Note about editing

Editing is different for everyone in the way that they approach it. Some already know what needs to change, and they start there and then dig around from there. But then there are some that already think that their work is perfect and that nothing needs to change. Until it's already too late and everyone's pointing out typos and what not.

I suggest a few things as we start this writing process:

1) Love yourself. I find that if my self-confidence is low for whatever reason, then approaching editing makes me feel even worse. I start battering myself with thoughts like, "Why couldn't I have thought of this in the first place?" or "How could I write this?! I'm better than that!" Thinking like this can--and has always been--destructive not only for the revision process, but for the sanity and self-confidence of yourself. If you love your words right now, just don't make the revising personal.

2) Accept that what you wrote is flawed. The words have made mistakes, but you're not there to fix them, you're there to make them the best that they can be. It's not about what you thought would be your favorite line. You have to be unbiased and uncaring. I know that most of us thought of our books as our babies (SO guilty of this...) but when you start editing, let it go.

I think at the beginning of NaNo, we had to trap out inner-editors in a cage and lock it up tight so that it wouldn't leak out so that we could get our novels done. However, some of us may seem to forget that we have to release them when we start editing. And when we release them, we have to put something back in the cage/box/cave thing. I suggest we put the emotional feelings we may have gained over the month. They won't help us while we're working. As Mycroft said in Sherlock (best TV series...EVER):

"Caring is not an advantage."

Of course make it the best it can be! Just don't make it personal.

3) Go as detailed or as vague as you want. If you just want to switch scenes, or chop every word, just realize that it's all fine. Just like you can write whatever you want, you can edit whatever you want. It's all fine. Just make sure that you catch those typos and punctuation errors, along with reading it aloud to find the grammatical errors.

I might add more as I go along. But that's what I keep in mind.

One Word

In AP Literature, we've been looking at what the differences between a word, a sentence, and a paragraph are. There's a book, Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose, that introduces a technique of reading that we've never looked into before. It's close reading. The difference between that and (usually) regular reading is reading verses soaking each word in.

With each word, there is the implicit and explicit definition. The explicit looks like this:

quench

\ kwench \  , verb;

1.

To slake, satisfy, or allay (thirst, desires, passion, etc.).

However, the implicit is something like what it connotates, or what it leans towards when I say it. Usually the connotation is either positive or negative, but words like sinister or toxic have a more dark connotation compared to just negative. There is even neutral or cold, like stigma or beaker. I mention these because I had to include those in my book.

I was almost going into a really in-depth concept, but skipping along, the moral of this story is that one word can change the entire meaning for the novel. We can look at a sentence and get the general meaning just by skimming and assuming because of subject and verb that this is what they're thinking. But what they use to describe those two things (or even the verbs themselves) can be the polar opposite of what you had been thinking. Like this from the Abandoned Farmhouse by Ted Kooser: 

a tall man too, says the length of the bed 

in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man, 

says the Bible with a broken back

on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;

Now, the rest of the poem deals with the sudden disappearance of a small family from a farmhouse, and the reader is left to put all of the pieces together to why they left. But this part particularly intrigued me. 

Initially, you would see a couple of cliches (good, God-fearing man) and automatically because of our experience in life, we've gathered that God-fearing doesn't actually mean fearing, but it is a way of saying that one is really religious. However, when we see broken, we may also think that it is just used overly. But what good, God-fearing man would describe the bible's binding as broken? That connotates pain, fervent searching, maybe even throwing it across the room. Then we realize that God-fearing may actually mean God-fearing. Then we see that this man may not be good, it may be sarcasm. He could be the nastiest man alive. 

All from the word broken. 

The power of words is one of the strongest forces in the world, pertaining to the mind. You put one next to the other, and they both create different colors together. Then string thousands of them together, let them dangle, let them hog chunks of space, let the introverts remain by themselves. Each word was placed there for a reason. Soak it in. 

Character

Name: Stem

Age: 23

Physical Description: 6'1", brilliant blue eyes, white short hair. She's as skinny as a stick, and her skin is unblemished white (She's freaking pale). But it's not translucent, it is solid, which is her own personal style and taste. No one has skin just like her. Her favorite appearance to look in is a white professional suit, pencil skirt, jacket that reaches all the way to the back of her hand in a point. She is short for her ethnicity, but she doesn't let it ruffle her. She doesn't let anything ruffle her.

Location: She lives in the lab housing in the main science building. Not very many actually live in the building, but her research is important enough that she needs to be near it all the time. Her apartment is small, but she only sleeps there.

Goals/Desires: to keep her job as a Bioweaponist in the higher class of Scientists. She does what she loves, and although it is terrifying, she loves the science behind it. She also wants to keep her biggest secret a secret.

Weakness/Insecurities: She is insecure about all of the politics. She's stayed single for that reason. She  doesn't understand why it's so important for her to fall in love with someone in particular. All of the games and fuss about it makes her sick. She would rather go into the high caves without a mask for the rest of her life than get married. So she avoids parties and the public eye at all costs.

Pet Peeves: too much noise, which is why she prefers her own lab. When there's too much noise, she'll call people to attention, even when she has nothing to say. She also can't handle others stupidity well. She'll get impatient and sarcastic, and sometimes make the problem worse. She also hates when the stupidity of her interns makes her tests invalid.

Strengths: her mind, her determination, her self-control.

Fondest/Saddest memories: Stem's fondest memory is of her first time out in the field. She got the same opportunity as Acaia. She got to the caves after her first hike, and seeing  how bright it was...it changed her. That's why she dresses in white all the time. The light from all her gadgets don't feel real to her anymore. So once a year, she takes a trip to the high caves and basks in the light.

Religion/World Philosophy: Her philosophy is that she has to kill the Aztecs before they kill her, and she is willing to do anything in order to wipe them out, including creating horrifying weapons that rip apart the body with bacteria.

Habits: Stem is really still. The only reason she moves is to do something important. When she is stressed, she shakes, shivers, like she's freezing. Same when she's angry. She's calm when she's afraid. She's serenely scary when she's under extreme pressure. She doesn't want to change anything about her appearance because she's a DNA specialist and she has already changed everything she wants.
She speaks slowly and deeply, with purpose and high education. Her presentations are powerful and moving. When she's angry, her voice shakes, and may get higher and quieter. She also knows every single language that they have. Including some Aztec.

Family: Her family is mostly gone. Her parents are dead since she was the youngest of three children. She wasn't particularly close with any of her family or siblings, but she still loved them of course. When her mother finally had her, she was tired all the time, and that way she learned to love the quiet. Her oldest sibling was a brother, who died in his late twenties in an ambush. She was about nine. It traumatized the entire family. After that, her sister started being unfair and cruel to her, furthering her descent into silence.

Favorite music/movie/tv show: She doesn't like books, or music. She likes to write books, and read them for research. But never for recreation.

People

People. This is the hardest post ever. Anyone else feel that way?

Here we go.

Well, am I supposed to give you my philosophy on what people are, what it means to be human? Should I describe the way that humans naturally tend to? Or maybe I should ramble on about good verses evil. The whole moral compass thing is overused, though.

I think it is funny that although we know that a human generally feels the same emotions as the next bloke, we somehow get the notion that we are completely alone sometimes, that no one knows that we are experiencing or feeling, but everyone does at the same time. It's funny.

While I believe that people become who they are because of how they are raised, I also believe that everyone changes dramatically and that they will find who they are because they choose to search. If something is missing from their lives, they will search, and they will find it.

I also think people are hilarious. Here are some funny pictures to prove it.

YA Rant

I'm in a bit of a trench at the moment when it comes to reading young adult novels. I've been spending a lot of time with a book, Reading like a Writer by Francine Prose (best author name EVER. JEALOUSY). The entire novel focuses on a type of reading that doesn't let a single word pass through our notice. Word by word, sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph we break apart a novel and get to what the author was really trying to say. With brilliant classics, this technique is like salt: it brings out the amazingness and why it is a classic. However, with many a young adult read, I've found this technique begging not to be used.

Immediately after a young adult novel gets huge in the industry, all of the aspiring writers out there want to write that book. They are looking to become the next bestseller, the next J.K. Rowling or Stephenie Meyer. Literally. I was one of them that wanted to be Stephenie, but when I figured out, oh hey, I want to be a better writer, I don't really care about the fameat all, that was when all of the words started fitting better. I didn't write for me, I wrote to find a precious sentence amidst the muck. Which is really difficult. But anyway, aspiring writers took huge elements from Twilight or The Hunger Games and tweaked them a little bit. And by little, I'm serious. Tiny bits were changed.

A novel that I'm reading right now is exactly like The Hunger Games. It's The Selection by Kiera Cass (Best. Cover. Ever. WANT). I've been hearing great things about this book since before it was out. I was excited to read it. Now that I am, every single thing jumps out at me. Allow me to make two lists.

Hunger Games

• Dystopian World, far in the future.
• Districts, each specializing in some industry, bettering the whole (apparently).
• Competition for fame and power
• Love interest before said competition, although minor. Help each other get food.
• Main character doesn't want to go into the competition.
• Main character can sing.
• Main character goes into the competition.
• An announcer--in a blue suit--is loved by all the people, and is a regular for the competition.
• Interviews before competition.
• Random draw for competition
• Designer and new wardrobe for main character.
• Main character has young sister that looks up to her.

Get the picture? Oh, look, a list about:
The Selection

• Dystopian World, far in the future.
• Castes, each specializing in some industry, bettering the whole (apparently).
• Competition for fame and power
• Love interest before said competition. Main character helps him get food.
• Main character doesn't want to go into the competition.
• Main character can sing.
• Main character goes into the competition.
• An announcer--in a blue suit--is loved by all the people, and is a regular for the competition.
• Interviews before competition.
• Random draw for competition
• Designer and new wardrobe for main character.
• Main character has young sister that looks up to her.

*Cough*

See what I mean? I'm not even past page 65 and all of these things are way too similar. It's a copycat, and it's this kind of thing that I'm super wary of both in reading and writing.

Another red flag that I keep seeing is that tons of these YA books are being tossed into the market, but none of them are any good. Seriously. They are just published because it is what is trending, or hopefully trending right now. The writing is poor, the idea is somewhat sound, and the genre is perfect. A recent example that I struggled to get through was the Girl in the Steel Corset by Kady Cross. There were typos. Typos. Seriously? Seriously. For reals. And they were obvious ones, like "fist" instead of "first"...which is a whole letter missing. Blaringly annoying. These books aren't being edited, and typos are a huge sign of that. And the writing was ok, but nothing compared to Laini Taylor or Maggie Stiefvater. At least those writers know how to describe a setting. It makes me angry because I want to read good writing, but it is becoming really hard to find without reverting to classics. I know it's out there...somewhere...

Last, but my biggest peeve of all time for this genre.

Freaking love. Love triangles. Multiple love interests. In any genre, this is something that is repeated, and is dry, and is overdone, and put in just for the sake of being there. Especially when it is the main point of the book too. I can vividly imagine the author explaining to her friends (it is usually a her, not surprisingly) in an almost hysteric tone that their main character, which found out she can do x thing because of her ancestors/mystical forest endowed her with it, falls in love with a forbidden person, and they're not supposed to do that, but they find a way, and la de freaking dah.

Please, please. Give me a great YA read that doesn't have a love triangle, has great writing, and is (for goodness sakes) original in some way. Recommend it now. Please.

Teeth of Ice

It was quiet for the afternoon, cold as always, but quiet. Talus tightened the wrist guards, the cloth a bit more damp from his own sweat than he would have liked, but he wouldn't fall out. Once the clamps were almost welded together, he straightened himself at the edge of the building and hoped the hydraulics weren't louder than the scene below.

He gripped the holds, then took a deep breath.

He pushed himself off the edge of the building with a grunt and loss of fear. He hovered a second before his rapid descent almost overcame him. Gripping the holds, he aimed his hooks for the edges of the buildings and squeezed. The violent hiss of the system shot the hooks off to where he aimed, spraying him with air quickly turning to ice from the change of temperature. He let out a solid laugh as the force swung him down, almost to the ground. They lifted him back up in the perfect swing, and he aimed again for another edge. He imagined he looked like one of Darwin's monkeys, swinging from steel vine to steel vine.

He couldn't help it: he let out an exhilarated howl.

The street ahead veered to the left, but he needed to keep going straight to get to his house faster, although illegal. He focused on the point he had only successfully pinned himself to once and promised himself that he would make it.

On the upswing, he raised his right arm, waiting until the rope was all the way charged back up into the mechanism, then shot it at the point: a tiny railing that was nearly hidden from his view, not taking his eyes from it for even a blink. The kicks and constant pulling were beginning to hurt his shoulders, but he didn't let go of it.

The hook flickered through the air, its tail a writhing snake as the weight shivered like he did. It was cold.

The hook hit the railing with an almighty clang, knowing that it would have hurt the ears of whoever was near. There wasn't anything he could do after, so he got himself ready to find a place to land in case he had to make the usual emergency one. A pile of rotted fruit looked better than nothing, and he braced himself.

He started an upswing, to his surprise. The hook had caught, the slick-iced scoundrel!

And he forgot to shoot the next hook. He realized it too late, when the descent started making him turn over himself to go backwards. He swore loudly, scrambling with no place to escape from gravity. He craned his head and saw an edge above him.

It shot, kissing the lip sloppily, then held. An intense and familiar pain shot through his already sore shoulder, and he gritted his teeth to keep from screaming. The slick-iced scoundrel of a hook was slow in going back into the system, but he was safe. He just needed to get his shoulder back into its socket.

After throwing himself to the ground with his arm clutched in his other and successfully restoring mobility to it, albeit painful, he walked the short alleyway to his street, then down a few houses where his very modest one was hidden behind two larger ones. They had a splendid view of the wall that kept out bears. Two rooms, large enough for a very fat family of two. And all the rats he dared to eat, a home fit for the king of streets.

He nudged open the door with the opposite arm, the other was still tender, and let himself flop down on the sofa, which was composed more of dust than cushion. He could trace the footsteps in the rotting carpet, the smaller footsteps of his mother on tip-toe going to their only cabinet, one that he never had access to as a child. He knew it was for later because it was his birthday, and there wasn't any other reason to attempt to hide something.

Religion and Science

One of the topics that I read about a lot includes religion facing off against science. And it irks me to no end.

I found this on pinterest:

(I will add this when I get home because apparently, pinterest is blocked. In the meanwhile, imagine a picture that describes our position in the known universe and how tiny we are. At the bottom, there is a picture of a scientist that basically says, "Where is your god now?")

It is the opinion of many famous astrophysicists, at least the ones I know about. Their job is to figure out the motions of planets and stars, and other things like it. Obviously I know so much about it. Anyways, along the way of becoming an astrophysicist, they become highly atheist. I guess figuring out that planets move and the universe is expanding is reason enough to give up believing in a higher power. I've also seen on popular TV shows that creationism and the Big Bang theory have no place in the same sentence, let alone the same mind.

I don't see why it's wrong at all. I believe that there is a higher power, and that science just makes this power more concrete. The more I learn about genomes and DNA, biology and the like, the more I am in complete awe. There isn't a way that DNA can just happen.

An instance that happened recently where scientists were able to get the components that create life, all the DNA chemicals, all the things that are needed to create a single-celled organism, the simplest that we know of. They put all of the ingredients together and, surprise surprise, the single-celled organism was created. For some reason, this shook the science world. I can see how it would, they can now say that life could have happened on accident.

But I want to see the evidence that my higher power doesn't exist. The community is such a firm believer in science, I want them to prove me wrong that my god doesn't exist with real, physical evidence that they have searched over the universe, have gone through every avenue to figure out that there isn't any such thing. Along with that evidence, I want flying pigs, and a tree that grows hundred-dollar bills. Thank you.

Dreams

My dreams are really weird, I'm sure everyone has strange ones. I can think of a few experiences that were really unique, though.

One of them was I think in 2006, I think. I was dreaming about being at my grandma's house, and one of the childhood friends I haven't seen in ages would NOT let me go somewhere, I don't remember. But I made a huge fuss about it, and eventually I was crying on the stairs. Then I took control of the dream. I sat up straight, said out loud, "This is ridiculous," and I decided to change things. But just like in Inception, it was my first time controlling my dream. Everything turned blue, and the dream collapsed. Then it was dark, but I could see the outline of my room, but it was black and white. I blinked, and then I was awake. It was so weird. A short while later, I had the same kind of thing happen. In the dream, I was being kidnapped by nutcracker soldiers in the summer version of The Nutcracker ballet. And then again, I thought I would control the dream. Then everything turned blue, then white, then black, then a blink and I was awake. Weird.

Then there's the stress dreams. There's two kinds. One kind is immediate stress that makes me sleepwalk sometimes, or there's the kind that occurs three weeks after the event I was stressing about in the dream actually happened. Instances:

I was going to leave home for a week for the first time in ninth grade. The night before, I sleep-walked to the stairs during my dream of not being able to pack enough things for the trip. I woke up at the top, and I thought to myself, oh it must be time to leave. So I went downstairs, ate breakfast, and sat on the couch for half an hour, fully awake, waiting for my mom to wake me up and drive me. And then I realized it was 2:30 in the morning. So I went back to bed, fitfully.

Then, the only one I can think of right now, I had to give a talk in my church, and I really don't have a problem with public speaking. I actually enjoy talking in front of people in that setting. But for some reason, three weeks after I gave the talk, I had the worst stress dream ever about it. Like, one of the leaders was rioting and hitting everyone with a chain, and I kept interrupting because I forgot something in my talk, and then I took up the next person's time and she was really sad about it. So weird.

So my dreams are strange. I'm sure I have a couple of reoccurring ones, but can't think of them right now.

Embarrassment

This is a really embarrassing story for me... just thought I would practice sharing. It is kind of long, I suppose, but it makes me laugh everytime I think about it. And also shudder. Gross. Here we go!

I went to a color guard competition back in May. Or April. You get it. Color guard is the flag-twirling, rifle-wielding, sabre-spinning sport that combines dance with props. Like rhythmic gymnastics, but in a more group-friendly setting. They usually perform with the marching band to bring color to the whole show.

So we were at the state competition, and I have to sit by myself a little bit while the rest of my friends that I came with performed. After they got their scores, we traded sides of the stage, facing the back of the performances, towards the judges. So we were basically seeing the entire competition backwards.

I was sitting next to my friend, and a girl that I kind of felt bad for sat behind me. I felt bad for her because, well you know the socially awkward people? She was like that. She blurted out things that were somewhat relevant, but also offensive, she had her dad do her hair instead of one of the other girls, and I could see that she could be insecure. But I shrugged all that off and tried to be her friend.

As the competition wore on, the girl kept being really friendly. Like, really friendly. Somewhat awkward friendly, you know? Since she sat behind me, she liked to hug my throat from behind. I honestly didn't think much of it and tried not to keep cool and pretend that I wasn't in the least bit uncomfortable.

Then when the competition was over, the girls were finishing up gathering the equipment when one of my friends came over and took me aside and said, "(Name redacted. Me :) ), she's bi."

My mother recently went through a hard time where she found out that she was bi-polar. My life was entirely involved with the whole social spectrum of bi-polarness, so I assumed that she was saying the girl was bi-polar. Yeah. Blissfully ignorant little me.

So I said, "Yeah, my mom is too!" getting an awful weird look from the friend.

We went out to the car we came in, and the friend that told me began telling the other friends in our group. The girl had, while they were changing and sorting equipment, told my friend that she was bi. The girls seemed immediately disgusted and promptly began freaking out. You can see my confusion. Bipolar isn't something that is disgusting.

So I thought more. Bi?

OH.
BI.

Hold up--I don't have anything against people with a sexuality different than mine. I think do whatever you want, make choices you want to make, be who you want to be. Civility, respect, traditional values that show common courtesy to everyone. But I had no idea that I was, ignorantly, not saying no to her advances by not saying something. I know it's okay to not want to be flirted with if I don't want to be.

I instantly said, thinking back to the awkward hugs that really were awkward, "She was flirting with me?!"

The friends burst into laughter. I was weirded out too, and tried not to think too much about it as we finished out the night.

Embarrassing? Yeah...

Description on the Weather

Today I can wear pajamas a tad before dinner and sprawl out on the lawn, crisp from a recent clipping, the sunlight greening each blade. I can turn over onto my back and close my eyes against the brilliant sun, then wait a minute as billowing shade fumbles in the way, then I can open my eyes and I can see my sky with cleansed eyes. If I keep my eyes particularly still, the secret movement of the clouds is revealed, and I can watch them morph into new things. If I come back inside and look out into the street, families are strolling in summer clothes appropriate for fun, and they are unaffected by how much the windless air feels exactly like their skin. They don't remember where their own skin begins or ends. It just is. I can wait until my eyes dry up into prunes but I will not see a leaf twitch. Clouds gather around the sun and hog its light, distilling the colors into a cooler tone that promises autumn, but is still very much summer. But it will yield soon, I know it will.

Courage

Courage is something that, in myself, surprises me all the time.

I cannot do heights. I might have touched on it in the last post...(can't remember) but it is really, really difficult for me to climb ladders or willingly go somewhere high int he air with a lot of space to fall down from.

As a child, I was also terrified to ask an adult for help. Like asking for directions to the bathroom, or where a book was in the library, there wasn't an easy way to get me to ask.

I guess I passed that on to my brothers. Whenever my mother would ask us to do something, but both me and my brothers were terrified to do it, the fear evaporated. Confidence condensated. Because I saw that no one else could do what needed to be done, I knew that I could step up.

I think that applies to superheroes too. I've studied the hero's journey plot in books, and it's the same thing. They are usually very reluctant to become the hero, to gain the superpower, to accept that they are in another world. They are afraid and for the life of them do NOT want to save the village from the rage dragon that is chomping on all the damsels in distress. But something changes when they realize that they are the only ones that can, or they need to because there isn't anyone else. They step forward, they become willing, and although they usually aren't rewarded for their heroics immediately, it comes.

Courage is setting aside the fear when you realize that you need to do something. It takes charge, it evaporates the fear like a puddle frying in the sun.

Fear

I want to talk about overcoming fear, or outgrowing a childhood fear.

Mine was always bees. Terrified, screaming and shrieking from the general vicinity whenever I heard the ominous buzzing near me. Although I've never been stung or even close, I could never trust the little creatures that wore jumpsuits made for bug prison. And I mean, what the heck? They can fly even though their wings aren't meant to let them? WTH MAN?!

That was the opinion that I used when I forced people to protect me from them.

Sometimes, I've found that I don't have the fears I do when I attempt something. Like, for the longest time when I was a kid I would NOT take medicine. Pills, liquid, this gir--I mean person would rather have let the sickness ride out than swallow. And then, ten years later, my mom got me some meds for strep or what have you, and she was cautious to say that they were...pills. I told her I was fine to take them (to my surprise) and I took them, no problem. No transition between I can do small pills not big pills, no freaking about gel caps, everything was fine. Swallow. Easy, suddenly.

So when I went camping over the labor day weekend, I realized that I wasn't terrified of bees anymore. In fact, I found that they are cute! Okay, not puppy adorable, but I think the way they use their legs is just really cute. I know. I also like the smell of skunk and I don't like the letter O. This person has got her pack of crazy at Costco.

I wanted a bee to land near me so that I could see them closer, so that they would stop looking like a haze so I could just see them as they were. Then they were brush off their head with their arms like my dog does sometimes when I brush my hair on his face. Cute. When I heard the "ominous buzzing," I wasn't scared. I looked around and tried to see where it would land. Of course, when they got up in my face I would swipe them away because they weren't being civil. That's perfectly fine to do.

Sometimes you just outgrow a fear, like an allergy or a pair of jeans. It sheds off like skin. Don't be closed off to things because you had been afraid or hated them as a kid. Realize that you change, and you mold differently as you experience things. Fears become beautiful, and beautiful things turn into fears. 

Except for the fear of spiders. That will never change.

Intro

I have been writing (like, want to be a professional my-writing-actually-has-to-sound-good writer) for four years. One can do a lot in those four years. I've written three full novels, currently working on two, and one in the works. Marinating, as I like to call it. I've been to many a writers conference and have learned all about what I want to be, for lack of a better cliche, when I grow up. I even know my wpm, and how many words I can write in a hour (2K, if you were wondering.)

Enough bragging. I guess it isn't really bragging, though. I love what I do so much. It's a way to express myself, just like drawing or music or theater, it is wonderful to me. Most of the time I hate it because writing takes forever. It usually takes a year for me to get a book from idea-baby to fully-realized-novel. Which is forever compared to other arts except for movies. Painting? Do it immediately. Wait for it to dry. Keep going. Writing? Many, many, many more steps. Not that I don't appreciate painting, I've done it a lot, too. Writing simply takes longer. 

I also like to draw and write music. Piano music. Not wordy music with rhymes and stanzas. I just sit down in front of the piano and dump out the emotions of the day until I feel back to normal again. 

I think that's all you need to know about me...