By 7:30 a.m., I have had my virtual cup of coffee and am ready to begin revising a few more chapters of my untitled work in progress. After rereading the first few pages, I decide that the plotting seems to take the reader over a barren plain to nowhere. I recall how well my friend Andrea Jackson builds conflict and tension in the first few pages of her book, BODYGUARD. I want her to read over my chapters and give me a few pointers. But when I ESP her, I get a message that she is not inworld. I imagine she must be celebrating the release of her new book, HAND IN GLOVE, which I can't wait to read!

            Still feeling a need to have another set of eyes scan my first few pages, I head downstairs to find a fellow community member to consult. Again my timing is off. I run into literary agent Cheryl Ferguson near the elevator. She asks how my writing is going, which is a logical question since I have a pitch session coming up soon. Obviously, I'm not willing to tell her that my first few pages would qualify as a very good lullabye, so I manage a nervous smile and assure her that things are progressing well. Fortunately, she's on her way to another pitch session and doesn't have time to ask details.

            Not having found my impromptu critique partner, I continue my stroll through several locales. It is in Redwing Castle where I find authors Crystal Bright-Hollomon and Monkaya seated in blood-red, high-back velvet chairs, chatting rather animatedly about Monkaya's favourite subject--lycanthropy. The dragon heads carved atop each seat seem to listen intently to the tale, too. So as not to disturb the chatting couple, I ghost and linger for a few moments, enjoying the tale of the HYDROELECTRIC WEREWOLF. But duty calls and I zip from the room with ghostly speed.

            Once out of the castle, I change to human form again. On the verge of giving up my search, which by now seems futile, I head to another favourite locale--Tikki Benit Dai Beach. There, seated on a piece of driftwood, I find the author after whom the beach is named. Without speaking a word, her smile gives me the impression that we have happened upon the same place for the same reason. And as the sun glows like smouldering embers against our backs, we chat about our respective stories until our words become lost among the ocean waves.