The only modern playwright whose work I know with any authority is Neil Simon(I was sick for a long time in high school, and my mother brought me a big book of his work to cheer me up. And, possibly give me a heads-up...she also included that great daddy-issues classic "You Oughta Be In Pictures". Which is just like my life, except Jewish and much cuter. I learned two things: Don't cut funny. K sounds are generally funny. That's all I know about theater.

I enjoy Neil Simon! I was in a production of "Rumors" once and it was such fun, and then I did a scene from "Barefoot in the Park" for an acting class project. I got to scream at people a lot in both, which was very exciting for me.

I put Simon's work into the genre of "door slamming comedies" which is one of my favorites to work on. I am fairly certain I could never, ever write one. I am nowhere near witty enough.

Thanks Seeska.

I'm about 1/3 of the way through my last revision before the sanity check revision. In my novel. I still need to find time to get Sarah ready for submission though.

I need to write something in 250 words that involves a black cat and magic. Does this sound okay? Thanks.

The headlight beams reveal Jackie waiting for me as I pull up in my Mom's convertible. I don't know what Jackie's costume is supposed to be, but it doesn't cover much. I'm dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow—Jackie has a thing for Johnny Depp and I'm not above taking advantage of it.

"I like the costume," she says with her trademark half-smile.

"I like yours too."

When we drive past Hoover High, she turns to me. "I didn't think you actually wanted to go to that lame party in the gym."

"I had to say we were going there; my Mom was in the room when I called."

I park the car on a grassy overlook, and open the top to the stars. Jackie is all over me in a flash. Wow, I thought I would need to at least break out my smuggled Keystone Light. When I cop a feel, she just presses in closer and kisses me harder.

"God, you're sexy in that outfit," she coos when she comes up for air.

A bundle of hissing black fur flies out of the back seat like it's being shot from a potato cannon. It clamps onto Jackie's head like an alien face-hugger, and Jackie bolts into the night, screaming.

The black cat trots back to the car from where Jackie disappeared. She hops into the passenger seat, and transforms back into a woman—Mom.

"Home." Her voice is colder than liquid nitrogen.

It's hard being a son of a witch.

Heh. I love it.

Ha. That`s awesome.

Oh, I like that. Very nice.

Gud, that is really really good.

Ha, that was great, Gud.

Thanks all, that's pretty much what I went with save for a little fix.