Blog Entries, Writing

Negotiations: A Sweet Love Story

Allen looked deeply into Hannah’s eyes and moved closer to her face.  Their lips touched, for the first time.  Allen lingered, loving the sweet sensations that coursed through his veins and Hannah felt her heart race into overdrive.  Time stood still for them.  Seconds or hours could have passed and neither one would have noticed.  

Allen moved away from Hannah a few inches and saw her eyes were still closed as she savored the tingling in her body.  Slowly she opened them and he smiled at her.

After several calming deep breaths, Hannah said, “The kiss…”


“Does it mean you want to have a relationship with me?”

He hesitated, wondering where she was going with her question. “I thought I made that evident.”

“Oh, this guy really doesn’t know. Not necessarily evident.  People go around kissing each other right and left all the time.”

Allen frowned.  “Do you?  Go around kissing other guys right and left all the time?”

“Well, no, I don’t.  I didn’t know if you went around kissing other girls right and left all the time.”

“Uh… no, I don’t.”

Hannah smiled at him. “Okay, then.  Did that kiss mean you want to have a relationship with me?”

“What?  Are we in middle-school?  Did I just pass you a note that says, ‘Do you like me? Yes? No? Check one.’”

“Very funny.  I repeat, did that kiss mean you want to have a relationship with me?”

“Well… uh… yes, I do.”

“A romantic relationship?  Yes? No? Check one.” Hannah asked him.

“Oh, this girl really doesn’t know. Yes, a romantic relationship,” Allen said.

She took a deep breath and then said, “Okay.  For now, I am not into anything red-hot and racy.  I prefer soft and lovely and cute.”

“Not red, but pink?”  he asked.

“Pale pink.  Not R-rated.  PG with only a touch of PG-13.”

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

He frowned at her and then asked, “So there are limits?  Boundaries?”


“Kissing is okay, then?”


“What kind of kissing?  Any tongue allowed?” he asked, willing to play the game with her.

“Well, yes, but limited.”

“Limited to what?” Allen asked.

“Lips, but not passed the teeth.”

“So licking your tonsils is R-rated?”

“Yes, if I still had tonsils.  They were taken out when I was two.” Hannah told him.

“Can I lick your cheek?” he asked.

“Is this guy some kind of pervert with a weird cheek fetish?  Why would you want to lick my cheek?” she asked him.

“I don’t know, but it could come up.  It might destroy the mood if I have to ask you if it is okay, later.  You know, right before I actually lick your cheek. Better to get a clarification now. And I don’t have a cheek fetish.  By the way, how long have you had this disease where everything you think comes out of your mouth?” Allen asked.

“Can you believe this guy? Okay.  Touching my cheek with your tongue may be alright under certain conditions.”

“Got it. Use of the tongue is conditional.  What about hands?”

“We can hold hands,” Hannah said.

Photo by Filipp Romanovski on Unsplash

“So, I am allowed to touch your hands.  What about your face?” Allen asked.

“When you say touch my face, what kind of touch are you thinking about?”

“A perfectly pale pink caress.”  Allen started to have a lot of fun with her negotiations.  He decided to go all in with her game. “And your neck is okay to touch with fingers and lips?”




“Can I lick your elbow?”  Allen asked.

“What?  Why?  We have established you don’t have a cheek fetish, but is there an elbow fetish we need to discuss?”  Hannah asked.

“I don’t have a reason now, but it could come up in the future.  I just want to be sure.  And I don’t have any kind of fetish that I know about.  You can keep that thought to yourself.”

“So what’s up with all the licking? I am picturing a St. Bernard, here. And no, I don’t like doggy kisses.”

“A St. Bernard? Oh, this girl is giving me a headache! I am trying to discover what your boundaries really are.”

“Oh, this guy who wants to lick my cheek and my elbow!” Hannah put her fingers up to her the bridge of her nose as if she were really caressing an aching head. “Okay. Again, licking my elbow may be alright under certain conditions.”

“Conditional elbow licking.  Got it.”  He noticed her frown and felt her start to shut down a bit.  He didn’t want the game she started to end, just yet.  “What’s wrong?  I’m making a list for future reference.  Now, what about your chest?”

“Chest?  As in breasts?”

“Well, yes.  All guys want to know about breasts.” He gave her his most serious look.

“If I knew you were a typical guy and not very special, I may have called all this off. Pay attention, Allen. This is a very important negotiation point. Breasts are R-rated. Plus, it should go without saying that all genitals are R-rated, too.”

“I wasn’t even going to ask about genitals. But, what if we hug? I will be able to feel your breasts touching my chest through our clothes.  Are you saying no hugs?”

“Hugs are fine,”  Hannah smiled because she realized he was fully playing her game.

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

“Back hugs, too?” He asked.

“Yes.  Back hugs are fine as long as your arms and hands remain in the PG position.”

“Okay.  Arms and hands in the PG position. Now, what about feet?”

“What about them?”  She asked.

“Can I caress your feet?” Allen asked

“Only after I’ve had a pedicure. What about your feet?  Can I caress them?”

“Only after I’ve had a pedicure.  Can I kiss your toes?”

“Weird, but the pedicure provision still stands,”  Hannah said.

“You will let me know when your next pedicure appointment is, right?” Allen asked.

“So you do have a fetish. A foot fetish,” Hannah teased.

“This girl really doesn’t know.”  He took a deep breath and then said, “Any part of the body can be an erogenous zone if it is approached correctly.”

“Oh, my.  Do we have to start our negotiations, again?  I feel like Antony Blinken at the Middle East Peace Talks. Like I am getting nowhere.”


“This guy is totally uninformed.  Maybe I need to re-think this whole romantic relationship.  Antony Blinken is the current Secretary of State under President Biden.  You do know who President Biden is?”

“Oh, ha ha,” Allen said.  Then, “We have actually covered a lot of ground in our negotiations.  Nothing red.  Just lovely pale pink.  That is a major breakthrough. Do you want to continue?”

“Continue negotiations?”

“This girl really doesn’t know.  I meant continue with a romantic relationship?  You do realize that a romantic relationship is much deeper than girlfriend/boyfriend.”

“Deeper in what way?” she asked.

“Boyfriend/Girlfriend relationships are like middle school relationships. ‘Do you like me? Yes? No? Check one.’ A romantic relationship involves the heart and real, deep feelings.”

“Deep feelings, like… love?” Hannah asked.

“Totally like love,” Allen said.

“Are you saying you love me?”  Hannah asked him.

“Did you just go back to middle school?  ‘Hannah, do you love me? Yes? No? Check one.’”

“Well, I’m not sure.  We have to kiss again before I can answer your middle school note.”

Allen didn’t hesitate.  He put his hand on her cheek and pulled her in closer.  Their lips met again and he gently touched her lips with his tongue.  Suddenly the kiss deepened and his other hand pulled her into a closer embrace.

Allen pulled away from her, leaving one hand holding her cheek and the other hand holding onto her shoulder blade so she couldn’t move too far away from him.  “I’m ready for your answer.”

Hannah said, “Let me see.  The note said, “‘Hannah, do you love me? Yes? No? Check one.’  The answer to that is ‘Yes.’  My note says, ‘Allen, do you love me? Yes? No? Check one.’”

“Hannah, I love you with all my heart.”  Allen pulled her into another PG-13 kiss that lasted all day. 

Photo by Joanna Nix-Walkup on Unsplash
Blog Entries, retirement, Writing

A Day in The Life of a COVID Stay-At-Home Female

Photo by Christian Lambert on Unsplash
  • 8:05 Up and at-em. Slowly. My body is stuck and I feel like I am moving through glue. Arthritis is to blame.
  • 8:20 Finally made it to the bathroom.
  • 8:45 Finished repairing the damage sleep caused. Stepped on the scales and gained a pound over the weekend. I am either eating too many chips or I am pregnant.
  • 9:00 Dressed and made bed. See Mom? I didn’t get on the internet just to make you cry.
  • 9:10 Breakfast gathered and brought into the office. No coffee today, because I drink decaf when I do drink coffee and not drinking coffee at all seems to be no problem. Besides, I don’t have irritating co-workers to deal with and no meetings in the breakroom that turn into marathon gab-fests.
  • 10:30 Read the daily Bible text, Breakfast completed, perused Facebook, wrote a blog entry, checked email, checked to-do list, looked online for baby girl names.
  • 10:35 Started working. The thing is, I work at home, doing a job that is sometimes boring and definitely tedious. But, I am saving my house. I call apartments all across the US, checking on apartment availability and pricing and then that info gets sent to the guys who hired me so they can set rates for the “daily pricing” system. Basically, apartments now charge as much as the market will bear, so no breaks on apartment rent.
  • 12:30 Lunch break. Left-over fish fillet made into a sandwich with cheese and tartar sauce. Better than a McDonald’s fillet of fish.
  • 1:30 Watched a guy on YouTube walking around Yokohama, Japan while I ate my lunch.
  • 4:05 Finished working for the day. Highlights from working: Lady: I need your home address and your birthdate before I can provide any information. Me: I am simply looking for pricing and availability. I am not filling out a lease at this time. Why do you need my home address and my birthday? Lady: We need it to make sure you are honest. Me: I will look elsewhere.
  • 4:08 Thinking about the lady I encountered. How will knowing my address and birthdate prove I am honest? I am baffled.
  • 4:09 Turned on the TV.
  • 5:45 Put my trash can out be the street for pick-up tomorrow. Watched an episode of Meet the Meerkats on Discovery+. And another. And another.
  • 6:00 Ate cereal for dinner because I didn’t want my leftovers and was too lazy to cook.
  • 6:45 Napped in my chair after dinner.
  • 8:15 1 hour and 15 minutes of meeting with Friends on Zoom. One of my favorite things to do during the week.
  • 9:15 Watched an episode of The Zoo. Animal shows are safe to watch. I am not old enough to watch anything that is rated “R.”
  • 9:30 Got ready for bed. I used to just get into the bed, now I have to get ready for bed. I am older, now.
  • 10:00 Read a book until I fell asleep.
  • 10:01 Rudely awakened when I dropped the book on my face.
  • 11:30 Read some more until I felt sleepy, again.
  • 11:31 Put the book on the nightstand so I wouldn’t drop it on my face, again.

If you read all of that, I congratulate you. You have a great deal of perseverance and stamina.

Blog Entries, Writing

A Pet Peeve

I am pretty chilled out about most things. It is a perk of getting older, I think. Like water on a duck’s back. But, it seems when something starts to bother me, a non-stop rant may ensue…

Let me start at the beginning. There is a company who sends me emails several times a day. These are completely unsolicited and unwanted. I do not read them and I do not want to read them. (I am not going to name the company in this blog because I refuse to give them any free advertising.) I have unsubscribed from these emails, on average, twice a week for the last month. I always get the message “You have been unsubscribed. Please allow ten business days to process your request.”

TEN? TEN DAYS? TEN DAYS NOT INCLUDING WEEKENDS? Oh, for crying out loud. Any reputable company can unsubscribe you from their email list immediately. As in right that second. As in you-will-never-receive-another-email-from-them

This company I am writing about not only did not unsubscribe me at my request, they INCREASED the number of emails they are sending me by a factor of four.

  • Sidebar: You see, you have to open the email to unsubscribe and that flags their account, telling them I opened the email and therefore I MUST be interested in their product and/or service.

I assume the thinking is, if they send enough emails to me, I will finally be intimidated into buying their product or service and I will finally stop receiving their emails. I am not a fool Unnamed company. I know if I buy your product and/or service, I will NEVER get rid of your emails.

I sent them to Google and reported them as spam. Maybe that will work. Likely, I will get another increase in the number of emails I receive from these people.

The funny thing is, I don’t even know how I got on their list to begin with. Probably, my email address was sold to them by someone else. If I ever find out who that is, I will report them to Google, too.

Blog Entries, Essay, Uncategorized, Writing

Anger Management and STRONG Advice to Landlords

This post is not about crocheting or writing. This one is about anger, as the title suggests. So much to deal with, these days. But, let me start at the beginning.

Anyone who follows this blog knows my brother died last June. In order to keep my finances in order without having to sell most of what I own, I decided to get a roommate who could pay me a small amount of rent monthly. I made a very bad mistake when I didn’t charge a deposit. I thought I was being nice. I thought I was doing my future tenant a favor. I tried to be a fair and reasonable landlady. What a mistake!

I found a woman in her fifties who needed a place to rent, so we agreed on a sum I gave the the grand tour of the house and she said she liked it. She signed the lease, agreeing to pay me month to month. Then, she moved in. Within a week, this woman started complaining about the temperature in the house. My house is 126 years old which means it is hot in the summer and cold in the winter, even with HVAC installed. She complained about several things she thought was wrong with my house: No insulation, builder’s grade carpet in the bedroom, only two electrical outlets (she forgot to count the one in the bathroom) and the water from the water heater was too cold, the internet was slow, she had to park on the street, and on and on ad nauseum.

I replaced the water heater because it was old and a ticking timebomb, anyway. I patiently explained the cost of insulating a old home and the cost of re-wiring and old home. She demanded lower rent. So, we renegotiated and I lowered the rent by $100 a month. In retrospect, I should have told her to get lost right then.


Then, she began accusing me of going into her room when she wasn’t home. Every. Day. I told her I did not go into her room because I had no reason to go into her room. She installed a security camera and pointed it toward the door to the bedroom. This was apparently done the day she moved in, however, I didn’t know there was a camera in her room for a couple of months. She was bragging on a rug she bought for the floor and I spotted the camera when I went into her room (with her present) to admire it. I thought my head would explode, but I held my peace. Another big error on my part.

She began accusing me of going into her room when she wasn’t home. Every. Day.

The next time she accused me of going into her room, I suggested she look at her camera footage and she would know I didn’t go in there. That became my new mantra. “Look at your camera footage before you accuse me.”


By this time, winter was approaching and she began to complain about the room being too cold, the water being too cold, me going into her room and me listening to her phone conversations. As for the last complaint, I went into my bedroom, which is upstairs and right over her bedroom, to change my clothes after dropping food down the front of my shirt. She came up the stairs and demanded I stop listening to her phone conversations. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

She demanded I stop listening to her phone conversations.

“I was on the phone and you went into your room to just hung out and listen to me,” she explained in her whining, complaining voice. What an incredible ego she had. Really? There couldn’t have possibly been another reason I went into my bedroom? She is too old to be an entitled millennial, but that is what she acted like.

I asked her through clenched teeth, “Is your TV on right now?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Stand in my bedroom and tell me what you hear.” I could not hear her TV in my room, nor could I hear her when she was talking on her phone in her room. She didn’t respond. She gave me a bitch-I-wish-you-would-drop-dead look and left. While she was heading down the stairs, I told her that I refused to sit in a closet and never come out just because she moved in.

She had her mail changed to a post office box because she thought I was reading her mail. She continually complained about me going into her room. She still complained about me listening to her phone conversations. She complained that it was my fault that HER Firestick stopped working because of my wonky internet. (I have no problem with it, whatsoever.)

As a side note, I didn’t promise 5-star accommodations. I distinctly remember promising a bed and a bathroom, kitchen and laundry privileges.

She nearly ruined my washer with using too much fabric softener and when I asked her to not use it again, she did anyway. It took me two days to clean out my washer after she left because the inside of it was covered in a sticky blue sludge that smelled just like her fabric softener. And I was allergic to it. when I did my laundry, inevitably, it coated my clothes. I had places that itched that I really didn’t want to scratch in public. I told her this. She didn’t care.

And then, the day before she left, she once again accused me of going into her room. My patience snapped and I suggested (loudly) that she check her camera footage. I suggested she stop making the accusation because if she asked me five months from now, I would tell her the same thing. “I did not go into her room!” I told her that if I HAD to do into her room for some reason, like the house was on fire, I would text her to let her know. I told her I never wanted to hear that accusation, again. She said, “All I want is peace.” I replied, “Then, stop your paranoid accusations and figure out, once and for all time, that I don’t care what is in your room and I have no burning desire to hang out in there when you are not home. I have a life and none of it includes looking around your bedroom.” My tirade was skillfully sprinkled with a few foul words and much longer than I included in this post.

She moved out the next day.

And after she left, I knew why she didn’t want me in her room and was so freaking paranoid about it. She robbed me blind. She must have had a pile of my things in a corner and she was afraid I would see them. The list of things she stole from me is as follows and in no way complete: sheets for the bed she slept on, 2 brand new pillows, the pulls from the ceiling fan, the light bulbs out of the ceiling fan, the bathroom set of cup, toothbrush holder and soap dish, a walking cane, a blanket I crocheted for her that she was supposed to pay for, another blanket I let her borrow, a 25 gallon plastic tote I let her borrow, a hammer, several screwdrivers, a cordless drill, kitchen utensils, an umbrella, and the key to the front door.

She robbed me blind.

Then she told one of my neighbors, who asked her why she was moving, that I kept going into her room when she wasn’t home and she had camera footage to prove it. That statement made her a liar as well as a thief, because there is no camera footage of me going into her bedroom because I never did.

And I don’t want to even discuss how nasty the bedroom and bathroom was right after she moved.

The Lessons I Learned

  • I will not invite someone I don’t know to live in my house, again.
  • And if I ever decide that someone can move into my spare room, they will give me a hefty deposit that I will NOT return until about 30 days after they have left and I have had time to assess anything stolen from me.
  • I will immediately evict anyone who starts to complain about my house.
  • I will not renegotiate the rent once it is agreed upon.
  • I will add $150 non-refundable key deposit and change the lock the same day a new tenant moves out.
  • I will not try to be a “nice” landlady, again.

Nothing About Crochet

This post has nothing to do with crochet and everything to do with writing. Putting thoughts to paper (or in this case, screen) is something I do frequently. Mostly I write in a little moleskin notebook: the 3.5 inches by 5.5 inches variety with a hard cover.

Photo by Owen Yin on Unsplash

I used to have several notebooks for lists and thoughts, but in an effort to simplify, I switched to a single notebook for everything. Writing by hand is therapeutic. Zen, almost. I write slowly and deliberately with a Bic Cristal Pen with blue ink. Typing is done in a fast and frenzied fashion that would please Mavis Bacon. But with typing, my thoughts are often disjointed. Writing by hand forces me to think and create and contemplate.

Today, I find myself being distracted watching the birds at my bird feeder. A single blue jay, a grackle, chickadees, house finches with their fushia breasts and cardinals partake of the offering. The grackle summons his fellows and they set all the smaller bird to wing. Then, the grackles leave and the smaller birds continue their feast.

The sun is out after what seems to be a month of rain. Still, I dilly-dally, not working.

Blog Entries, Writing

Rainy Days and Tuesdays

Today is raining… well sprinkling. It has been doing so for the past 24 hours and everything looks drenched and as tired of the rain as I am. Birds are sulking, plants are dripping, water pours from the eaves of my house. Dreary.

Photo by Erik Witsoe on Unsplash

But, watching the rain makes me think about all the things that I can create. It rejuvenates my brain as if the rain is washing away all the cobwebs and clouds I carry around inside. I feel like singing.

New ideas pop into my head: Make summer gloves and summer fingerless gloves. Make unique crocheted items and sell the patterns… not just the items. When I say unique, I mean one-of-a-kind pieces. Free form crochet. Interesting color combinations and designs.

I am not a crocheter who can sit and just crank out hat after hat to attempt to sell. I get bored with repetition. So, I making sketches of items in my little black book that I may or may not crochet eventually. The fun for me is in the planning.

Blog Entries, Writing

Design and Creativity

I was curious about where in the brain creativity is created. I looked over several articles dealing with creativity and design and the conclusions were nebulous.

An article in The Guardian from December 28, 2015 stated:

Even in the wilderness that is human thinking, creative ideas seem to be deliberately designed to defy empirical inquiry. There is something elusive, perhaps even mystical, about them – visits from the muse or lightbulbs come to mind.

Where does ‘creativity’ happen in your brain?
Arne Dietrich

A test was developed to measure creativity, like thinking up alternative uses for a common object like a garden hose, for example. Theoretically, the least thought of solution was supposed to be the most creative.

Hmmmm. Really? Does that mean if I figured out a way to use a garden hose as monster truck tire and 18 other people did, too, that I am less creative? Even if I never consulted with those other 18 individuals? Even if I came up with an ingenious solution all on my own?

Einstein (allegedly) said that the measure of intelligence is not knowledge, but imagination. And isn’t imagination where creativity starts?

Essay, Writing

Chandelier of Ideas

Everyone is busy. That doesn’t even need to be said. We have tasks that we must do every day, like brushing teeth or eating. We have task we chose to do every day, like making the bed or reading.

In my case, not only do I have the necessary tasks, daily, I have to battle with my creativity. So many ideas. I don’t get single bulb ideas, I get chandeliers of light bulbs over my head.

Photo by William Krause on Unsplash

What normally happens is there is so much rolling around in my brain, that I get overwhelmed: Writing ideas, crochet projects, organization projects, business plans. Not to mention actually working to earn real money. (I am a scheduler with A Closer Look Mystery Shopping and I do mystery shops for several firms.) On top of that, I have grocery shopping, cooking, dish washing, laundry, finding time to work-out a few minutes every day, and sleeping.

I don’t get single bulb ideas, I get chandeliers of light bulbs over my head.

From what I have read, to be truly effective, I have to set up a routine and make deadlines for myself. I’d rather chew on glass, however, there is merit to this suggestion. This is, I am most creative in the morning, but that is when so many of the “ordinary” tasks take up precious time. Better if I would ignore my mother’s voice in my head telling me I have to make the bed and clean the kitchen before doing anything enjoyable.

Ideally, I would get up, make coffee and toast, then slam out two hours of solid creativity before making the bed and cleaning the kitchen. I could work on those new crochet patterns, write stories, create a business plan, mentally organize my closets.

Then, I could do my job, which is repetitive and not terribly creative. Then, after working a few hours, I could work on the actual crochet project. Another repetitive task that is closely akin to meditation.

Yes, I think this is a good plan.

Blog Entries, Essay, Writing

Not Quite a Resolution

Every year, about this time of year, I get this idea that I should do something meaningful. Maybe a lot of people do that. New year, new ideas. I don’t really make resolutions. This is more of a PLAN for the year. More precisely, projects I hope to complete.


Overriding everything is getting my online business, Chesapeake Bay Crochet, really moving along. I actually sell more items on eBay, but I don’t plan to close my Etsy store. Also, I am selling items on this blog, by listing my latest projects.

A Corner of My Desk. A Large Part of My LIfe

This will involve creating patterns to sell as well as finished items. I have spent time researching key words and updating my SEO knowledge to be relevant to today.


No, I am not thirteen. What I mean is, I have a little pocket size notebook that I intend to take with me everywhere I go. You can get them at Amazon. They are inexpensive and small enough to fit in a purse, backpack or whatever else you carry on a regular basis. This little notebook will be the place where I write down everything: ideas, grocery lists, interesting things, funny things, sketches, things I am thankful for, reminders. One notebook for everything instead of having several locations for all of my stuff. Don’t you just love organization?


This is not a new idea for me. This is a plan I make every year. Even if my Bible reading consists on just one or two verses, I will read a portion of the Bible daily. Yes, I am a religious person and I believe in what I read. The Bible is my source of comfort, intelligence, wisdom, ideas, knowledge and belonging. I do not read it just for the sake of running a race or for a sense of accomplishment. Over the years, I feel as if I have read the entire Bible. It doesn’t go like a novel, where you begin on page one and carry on until completion. Depending on the day, I will carefully choose what to read: a song, a prayer, practical wisdom, history, an individual’s story.

Blog Entries, Road of Change, Writing

Excuses, Excuses

Okay.  So here’s what’s been going on in my life that has rendered me unable to post another chapter of my novel…

First, I sneezed a couple of times uh… caught a summer cold  uh… came down with pneumonia and then spent a couple of days, no weeks, months under the weather…

Okay, here is the real story:  An airplane fell from the sky and crashed through my office window completely destroying my laptop, my tablet, my phone, my empty journals, all my pens, a typewriter and lots of light bulbs.  Oddly enough.  *notices no one is believing that story, either. *

Fine.  You win!

I HAVE WRITER’S BLOCK!  ARE YOU HAPPY, NOW?  ARE YOU HAPPY YOU MADE ME SAY IT?  (Dramatically illustrated by the typewriter with a blank sheet of paper and a notebook with pristine white pages in the photo below

Photo by Elijah O’Donell on Unsplash

It’s just that outside is so beautiful with the bright sunshine, the pretty flowers, the brilliant green grass, the summer breezes.  Who wants to write, expressing the darker innermost thoughts of a couple in the midst of a tragedy in their marriage when the sky is so blue?  Who wants to dwell on such deep negative thoughts and ideas (even though I know how the story ends) when the house finches and chickadees are clustered around the bird feeder, feasting on the seeds I gave them?  How can the world be horrible when the tomatoes are changing from bright green to bright red even as I write?

I will wait for a rain storm or an earthquake in a faraway place or the darkness that come right before the dawn to write another chapter in my novel: The Road of Change.

In the meantime, patience, dear readers.