Heh. ita, Dom is one of the pivotal characters in the way the story works. She's the one who essentially bitchslaps him out of his complacency; later on, she's the one who pegs what's happening to Bree; and boy oh boy, is she about to get a nifty thank-you present.

She's a sucker for really good shoes, by the way. Her Docs are custom made for her.

I'm already beginning to think about second book.

Yay! Agreeing with everyone else that this reads very much as a polished and perhaps even, in a very specific way, book that's been read before.

Let me clarify, if I can. Everything in this book has such a visceral immediacy it feels familiar. I've never been "in" on the music scene, at more than a local level ("I cut hair for the band" my bf was in back in the day, when barbers were distrusted), but the details of how the band's employees function, how concierges in top-class hotels function, the shorthand vernacular of musicians and performers, all that seems comfortably worn by the characters, rather than a "hey, lookit! Neat, eh?" sort of sensation. It feels like we know these characters, and are no more than one remove familiar, if not intimate, with their lives.

There's no "honeymoon" period of falling in love with characters, they're people from our youth, or from high school--well, to someone my age, at least--we knew back before they hit big, and there's no sensation of percieving them as "stars," though of course we understand that they are, to everyone else.

Maybe that's the charm of the book, that you bestow that feeling, that sense of entre on your reader, and then add the talent you have for storytelling and for unspooling a mystery, and how could this book--this series--not be a damn blockbuster?

This may be the most commercial thing you've written, I wouldn't be at all surprised.

But as much as I'm enjoying the roller coaster on this one? Part of me is still out at the construction site on the Isle of Dogs, waiting for developments.

Part of me is still out at the construction site on the Isle of Dogs, waiting for developments.

Yeah, well, according to Jen, they're waiting on the pre-orders for Matty Groves before they decide on Cruel Sister. And it's going to take a firm offer from St. Martin's to get me back to working on that one. I've worked my ass off for St. Martins, I've had damned little backup or support, and at this point, they either do it right or I wave byebye.

So the construction site on the Isle of Dogs stays exactly where it is until they make a firm offer and stop dithering.

I understand completely. Vibing hard, both for your purse and my sense of completion. I'm anxious to hear more of Ringan and Penny. I've grown to love them.

Two "air we breathe" drabbles
The breath my brain didn’t get defines me. More than the sound of my voice or my shouts of protest.My lungs were ready to work sooner than expected; looking at the world now, I wonder what they were in a hurry for, but that’s how my mother knew I was really gonna live. Talk about breathless anticipation. I wonder if anybody had this in the back of their minds, or if they were too busy exhaling. There are many people like me, changed by birth’s lost breath. “You are lucky to be here,” they say. “You are a survivor.”(I want my million dollars then, and I don’t want to eat rats.) But mostly, I just want to breathe free.

In meditation once, we learned that it is all the same air. That I could breathe the same air that Cesar Chavez or Bobby Kennedy might have breathed(My understanding of the heroic is informed by being raised by a flower child who still wears flowers sometimes. My understanding of biology is...a real drawback in meditation, mostly.) But right now it means I shouldn’t miss you at all. How can I? We’re sharing a breath.

But right now it means I shouldn’t miss you at all. How can I? We’re sharing a breath.

Oh, Jesus, erika.

Sounds of Silence

I hear the breath rattle in your throat and I know it’s nearly over. The sheets of the hospital bed are tucked up under your chin and around your shoulders. Did they think you were cold when you came out of the operating room? Had the chill crept into your skin, already? Perhaps it was just “standard operating procedure.” I’ve been sitting here, holding my breath, waiting for you to breathe, again. There’s silence in the room as the chill sets in. Please, just one more, I need to breathe. We need to breathe to live. Was that…? Oh, no…

Thanks, Deb. Wow, that was powerful as usual, Sail.

Ditto, erika. Your first one hits me quite a bit. My son was born with respiratory distress syndrom and was on oxygen for the first 5 days. He's mildy mentally retarded so I know how important those first breaths are. I would have written about that, but you said it so well.

Thanks. Was afraid it might be a thread-killer, though.