Deb, they're only at the beginning of their forays. Soon they'll be wantonly sifting dry ingredients! Shamelessly kneading dough and allowing it to rise! She will be seduced by high culinary arts, just you wait.

"Why did you do that? Why did you hurt your friend like that?"

"You assume I had a reason. I didn't."

"So you thoughtlessly hurt her? You helped her husband cheat on her without any thought to it whatsoever?"

"Yeah, I guess I did."

“For absolutely no reason?”

“I suppose.”

“Not even children think like that. They have reasons, albeit often childish and selfish reasons, for doing things. But they’re children. That’s expected. You’re a full grown woman. How could you violate her trust like that? If this is how you operate, how can I ever trust you again?”

So very late that by now it's old and overbaked, but it does bear repeating:

Very, very happy birthday to you, Deb!!!!!!

That cake is never overbaked. Thank you, ma'am.

Very welcome.

Mmm. Cake.

Hey, anybody out there feel like taking a quick look at something for me? 4K words, first chapter of a werewolf novel for the White Wolf novel contest, due tomorrow. Pretty much any advice you can give would be groovy, whether on clarity, structure, jargon-watch, whatever. Hit me at joe AT joecrow DOT net.

In the course of writing about Detective Mallory for "meat", I found out some important stuff about him... so, my second entry for "Trust".

Tommy never forgot how Dave Miller had his back. They were partners, it’s how two guys could spend ten-hour days jammed in a Crown Vic together. Your partner’s a little late, you mark his time sheet for him, crap like that. He was the one you had to answer to, not the little twirps in Accounts Payable. But it went deeper for Tommy and Dave... they had a secret, though it wasn’t as gay as that sounded. Dave wrote Tommy’s reports, because of this thing Tommy had, that when Pammy, his princess, his angel on earth, had it, they called it dyslexia. For Tommy they called it being an idiot and his old man whacked him with a wooden spoon over his book reports. Tommy would dictate and Dave would write...cop handwriting was always supposed to look the same anyway. Miller always marveled that Mallory could recall a scene so vividly hours after the fact and sometimes he’d be too fucking impressed to actually collect the dark German beer Tommy “paid” him with.(Of course, Phoenix was a smaller town then...he’s not sure he could do that now. Fucking...sprawl, that was the word for it.) So, if Dave wanted his ticket punched early, it wasn’t really in Tommy to judge, though he missed the son of bitch so much sometimes, Ally’s thoughtful expression was like a kick to the nuts.

this thing Tommy had, that when Pammy, his princess, his angel on earth, had it, they called it dyslexia. For Tommy they called it being an idiot and his old man whacked him with a wooden spoon over his book reports.

I love this so MUCH. Great writing.

mulling over Trust. this popped in my head.

Trust. Such a passive-aggressive thing. It's there or it isn't. Asking after it won't make it appear, and if you have to ask you already know you don't have it. But you're betting the other person is such a pussy that they won't want to look bad by admitting to your face that they'd rather trust Hannibal Lecter with their child than you with anything. It's rude not to trust someone, you'll hurt their feelings. Serial killers and con artists know that.

Trust. It's there or it's not. You already know. Don't ask me. Because I'll tell you.

Thanks, Robin. I'm thinking that my biggest supporting character doesn't want to be supporting forever. Connie, good one.