated blond woman. The woman stumbled slightly as her heel sunk in the lawn. Her legs were so spindly and frail she looked as if a strong gust would topple her.
She backed into the foyer and waited for them to ring the bell. The men in the entourage wore guns under their coats. She knew they were law enforcement of some type, she just didn’t know what they wanted. Was this his next move? Sending the feds to harass her?
“Mom, who’s that?” Derek shot past her and tried to peer through the beveled glass of the wide wooden door to see the group outside.
“It’s business, sweetie.” Pulling him back from the door, she turned him to face her and said, “I need for you to go upstairs and go to Grandma’s room. You guys just stay in there until I’m finished with this meeting.”
“Okay,” he responded and bounced toward the staircase, his head bobbing and lips moving to some imaginary beats in his head.
When he had disappeared and she was sure he was with his grandmother, she finally opened the door. The group had been assembled there for about a minute with the small woman in front and the men standing two by two behind her. She had rung the doorbell only once. They waited patiently.
Jillian opened the door a fraction, “Can I help you?”
“Hello, Jillian,” the skinny woman said. “How are you?”
“I beg your pardon. Do I know you?”
“As a matter of fact, we went to law school together.”
“Really, well can I assume from your armed escort that you’re not here soliciting for the alumni association?”
Gesturing to the federal marshal behind her, she said, “No, we’re here on business.”
The man stepped forward an extended a long narrow envelope bulging with papers.
“This is a subpoena, ma’am,” he drawled.
The skinny woman brought Jillian’s attention back to her beautiful, yet skeletal face, “Jillian, may we come in. I need to talk to you.”
“A subpoena? What is this all about?” Jillian’s mind thrashed about for explanations. Why was Dawson having her subpoenaed? He knew she had nothing favorable to say about him. This made no sense whatsoever.
“Jillian, let’s go inside and I can explain it all to you.”
Jillian let the door swing free as she attempted to open the stiff envelope. Immediately, the men poured inside and began fanning out through her house.
“Hey, wait a minute,” she screamed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Secure the house,” the woman said. “Make sure there is no one here but her family. If there’s anyone else, get them out of here.”
Jillian rushed after the men, but a surprisingly strong hand gripped her arm. When she swung around to stare at her, the woman abruptly released Jillian’s arm and raised her spread empty hands.
“Look, we’re not here to hurt you; we’re here to help you.”
“Get these men out of my house,” she demanded.
Jillian heard her mother’s startled voice upstairs, then the low, calm words of one of the men.
“I promise you, they are just making sure everything is safe here. They will be back in a minute. Please. Can we sit down somewhere so I can explain this to you?”
Jillian glanced up the stairs again. She could hear the men coming back toward the staircase. One stayed at the top while the others descended to the lower level.
When it was clear that they weren’t leaving, Jillian pivoted sharply and headed toward the back of the house and her home office. Walking behind her desk, she sat down in the chair before gesturing to her uninvited guest. A second man had stayed in the foyer, but the other two were standing behind the little woman.
“Once again,” Jillian snapped. “Do I know you?”
The woman sat on the edge of a chair near the desk, “I told you we went to school together. My name is Mikayla Kennedy; please, call me Miki.”
Jillian vaguely remembered the name, but could make no direct connection.
“So, I guess you’re here because he sent you. What is he threatening me with now?”
“He?” Miki looked confused.
“Please don’t patronize me. Just tell me why you’re here. You’ve invaded my home and are holding my family hostage. What the hell does he want?”
Miki’s brows inched up a fraction on her taut forehead. “You’ve had contact from William Dawson? When did he approach you and what has he said?”
Jillian ignored the question and began scanning the documents that had been presented to her by the marshal.
Looking up at Miki, she bluntly asked, “Who do you work for?”
“I work for the U.S. Senate Judiciary Committee. Are you ready to listen to me now?”
Jillian leaned back in her chair and gestured to the two men, “I want them out of here while we talk.”
Miki looked over her shoulder and nodded. The two men melted into the hallway and shut the door behind them. “Okay? Can we talk now?”
She took Jillian’s silence as assent.
Jillian assessed her earnestly. “You don’t work for the Justice Department?”
“No, I don’t. Is that what you thought? That I was here on Professor Dawson’s behalf? I assure you, I’m not,” she said a little too vehemently.
Smoothing her skirt, she seemed to regain her composure. “Let me start again. The fact that we went to law school together is pure coincidence. I’m here at my boss’s directive. I work for Senator Jerry Glanville of Texas. He is currently the chair of the Senate Judiciary Committee. As I’m sure you know from your days in Washington, all cabinet nominees have to be confirmed by the senate and before that occurs we have to have confirmation hearings.”
“So why do you need me? I don’t have anything to offer that process.”
“Oh, I think you do, Jillian. We have information that your son is the biological offspring of William Dawson, and we need you to testify to that at his confirmation hearing.”
“That’s a lie.” Jillian gritted out.
“Are you willing to swear to that on a stack of bibles? Or would a DNA test be more appropriate?”
Jillian rose stiffly from her chair. “We have nothing else to discuss. You’ve wasted your time. I don’t have any information for you. William Dawson is not Derek’s father. Derek’s father is dead.”
“Jillian, you don’t want to play this game. Don’t think we didn’t do some research before this subpoena was issued. We already know that Derek’s father isn’t who you claimed he was. Now, all we need is a DNA test to prove that Dawson is his father. And if Dawson denies this allegation, we will get one. Either way, it will result in his name being withdrawn. So, your best bet is to cooperate with us and testify truthfully.”
“I asked you to get out of my house.”
Miki rose and placed a business card on the desk in front of Jillian. “I hope you think this through and make the right decision. Call me if you decide you want my help.”
Miki started to leave the room, then half turned and said, “You know, if he hasn’t been any kind of father to your son, I really don’t understand why you’re protecting him.”
Jillian looked her in the eye. “It’s not him I’m trying to protect.”
Miki left the room and Jillian heard her front door slam. She slumped into the chair and let her head fall forward onto the desk. It felt as is the world was crashing down upon her in a giant wave. The tears welled up and overflowed. There was no way she was going to be able to protect her son. The bluff would only work for so long and with the threats coming from every direction, she had no idea what to do. If Dawson found out that she was being subpoenaed to testify at his confirmation hearing there is no telling what he would try to do to her.
“Jillian? Honey, what’s wrong? I heard those men leave? What did they do to you?”
Her mother’s voice was frantic and Jillian lifted her head and scrubbed at the tears and make-up running down her face.
“I’m fine, Mama. I’m fine. They didn’t do anything. It was just business. I’m sorry if they frightened you.”
“Honey, everything is not fine. No wonder Warren asked me to come here. You need to tell me what’s going on. He was very cryptic and now I see why.”
“Warren?” Jillian echoed.
“Yes, he said he was worried about you and, apparently, he has every reason to be.”
“Damn it! I should have known he wouldn’t leave this alone. I don’t believe he could betray me like this,” Jillian raged.
“Honey what are you talking about?” Rosalyn looked confused.
Jillian pushed her mother toward the door. “Mama, I’ll talk to you in a little while. Why don’t you fix some dinner for you and Derek? I’ll be with you shortly. I just need to make a few calls.”
Slamming the office door behind her startled mother, she stood there holding the door knob against the chance that her mother wouldn’t let the subject rest. After a few moments, she heard her mother’s footsteps as she turned away and headed for the kitchen calling up to Derek, asking him what he wanted to eat.
Picking up the phone, she punched in Warren’s cell phone number. He answered on the second ring.
“Jillian. Hi. I’m so glad to hear from you…”
“How could you?” She hissed through clenched teeth.
“What? Wait a minute…I’m driving and I can’t hear you clearly.”
“You hear me just fine.” She countered, opening her mouth and enunciating each word. “Guess who just left my house?”
“Who? What’s going on? Are you okay?” Warren sounded as if he was genuinely confused, but Jillian was not falling for his innocent routine.
“Some aide from Sen. Glanville’s office. That man must be on your show every few weeks. How could you tell him about this?”
“What are you talking about? I haven’t talked to Glanville recently.”
“Oh, really? Then why is this bitch at my house with federal marshals serving me with a subpoena to testify at Dawson’s confirmation hearing? They know about Derek!”
“Jillian, wait. I need to pull over.”
“Fuck you, Warren! I can’t believe I ever trusted you.”
She threw the phone across the room and sank onto the floor in a pool of tears. Anguish, betrayal, and fear collided in her brain, mixing together to form a conglomerate that gelled around her heart and paralyzed her with fear.
Warren was the one person she had always believed she could count on to protect Derek and now he had sold her out for the promise of a story.
* * * * *
Jillian and Jackie arrived at the gate of Jillian’s subdivision to find dozens of cars, vans and satellite television trucks parked along the roadside leading to the gate. The antennas stretched into the air like prickly quills on a porcupine’s back, carefully avoiding the overhanging tree limbs and power lines. People milled around everywhere, scurrying back and forth between different vehicles. There were trucks from all the major networks in Charlotte, Raleigh, Atlanta, and even a couple from Washington, D.C. On the opposite side of the road, there were several cars in the exit lane that Jillian recognized as belonging to residents being flagged down. The drivers leaned across their passenger seats to talk with the reporters.
“What the hell is going on?” Jillian mumbled under her breath as she felt a slick coil of fear unfurl itself in her belly. She and Jackie had attended one of the many functions that Jackie organized for local children’s charities. Jackie might be overly-indulgent and self-absorbed at times, but she was generous to a fault when it came to helping children. Maybe she was trying to make up for not adding to the earthly population with her own brood. The chauffeured car they were riding in had to stop for the slower traffic entering the gate. Each car was being stopped and thoroughly searched.
Drivers were getting out of their cars and showing identification to the overwhelmed security guard at the gate. He seemed to be checking their back seats and trunks before allowing them through the gate.
Jackie craned her neck. “I wonder what they are doing here.” Turning to look at Jillian, who was also peering through the dark tinted glass on her side, her mouth turned down at the corners and she ventured, “Think somebody living here killed his wife or something?”
“God, I hope not.” Jillian shivered, trying to dissipate the bad feeling. Shaking her head, Jillian observed, “No police. Can’t be that.”
Ever the publicity hound, Jackie pressed a button and the window glided silently down next to Jillian. Jackie leaned close and directed her comment to the man outside the window. “Excuse me,” she called. “Can you tell us what’s going on here?”
The newscaster turned away from his make-up person who was patting his face gently with a make up sponge. His mouth opened to answer Jackie, then he looked down at what appeared to be a large glossy photo in his hand. The two women looked at each other in confusion as the man shouted to his cameraman, “Roll film, it’s her!”
Immediately, several other reporters in the vicinity rushed up to the car and began screaming questions as flashes exploded and glaring video camera lights blinded the two women. “Ms. Evans, is it true you had an affair with William Dawson in law school? Is he your child’s father? Are you going to testify at the confirmation hearings?”
Jackie reached over and grabbed Jillian’s head and pushed her down onto the center armrest while hitting the button to roll the window back up. “She has no comment.” Jillian could hear Jackie repeating in a loud voice over and over until the window was raised. Lifting her head from the armrest between them, Jillian could see that the car was in fact now surrounded by reporters and cameras and Jackie was instructing the driver to “get us the hell out of here.”
The guard at the gate had pushed his way through the throng of reporters and cameras, shoving them back to give the driver room to maneuver.
The driver inched slightly to the left and then gunned the big, black car over a huge flower bed dividing the lanes and entered the subdivision driving the wrong way. The car, barreling down the road, crossed back over into the right lane before encountering another vehicle and continued on to Jillian’s home.
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Bmcn
Newbie Poster
Username: Bmcn
Post Number: 6
Registered: 08-2004
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Wednesday, November 10, 2004 - 08:37 pm: |
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Lawchic:
I see nothing to criticze. Your chapter sampling is splendid, from my perpective. I'm not a critic but a struggling writer. For what it is worth, be encouraged. Stay positive.
Remember, critics are important, but so is toilet paper. One is more vital than the other.
If you want to discourse on your novel, you can email me if you wish. My novel is called A Perfect World (A Perry Richards Novel).
All the best,
Bernard |
Lawchic
"Cyniquian" Level Poster
Username: Lawchic
Post Number: 117
Registered: 10-2004
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Thursday, November 11, 2004 - 02:45 pm: |
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Thanks, Bernard. I guess I'm looking for ways to improve my craft. Need to make sure that the reader is connecting with the characters, etc. I want them to be 3-dimensional, not shallow and flat. Does that make sense? |
Bmcn
Newbie Poster
Username: Bmcn
Post Number: 7
Registered: 08-2004
Rating: N/A
Votes: 0 (Vote!) | | Posted on Friday, November 12, 2004 - 02:48 pm: |
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Lawchic:
Sure, that makes all the sense in the world. The only way to improve at anything is to partake in it wholeheartedly.
I'm a mystery writer. My writing background is screenplays (I did the usual option stuff -- and wrote for a production company of thieves -- close but no cigar). My story presentation tends to be cinematic and thus non-linear, employing flashbacks or even a dream sequence or two. I have studied and read the great mystery writers of the 20th Century (Hammitt, John D. MacDonald, Chandler etc.). My desire to master the genre as they did.
I was a bit peeved that my work has been ignored in some circles. But to be honest, I know I can write better than people with a marketing machine behind them. They know it too. That's not arrogance, but a reflection of confidence.
Not everybody gets it -- not everyone is capable of exceeding the boundaries of thier own myopial -- but it will not stop me. Nor should it stop you.
Not every character will shape up the way you plan. Ask yourself something: How many people do I know that are really three dimensional and have true depth? Right. Work from that premise.
Precious sister, don't worry about your level of craftsmanship. You have a gift. You're good lady, damn good.
If it's permitted by the board monitors, I'll post me email so we can discourse more if you wish.
b_mcnealywriter@lycos.com
Blessings always,
Bernard |
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