Her stance is one of wariness. Shoulders hunched, she carries the weight of more than the laden backpack. Eyes glance left and right, searching for danger, though her head remains down to indicate intimidation.

Her hair is short, spiky, bright red. She wears a riotous collage of color and pattern – a lycra top that does nothing to hide her thick body, an indecently short skirt that looks more at home on an ice skating rink. Vivid pink fishnet stockings, artfully ripped, do little to cover meaty thighs. Her feet are crammed into patent leather sandals.

Everything about her essence screams 'Don't look at me!'

Everything about her appearance screams 'Pay attention!'

What a mass of confliction. She wants to be noticed, but expects to be attacked. Is it conscious attention seeking? Does she desire to be hounded for her choice of appearance? Is abuse her aim? Will she feel vindicated if someone gives her crap for the whole gothic / punk get up? Or does she slink back to wherever she feels safe to nurse her wounds, to hug a tattered teddy bear to her ample chest, to weep over the unfairness of it all?

Or maybe a confrontation gives her strength, and she straightens her bowed stance, eyes flashing as she demands to be treated like a Human Being. I'll never know. She's lost to my view, walking the streets from here to there, waiting for the attack to come.

Just started chapter seven today. I should finish it this afternoon. The outline is out the window, and I'm writing by the seat of my pants at the moment. Interesting that I can toss together a romance in this manner, but nothing else. Go figure.

Tonight we go to the Cinco de Mayo celebration at Waterfront Park. I know. It's not the fifth of May anymore. But the party is going until the weekend. I'm back to work tomorrow; gotta enjoy it while I can.

Regardless of the slowness (which I have to admit is improving,) the Iditarod story is plodding along. I think I’m going to toss the outline out the window, however. Writing SF or mainstream or some other genre with an outline is well worth the minor level of constriction involved. But, writing lesbian romance is another matter entirely. I think I need to be open to a more organic approach, as I did in the beginning. A rough outline, yes, but not an extensively detailed one. I’ve realized the rough and tumble emotions are lacking when I follow an outline; not good for romance.

Which is not to say I’ll avoid an outline altogether. I simply won’t have every little step of the way planned ad nauseum.

I spent the day working on chapter five, and editing Tiopa Ki Lakota yet again. This was MY line by line edit, so I can safely consign the final proof to the publisher. I know, I know. I keep saying that this is the last round of edits, and another pops up. It’s all wishful thinking on my part. Sooner or later, I’ll receive my copies in the mail, and THEN I can breathe a sigh of relief that the project is complete. Why do I keep forgetting that?

And here’s a character sketch I found on one of those many days when I piddled about my documents file because typing was a horrid chore

He walks with the exaggerated swagger of a 1960′s street punk from Harlem, a sort of half limp, one shoulder dropped, one arm dragging slower than the other. The type of gait considered cool among African American men of my youth. He’s wiry, bone thin, and very pissed off. His mouth is in constant motion as he bitches at no one walking beside him, stopping occasionally to throw his hands down to his sides to stress his utter indignation. It’s odd how easy it is to watch him, yet discretely turn away as he turns in my direction. He’s across the street and I’m in a coffee shop. Even the distance of twenty-five feet isn’t safe enough from his madness. Will he vent his fury on whoever catches his eye, whoever sees him as a human being? Will he see me watching from my safe haven, and come over in his slouching Cool brand of walk to fill me in? I’d rather not risk it. My eyes drift down the street, as if I’m not seeing him at all. But you have to wonder . . . maybe if people truly saw him, he wouldn’t be venting his anger to an invisible companion.

Since finding the file, I’ve been meaning to add more. Just saw a man today that was interesting, as a matter of fact. Maybe I’ll type it up tomorrow.

Well, still writing 1k a day, of course. I’ve been working on the characters for the series, beefing up what I hadn’t before and creating anew for book two. Today I gave a name to Elisibet’s chief spy as well as a history and description. LOL! Thank you, ! She posted a link to a Germany gothic / fetish shop yesterday and, lo and behold, there was Reynhard the spy!

Of course, now that I know what he looks like, he’s suddenly become a lot more important to book two than he was in my mind! Heh!

Book two has a working title, picked up from a System of a Down song called Chop Suey – Angels Deserve to Die. I like it.

Also, for a change of pace, I swapped CDs in my portable player. Got a little Queensryche Q2K action going. I was suddenly hit by the fact that one of the songs is Jenna's! WOO HOO! I love when music comes together with characters and stories! Anyhoo, here's Jenna's song:

SACRED GROUD
recorded by Queensryche

Iced over, close your eyes. Whisper the flame, it takes us higher.
Seems our world is closing around. When I’m inside you, you bring me to sacred ground.
When I’m inside you, you bring me to sacred ground.
Now you’re the one that I want, you know it’s true.
Let go of everything, open up to me.
I’m right beside you, I’ll be your watchful eye.

I send waves of devotion over you. You take it all in and give it back, give it back again.

You bring me to sacred ground, when I’m inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground.

Yes we’ll love till there’s nothing left to give…
matching every movement, swimming in an ocean of sweat, and scent of you. It drives me to …

You bring me to sacred ground, when I’m inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground.

I know I can change your mind. Give it to me the same way.
Giving it all up for love, I know that you feel the same way.

I’d give it all up for you, I swear I would.

Now I’m falling, falling inside …

You bring me to sacred ground, when I’m inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground.

I’m inside you.

You bring me to sacred ground, when I’m inside you.
You bring me to sacred ground.