I'm sitting here looking at the Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Electric Guitars.

Basically, Bree is having her present to the groom made: he's a Les Paul freak but he's also got MS and Pauls are heavy suckers. So she's having a top flight Bay Area luthier build him a chambered copy of his favourite Paul Deluxe, (Nic's salivating over the fittings: gold Schallers, etc, spec to be done). And the luthier lives in Menodcino, and it's a secret from JP. And she arranges to meet the luthier at the rehearsal space for the main band (think modern version of the Airplane, or, heheheheh, Quicksilver), because the luthier's been trying to collect payment on a $9,000 guitar he designed for their obnoxious front man. And Bree goes down to meet the luthier and finds the obnoxious front man - whom I shall call Dino, until I find a name for him I can use publicly - with his head bashed in with his own guitar.

Poor Bree. ANOTHER fucking body. ANOTHER fucking secret she can't discuss with JP...

And of course, the luthier is the main suspect, and Bree needs to clear him, not only because she's pretty sure he didn't do it but because he's got to do her surprise wedding gift for JP....

Heh, Deb, poor Bree really is a magnet for murder, isn't she? It sounds like it's going to be a fun romp, too.

Sail, at the moment, I'm really planning on having this one be a bit more light-hearted than R&RNF. But who knows? There seems to be something about writing from his POV that does odd things to my psyche.

And of course, the luthier is the main suspect, and Bree needs to clear him, not only because she's pretty sure he didn't do it but because he's got to do her surprise wedding gift for JP....

Perfect! And I'll get to say the word "luthier" a lot, which is fun to say.

Seriously, I can't believe the idea for the second book just rolled right out like that. So it should be done...checks calendar...August 1?

Signed, Selfish Reader Who Does Not. Want. To. Wait.

Heh. I get to fictionally bash in the head of someone I wanted to bash at the time, and for many years afterward! WHEEEEEEEEE!

I'm going to try and wait until I get some of the cover-to-cover feedback on R&RNF before starting WMGGW. I may not be able to wait, though.

A different mood, entirely. For the Air We Breathe drabble:

Or Not To Be

This is a place of dark, of cool, of shadows. I'm visiting only in my mind's eye, but I feel it in my viscera.

We, the living, expect these places to be damp. They rarely are - stone insulates against the churchyard stream, the runoff from winter storms.

It can't insulate against decay, nor against loss. It has no power to keep my tears off you.

This air rests heavy on the slab that bears your name, the dates you breathed: 1944-1994. It's weighted with the theft of life, time, hope.

This air is the breath of memory.

begging for a beginning to end WIP read-through

I'd love to read it, deb, if you want another set of eyes.

Ditto, Deb. I'd love to.

Under the wire because I need a laugh this morning...

The Air We Breathe #2

Dreaming, clouds of noxious smoke rolling across the hill, choking me. Toxic chemicals, pollution, a purple haze of my comforter mounded where I've tossed it aside in my sleep. Hill? No, bed. 2AM. Why am I awake, and dear gods what is that smell? I creep sideways and peer over the edge of the mattress expecting to see a rotting mouse or a pile of dog food gone wrong.

Nothing except the six-month-old puppy, snoring blissfully, farting obnoxiously enough to wake me from a sound sleep.

Chi, Lilty, send me preferred emails. And this one, if printed out, has to be shredded afterward - it's still under relatively heavy wrapping.