Thanks, Bev, insent. A whole weekend of writing, over 5k words, Chelsea Morning was a beast.

A fourth grade teacher told me it reads like Stellaluna if it had been an epic. Which was lovely. I'm half insane, BTW.

If Jilli was a bat...

SMACK! “TAG! YOU’RE IT!”

Sam had just been bonked on the head by a common pipistrelle bat who zoomed off into the night, giggling. She was tiny, no bigger than a mouse, with long, curvy wings from tail to shoulders. She was round and had fluffy, deep brown fur with a pitch-black face that looked a bit like a mask stretched across her snout.

“Hey! Wait! Wait for me!” Sam called to her.

He heard her giggle in the distance and followed her between the trees, gulping up moths and other insects along the way.

“Can’t catch me, Mr. Wiggle Tail!” the mischievous bat called back to Sam.

“I’m not Mr. Wiggle Tail, I’m Sam!” Sam chattered back to her.

Her voice was musical, like Renny’s. Unlike Renny, her tone didn’t have that gritty feeling of something dark and sinister underneath that gave him the shivers. She flew like Renny, in that sort of zigzag pattern that was one part evasive and two parts dance.

They passed by a great castle, and then flittered past a statue in Belgrave Square of a strange looking man with four arms and four legs trapped inside a circle. Sam wondered if people, like bats, also came in various shapes, and hoped he never came across such a man armed with a pellet gun…or guns.

The sun was coming up. He couldn’t see it cresting the horizon yet, but noted that the odd statues of men cast in iron and copper began to glow and glint in a brightening sky. He stopped, perched on the head of Christopher Columbus, and looked around for a safe place to roost for the day. Robins were chirping, and through the mist he saw a person walking along a path in the distance. He could smell the grass, glistening with dew, and sweet peas climbing and twisting along terraces.

“Hey! Sam Wiggle Tail! Hey! Are you going to sit there watching the sun come up?” The giggly bat teased from above.

“I need to find a place to roost for the day,” Sam replied. “Is there a barn or a cave close by?”

“You can come sleepover at my house! Come! Follow me, Wiggle Tail!”

Sam was annoyed by the nickname, but couldn’t help but follow her. Everywhere she flew seemed brightened by sparkly silver ribbons of joy and whimsy.

aw ....

I've always been very fond of bats, and I enjoyed that. (there aren't any bright pink bats - in nature - are there?)

As always, Bev rocks the beta.

Okay, I've got 2500 shiny new words and I've done everything I can to avoid looking at them.

Someone, please to give me a kick in the ass to not be such a chickenshit?

Don't front that your shit's not tight, bitch. Go forth and revise like a motherfucker. (I'm guessing there's no writing text in my future.) But fake married couples do get to sound alike.

Heh-- off I go to revise, with a smile on my face.

Don't front that your shit's not tight, bitch.

Did I tell you that my best friend who's an ER doc here had a patient say that to her once. "Don't front like my shit's not tight"

It was in response to her sounding out the word he had tattooed on his chest in Gothic lettering as the Spanish word for beach.

Yeah, I tell that story all the time. Smile, Hon, guy liked what I sent, Lisah. Thanks for the tip and the beta. Today, Baltimore...Tomorrow Chicating Media Empire. (Although next time I write about it, I hope it will be first-hand. Someday.)

I think I will get that printed as a t-shirt. Or maybe I'll just use it as an autoreply to everything for a day.

"Sweetheart, did you pay your car insurnace for the month?"

"Don't front like my shit's not tight, bitch!"

"Miss, you're simply overqualified for this position."

"Don't front like my shit's not tight, bitch!"

"Ms. G--, you need to come in for a transvaginal scan."

"Don't front like my shit's not tight, bitch!"