Pick one. Editors must be handled with the care one would handle an explosive device. Until they're your editor. YEMV.

Thanks. Done and done.

connie, the conference call with Daymond and both our agents is set for Thursday morning. Let the muthafuckin' games begin. I am writing this book and it will be huge, in every sense. Not only that, true to Daymond's initial vision.

Went to see Bela Fleck and the Flecktones tonight in Santa Rosa. He now has FFoSM and Matty Groves, dedicated, and I have his email address. I'm-a ask for a Kinkaids blurb.

Gettin' it on, yo.

Janet

She wasn't obsessed with his stardom. She was obsessed with the man, Bobby himself.

Remember that mysterious shooting? She snuck into Marin General to taunt his wife: he doesn't want you he wants me hahahahaha otherwise he wouldn't have shot you.

She knew where Bobby lived. She'd camp out, waiting, watching for him.

One morning, he came out and found her sorting through his trash: empty milk cartons, wrappers, used tissues, in tidy piles.

When the cops showed up, she had a broken guitar string coiled up in her pocket, and she was grinning. Today, we've named her type: stalker.

Remember that mysterious shooting? She snuck into Marin General to taunt his wife: he doesn't want you he wants me hahahahaha otherwise he wouldn't have shot you.

This paragraph does not fit the rhythm of the rest in my opinion. Otherwise sad and scary.

Deb, I can't it -- your drabble makes me think of the song "Bobby's Girl."

Because I am a dork.

I know every word to that song. You are not alone.

Deb's drabble would could make a creeptastic scene. In my head, Minear would direct it, and would have Bobby's Girl playing in the background, on a tinny sounding transistor radio.

True story. The chick's name was Janet Sears. She was obsessed with Bob Weir of the dead; after the shooting, Janet actually did sneak into Marin General and stood there announcing that Frankie was being Punished for "stealing" Bobby from Janet.

Janet was an incredible freak. She came into Mandrake's, our bookstore in San Rafael, and wandered around boasting about it, and about going through Bobby's trash. She showed us the guitar string as if it was some sort of trophy.

Creeeeeeeeeepy. Marlene remembers her.

deb, can you tell me a little bit about what the editing process is like? What happens? What can I expect? Is it collaborative? Does it take a long time?