Summer Writing

So my plans to write something everyday has been maintained, although it has not been impressive by any stretch of the imagination. But, I have been writing. I am going to get back into writing my story the Desert’s Whisper. I have been working on the revising of my senior thesis so that it can go on the department website with the others, that has been an adventure, proofreading is hard, especially when it is your own work. Writing is so important to me, although sometimes it may appear that it isn’t. It is frequently on my mind. I don’t write for money or for allocations of praise.  I write because I love it. It soothes me and relaxes me when I am stressed. I would really love to be able to finish one novel length story so that I can work towards maybe doing more. Anyways after I return for my wedding and get back from the honeymoon, oh and or course get a job I plan to go back to writing, I’ll need the outlet it provides.

 

The newest chapter begins

Graduation has come and gone. I have a Bachelors of Arts degree in History. Where has the time gone. It seems like just yesterday I was starting my Freshman year of college. Life has been a roller coaster, ups and downs with a lot of twists and a lot of speed, but it has been good. I am now onto the next chapter of my life. But the real beginning happens net month when I get married. I can’t believe it is happening, and in about a month. I will be getting married and moving into an apartment on a university campus so my husband-to-be can get his Masters and possibly his PhD. Life is not going to be the same ever again, while it may seem scary to some, it isn’t for me. I know it won’t be perfect and I know that there will be ups and downs, but, I believe in living life to fullest and getting past those obstacles and learning from them. So, to the trials and tribulations that will come, I say BRING IT ON!

 

Narrative writing class. . . the novel

My previous post mentions that the semester is winding down and finals are almost upon us all. For my narrative writing class I have to write 50 pages of a novel and then have an outline showing where the story is planning on going. I have happily reached 17 pages handwritten (which is just a little less than 17 pages typed in times new roman 12 pt. font) I am having so much fun working on it and am learning so much. If only this was my only project. I have been having trouble deciding whether 20 some odd pages for a Prologue is acceptable, but I guess to each his own. If one does not put the word prologue there isn’t the stigma that it is just useless information. I personally don’t mind prologues, every word of the story (if it’s a good) is important. But in any case, I have decided to include a little taste of it for you. So enjoy.

The Desert’s Whisper

Drums beat across the sand sending a shiver down Amrisa’s spine as if it were her own heart beating on the dunes. The thump-thump-thump danced within her. The win rustled the sides of her tent and she snuggled under her thick woolen blankets to escape the chill of the evening. She was supposed to be asleep nut instead, she stared at the patterns on the veiling of her tent. She wanted to know what exactly was going on outside the walls of her tent. She was never allowed to attend the weekly religious celebrations and had always been curious about them. Her mother and father told her that she could attend the ceremony and the celebration after her thirteenth name day celebration. Three years was too long to wait, when all she needed to do was look outside the tent. As the wind stilled, her curiosity could no longer be quenched and she crept silently towards the flap of her tent and peaked out. Her eyes opened wide. What she saw was unlike anything she had ever seen. Naked bodies writhed around each other to the beat of the drums. Men and women, their bronze skin covered with the gleam of the firelight and the sweat of their movements. They circled the fire as they pounded their feed wordlessly into the sands beneath them. The sands flew through the air as the tempo picked up. The dancers began to move closer together. As they became a mass of interlocking bodies they caressed each other sensuously as they moved as one body. Through the dancers, Amrisa would see her parents. It was difficult to see through the movements in front of her.

Her parents sat on a dais where servants stood behind them waiting for a command. She scooted our further to see her parents clearer. Her father, Dhiren, was tall even sitting down. His bronze skin accentuated by the white linen clothes he wore. Unlike the dancers, however, he was not fully unclothed. He wore ankle length pants that were lose until they tightened at the ankle. Above his waist he wore a sleeveless robe. It fell almost to his ankles and was completely open down the front of it. His thick black hair was tied back with a leather thong. Black kohl outlined his eyes, their amber tones shimmering in the flickering firelight.

Her mother Charlotte looked very different. Her long hair fell in waves down her back and was the color of straw. Her eyes were icy-blue but held an ever-present twinkle. Her clothes were a dark blue that contrasted with her pale skin. She wore thin white linen leggings that went down to her ankle. She wore a dark blue, long-sleeve linen under dress or chemise. Over that was sleeveless over-robe made out of a shear a shear material. It was embroidered with tiny silver moons that sparkled.

Amrisa noticed that mysterious stranger sitting on the dais with her parents. He seemed to be intently watching the dance. He was dressed like her father, but seemed younger, perhaps his late teens or early twenties. He was as tall as her father or even taller. He had black hair that was pulled back like her father’s and his skin was dark, but not as dark as hers, more like mahogany instead of cocoa. What caught Amrisa was that his eyes were the color of newly polished emeralds. Her attention again returned to the dancers. They moved so fast they seemed to move like a whirling dervish. Amrisa was fascinated by what she saw. It seemed to be a deeply spiritual experience. How the bodies moved against each other, barely touching, and yet somehow fully experiencing each other.

Amrisa was so enthralled by the dancers that she did not notice the shadow above her right away. As she looked at the dais her eyes notice the emerald-eyed man was not there. Her eyes searched through the chaotic beauty in front of her until they fell on the shadow above her. As she looked up her eyes locked on with the ones above. Brown and green hypnotically swirled until Amrisa looked away. She could still see those green eyes in her head. They seemed to reach inside her of her and see all her faults, fears, and hopes. She recoiled from the eyes violently falling back into the tent. The tent flap opened and the man entered. He loomed over her but the feeling of dread and malice did not happen. He sat down beside her and reached his hand out to brush a lock of hair out of place. Sparks flew through Amrisa’s body as she fell back. Shock clearly evident on both their faces caused their eyes to lock again, the air sizzled violently as they moved their hands together. As the tips of their fingers touched, Dhiren entered the tent.

“Amrisa, it is past the time, you should enter your bed now,” said Dhiren softly but with great power as he pointed to her pallet. He pointed at the man, “Please wait outside, I will show you to your tent in a few moments.”

“Father, who is that man?”

“No one you need to worry about my dear. Now please go to sleep, you won’t be able to go to dunes with me for sunrise, if you do not rest.”

Amrisa hurried to her pallet and burrowed under the covers, only her eyes could be seen. Dhiren chuckled and leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“Goodnight my dear, may the gods grant you a peaceful sleep.”

As he walked out of the tent, Amrisa could hear a strange voice say to her father.

“Did you say goodnight? Good, because you will never see her again.”

- – - To be continued- – -

 

College, a journey all it’s own

The year is winding down and there is only one week of classes before finals start. I simply can’t believe that graduation is in two weeks. I honestly never thought I would make it this far. Four years has passed so quickly. College has been an experience I will never forget or regret. There have been moments I felt like giving up, but through the help of God, family, friends, etc. I was able to stick with it. I truly have enjoyed college. I would say that the most important thing I have gained from my college experience is that I learn something new every day, whether it is necessary for my classes or other information I am in a constant state of learning and I love it. Being able to learn, to discuss the things I have learned is what makes college so amazing. I know that whether it is seems important or unimportant the things I have learned in college will stay with me for a lifetime. I only hope that I can make a difference with the things that I have learned. That is my fondest wish.

 

From short story to novel

So it has come to this. . . the novel, the mother lode, the BIG one. I can’t help feeling so apprehensive, I am almost prettified. I have a pretty strong idea of what I am going to use. I am going to use my last short story and expand on not only the length, but also the complexity, the characters, the story as a whole. The problem is I have no idea how. My teacher said “Writing a novel is not just taking a short story and making it longer. You have to think depth. Sophistication. Complexity. Plots and subplots. Motivations and character flaws.” Now, I intellectually understand what these words mean, but how complex do you make a story before it becomes just ridiculously complex? What does complex even mean. Do good novels have to have subplots? What exactly is a subplot in application. How often do you use them etc. I have so many questions and my fears are keeping me apprehensive and having a lack of confidence in my ability is not helping either.

I will be honest, sometimes I wonder if I truly even have a writing ability. Are people just being nice when they say they like the story. I don’t think I can’t write, but I also don’t think I have a wonderful ability in it. I’m not sure if that makes sense. However, the one thing I do know, is that even if I don’t, I don’t ever want to stop writing, whether all the writing I ever do again is just this blog, I want, no I need to keep writing. Having this outlet has been a God send to me. Writing has become so cathartic, and has been a wonderful release of emotional and psychological stress. I want to believe that I can write, because if I keep telling myself that I can’t, I won’t. If I keep selling myself short, I’ll never try and do something about it, like continuing to write. By continuing to write, I am practicing and improving each time. I also learn stuff as time goes on.

I don’t know where I am planning on going with my writing, will I just keep writing for fun and never really do anything about it? I just don’t feel I have enough ability that people would buy what I write.

Wow, so this really got off topic. I guess the bottom line is that, for me, moving from short story to novel is daunting and I am trying to work up the confidence to really dive headlong into the depths and see where I end up.

 

The Adventures of Amrisa Kaif

Here is a sample of chapter 1 from my novel that I am working on for Narrative Writing.

Chapter 1

Twenty- year- old Amrisa Kaif walked around the garden of her home. All around her, were beautiful flowers, their scent flying in the wind. But all she noticed were the walls, the walls that kept her in. Her sandaled feet clicked and the bells on her ankles jingled as she walked around. As she neared the house, she could hear her mother’s voice as it drifted towards her. She looked around quickly for a place to hide. She inched along the wall, trying to hide herself in the foliage.  Seeing her mother and a maid, she stood still, trying to remain hidden behind the trees. Her mother stopped for a moment, listened, but then hurried away, talking as she went. Breathing a sigh of relief, she inched her way around the tree and hurried into the house. She tip-toed through the house; observing her surroundings as she went. Her nose wrinkled as she looked at the constant display of decadent opulence by her mother and step-father.

She climbed the stairs to her third-floor room; as she entered, she headed straight for the balcony off to the side. She hated being enclosed in the house for too long. As she stood, looking out at the mountains towering around her and the smell of pine reaching her nose, she thought longingly of her father’s tent in the sands of Dei’vi. Her father was a Lamet or King of one of the many tribes of the Dei’vian people, which made her a Kamur or Princess. Even though it had been ten years, she could still remember the feel of the warm desert sun as it beat down on her skin and the wind as it caressed her like a lover’s hands. The seeming endlessness of the sands as they blew in the wind, the tinkling of the goats and camels, and the rich colors of tents were the only small gem of comfort that she kept with her. Coming back to reality, she only felt the cold, harsh wind of the mountains.

As she stood on the balcony reminiscing of Dei’vi while enjoying the peace and solitude, she noticed the dark clouds rolling from the mountain pass and knew a storm was coming. She bit her lip as she looked out at the sky; if she didn’t hurry, the storm could delay her, and all her plans would be worthless. Shaking her head and sighing heavily, she headed back down the stairs skipping every other step hurriedly. As she rounded the corner she heard a shrill voice. Shuddering, she stopped as she heard her name.

“Amrisa Alicia Sauber, what in heaven’s name do you think you are doing young lady?’ said Countess Charlotte Sauber, a medium sized woman in a long- sleeved wool navy blue dress that touched the floor and at her neck was a golden broach. Her golden-blond hair was held back in a severe twist at the nape of her neck, her bright blue eyes cold and bitter flashed menacing.

“Don’t call me that! That is not my name. As far as what I am doing, I am quite obviously going down the stairs mother. . . dear” Amrisa spat as she continued on her way, not even sparing her mother a glance.

“Do not speak to me in that way! I am your mother and you will show me respect. That is your name! I have told you before whatever your name may have been, it is not that any longer. Forget Amrisa Kaif, she does not exist any longer. Also, what business do you have running around in such a fashion? It is unbecoming a young lady of your station. It is a disgrace to the family”

“Firstly, stop focusing on the family name Mother. The family name has nothing to do with anything of importance. Secondly, I have an appointment, and if you insist on making me wait here listening to this worthless lecturing I will be late. So if you would be so kind as to excuse me. Lastly, Amrisa Kaif is my name and you very well know that! Just because you want to forget Dei’vi does not mean I am willing to.” Acid dripping from her voice, the sarcastic retort was hurled towards her mother with each word dripping like a poisoned knife.

Amrisa hurried away, down the steps, her long skirts swaying. She could hear her mother calling her back, but she kept going. As she left she looked back at the house. It was built of light gray stone, with spires and turrets that reached end to end and towered to the sky. It sat, gray and uninviting, high above the village, of Neueswantung, that was sprawled below. Thick green vines lined the outside wall surrounding the house. Trees could be seen from within, tall oaks with thick boughs and the towering pines with their dark green leaves. Shadows from the trees danced around the path as she made her way towards the village.

“Mother is infuriating. How could she possibly expect me to forget Amrisa Kaif. That is who I am. I am not ashamed to carry my father’s name. Ever since we left, she has been focusing her time on trying to mold me into Laschian. Ugh, it is enough to make anyone insane.” She thought as she continued her walk towards Neueswantung. She wondered what her mother and step-father would do if they knew about her appointment and what it meant; they would probably lock her in her room and throw away the key.

Amrisa could feel hundreds of eyes following her as she made her way down the central road of the village. There were always people staring at her. It sometimes made her uncomfortable, and today was no exception. She looked down at her loose chiffon tunic of bright blues and greens that landed just above her ankles, over tight, thick, woolen leggings of cream. A woolen shawl of cream was wrapped about her arms. Golden anklets with bells were wrapped around her ankles, and long dangling earrings shifted in the breeze from her ears. Dark kohl lined her eyes, and a veil of cream chiffon covered her hair and the lower half of her face. Looking around at everyone else in their drab colors and designs, she sometimes felt like an exotic bird in the midst of crows.

She continued her walk through the village and finally stopped at a large imposing brick home. Surrounded by a wall and had a thick black gate with the Arms of the Eckart Family. She knocked three times and waited. A maid came to the door, ushered her in, looked out at the street, and quickly shut the door. Amrisa was led to the study. Upon entering she was greeted warmly and told to sit. Gracefully she sat on a settee and observed the imposing man in front of her. He was older than her, around 30 with long dark brown hair that he tied back. His green eyes reminded her of emeralds that sparkled in the sun.  Their eyes locked and they stared at each other, the seriousness and danger of their meeting created a thick tension. The man spoke first.

“The time is getting close Amrisa. We must finalize these plans and then not meet again until the appointed day. We will leave from here at dusk in two days. Do you have any questions?”

“Are there any changes to the plan?”

“Yes there are some changes. You cannot wear your usual clothes, you need to dress like a Laschian. I know you dislike those, but it is for your safety. As far as transportation arrangements, my carriage will take us to the boat for Kalmekka, and from there we will go by camel. Once we arrive in Kalmekka, you make dress in your usual garments.”

“I understand. While I don’t like it, it does make sense for my safety to dress like a Laschian.  Sir, you have been so kind to me. I don’t know if I can accept such generosity.”

“We have already discussed this matter and you know I have given this help and protection freely. I want no payment Amrisa for the aide I have given you. Also, if we are going to be traveling together, I think you should call me by my given name.”

The man smiled at her, rose from behind the desk and then sat beside her as he grasped her hands. Tears began to fall down her cheeks and he patted her arm.

“Now my dear, this is no time for tears, so dry them quickly. We still have much to discuss, and you have to return in time for dinner.”

“Of course. You are right as always. . . Soren,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. He smiled at her as she said his name as a whispered afterthought.

“Then, Amrisa, let us begin.”

After discussing and planning for several hours, Amrisa was finally on her way back, hurrying along the cobblestone street towards home. It was later than she had planned and she still needed to wash up and change before dinner was served. The sun paid her no heed and continued its decent into the ground.  Amrisa opened the gate and hurried up the walkway towards the house. Upon opening the door, she could hear her mother’s piercing voice calling for her. Thankfully, a maid saw her before her mother, and she was able to escape up the stairs to her room.

As she hurried about the room trying to change and walk at the same time Aisha, her personal servant came in to help her. She allowed Aisha to help her remove her tunic and replace it with a fancier one, made of purple silk with silver beading worked into the hem and sleeves. Aisha motioned for her to sit down at the dressing table so that her hair could be fixed. She brushed Amrisa’s long hair and plaited several tiny braids. She then tied each one with a purple stringed bell that jangled as she moved, the rest of her hair was left unbraided and all of it was covered by a purple veil.

“Thank you Aisha, I will return after dinner.” Said Amrisa as she stood and walked towards the door.

“You’re welcome my Kamur.” Aisha said as she bowed low, her head covered by her long white veil.

Smiling at her servant, companion, and friend, Amrisa hurried out of the room. Many thought Aisha talked strangely, but Aisha was a Dei’vian and that was how servants spoke to their masters and mistresses. She wouldn’t know what she would do without Aisha. “She has always been there for me, ever since we were children. She deserved to know what  Soren and I are planning.” She thought to herself as she slowed her pace upon nearing the dining room. She could hear her mother speaking to Count Hans Sauber, her step-father.

“I’ll never understand how she could speak to me in such a way. What an ungrateful child she has been. She has so many opportunities for a good life and yet she insists on dressing in that savage way,” Charlotte said in a haughty and melodramatic tone.

“There, there Charlotte, do not distress yourself over Amrisa’s conduct. Ungrateful child she may be, however, she does take care of Katerina and Karl,” said Baroness Elizabeth Weppler, Amrisa’s grandmother.

“Elizabeth. Her treatment of Katerina and Karl is not important. She is ruining the family name through her flagrant disregard for what is appropriate for a young lady of her station,” said Baron Martin Weppler, Amrisa’s grandfather, staring sternly at his wife, who modestly lowered her head.

“You are right of course, my dear father. She is not showing her family name the respect it deserves. She is causing shame to the name of Sauber and by extension, the name of Weppler,” said the Count stiffly as he gave a sidelong glance to his wife who sat demurely in her chair once her father spoke. Amrisa had stopped outside and listened to the conversation. She almost burst in when her grandfather spoke so cruelly, but waited so she could calm down before entering the snake pit.

“Well. . . you took your time coming to dinner,” said Charlotte, her voice dripping with disdain and eyes sharp and menacing.

“Well, you have told me I must dress in an appropriate manner for dinner, so I had to change. Please pardon my undue lateness.” Sarcasm leaped from Amrisa’s mouth and shot towards each person at the table.

Tension grew after she spoke and glares were shot her way. She ignored them and sat beside her grandmother. Elizabeth patted her granddaughter’s knee under the long white table cloth. Amrisa’s face was stone, she betrayed no emotion as everyone preceded to ignore her. She wondered “Why do they even have me come to dinner if they are going to ignore me. I honestly should just eat in the kitchen with the servants. I think that’s where Grandfather wants me to be in the first place. I hate this place. I just want to go home.” Amrisa was pulled from her reverie by a small tug on her tunic. She looked down and smiled. Her little half-sister Katerina was trying to get her attention.

“Yes Kat?”

“Risa, come play with me.”

“I don’t know if I can sweetling. Did you ask Mother?”

“She said yes, but not for long.”

“Then let’s escape the big people, okay little one?”

Kat giggled and grabbed Amrisa’s hand and pulled her out of the room and up the stairs. Amrisa smiled down at her sister. She shook her head in wonderment on how such a sweet little girl could come from such rude and unloving parents. In retrospect, they both were very loving to Kat and Karl. It bothered Amrisa. It was understandable for Hans to treat his own children better, but her mother was a different story. Why did she treat Amrisa so terribly.

“I don’t understand it. Why does mother treat me this way? I have a feeling I would like her much better if this wasn’t the way she acted towards me. It’s almost as if she is ashamed of me, but I’ve never done anything to deserve this. There has to be a reason.” Amrisa continued to mull this over as the evening went along. Soon it was time for Kat to go to sleep. Amrisa tucked her in and kissed her forehead pushing her blonde hair out of her eyes. She quietly left the room and headed back to her own  room. As she entered, Aisha came in from the adjoining room. Amrisa smiled at her,

“How are you my Kamur? You seemed tense when you came in earlier.”

“I am okay, Aisha, I have much on my mind that I must share with you tonight. In two days, I will be heading on a ship bound for Dei’vi. I have been planning this for some time, but did not want to share with you until it was finalized.”

“Oh….my…I had no idea. Are you really going back?”

“Yes, I am and I had hoped you would come with me. Will you?”

“Oh my Kamur, of course I will come. I have dreamed of going home for so long. I had worried that you never planned on going back.”

“Oh Aisha…it was never my choice to come here and I have had to wait until I have come of age so I can return without a problem. Now that I know you are coming with me, we can make the final plans.”

Two days passed as if they were only seconds. It was the day of her departure, and the say before her twenty-first birthday. She had been spending more and more time with Soren going over and refining the plan. Things had been more difficult than usual at home. She didn’t know how she was going to last until eleven this evening when she would disappear from this revolting hell she lived in. There was a small part of her that wished she could share her ideas and plans to leave with her mother. However, that simply wasn’t possible. Maybe her trip would give her the answers she was looking for.

 

The art of the short story, and other rambles on writing

I am finishing my last short story for Narrative Writing. It has been a grand adventure and I have learned so much. Our “textbook” for this class is called The Art of the Short Story compiled by Dana Gioia and R.S. Gwynn. The book contains examples of short stories from authors throughout literature. After each story is a one to two page blurb about some aspect of writing called Author’s Perspective In the very back are these Gioia and Gwynn’s views on The Elements of Short Fiction which includes Plot, Characterization, Points of View, Setting, Theme, and Style. They also discuss Writing About Fiction and lastly they have compiled a section on The types of Literary Criticism. First of all, The reason I am talking about this is because this book really gets into the details what makes a short story. My second reason is that many people feel that short story writing is so simple, it’s a short story.

However, I know two people in particular who write novels (just for fun) and writing a short story is torture because the approach is so different than a novel because the short story is astronomically shorter than the novel. In a novel, a person can focus on the story and plot because essentially a novel almost has a limitless length, but with a short story I feel that characterization is the key. Because the story is so short, in order to get a good view of your character you need to have this strong characterization.

This has been my struggle with short stories, not because I write novels (I’ve started quite a few but never finished them), but because my strength is the emotion and mood of the story not in the characterization. My use of this element has improved but it still needs a lot of refining and tuning. One of the things I love about writing is that there is always room for improvement. I may write a story I feel is good, and editors, friends, and critics, can show me how to make it better. It teaches you to not settle but to keep striving not for perfection (no one is perfect) but to strive to keep learning, to keep fine tuning, and it teaches the writer to accept criticism. I know that that through my university creative writing group I was able to accept criticism and learn from it. Yes, it’s hard to accept criticism of your writing. It’s special to you, however, these criticisms can be such a blessing. Yes sometimes they are hard to hear, personally I would rather be told the truth than lied to, but, not everyone is like that.

Okay so I know I have gone all over the place and my title of ramblings fits this quite well, but, this what was on my mind at the moment so I hope it isn’t too disconnected to understand.

Until next time.

 

Characterization

I have been taking a class in Narrative Writing. One of the biggest struggles I am facing is with characterization. I am unable to make my characters people the reader can relate to. It’s almost as if I can’t, like I have some kind of mental block. My fiance was pushing me to give my newest character who I am going to put in a story motivation and I intellectually understand what he means, but to apply it is very difficult. Maybe I’m not trying hard enough. I have no idea how to give her motivation as to why she does things because I don’t even know how to do that for myself. How can I give my character motivation if I don’t even know my own. I guess I’m just frustrated and I feel like a Dummkopf. It’s frustrating. I feel like maybe I shouldn’t be writing if I can’t really bring my characters to life. This is for a short story and in a short story characterization is so very important and yet I can’t seem to do it. Okay enough of my rant so self-dis-appreciation.

 

Blog the First: a little about me

Since this is my first blog there is a small part of me that feels it should be incredibly profound. However, I don’t really have anything profound to say, which does present a small problem. Another idea is to tell a small bit about myself and what I hope to accomplish with this blog. I am getting married in 4 months and 29 days. I am graduating in 3 months and 15 days. I am quite excited about this and am looking forward to both events with anticipation. I am a History major and an English minor. I enjoy writing both poetry and stories, cooking, painting, and reading. I would say my biggest passion is learning. I love to learn new things, it’s one of the reasons I love school so much. One of the reasons I love learning so much is that there is always something new to learn, it never ends! I am passionate about learning and education. I feel that Americans are not educating their people to their fullest potential. We don’t learn languages unless we need it in college, there is no passion to learn, people have this lazy attitude, they just want to skate by without using any brain power what-so-ever. I know I am ranting, but I feel very strongly about this. Because I feel our schools are failing I am going to home school until high school. I want my children to be well rounded and be able to do many things besides what they become passionate about. Well I think I slightly got a bit off topic. I am hoping to use this blog to improve my writing and also as an outlet of frustration. Let me explain the former. Using this blog as an outlet of frustration merely means that if there is a subject that I feel passionate about, or simply a subject that I have opinions on I am going to share it on here.

Well I think i have rambled and ranted long enough. Until next time.