Eric, Where's the rest of it? Carol _______ It's mouldering in my desk drawer. Strange how old writing looks so alien, all the weird word choices and stratagems, stuff you'd do differently eight years later, things you thought were cute at the time but now seem labored. "Fusby Puppyshins," for example is the NYT art critic. What was I thinking? Why did I even post that scene yesterday? The novel is set in NY in the late '80s, during the "Art Market Crash," and covers a week. I used days of the week instead of chapters--Friday through Friday. One of the themes--you know, those guiding principles you discover after you finish writing the thing--is that failures of imagination are failures of love. There's a Taoist rocker who burns little verses on a rooftop, but can't concentrate long enough to complete the visualization of the Seven Stars. There's an angry Baptist minister who does a disastrous job of rape counseling. Jesus is also a supporting character in the story and shows up late on Thursday night, more to reprimand the reader than anything else. Onward, Eric ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html