My hair is so gorgeous that I can't even STAND it, and Sandy is joining me to celebrate Smart Bitches Day! (And what the hell, we'll count Kate's entry too. She's with us in spirit, at least. Mwah!)

This is A Very Long Post, yes, but it's five (5), five, FIVE book reviews in one! Ladies and laddies and lairdlings, I bring you:

Your Guide to Worshiping/Despising The Outlander Series

Yeah, there's a fun title, huh? Hmm, what'd the best way to break this down? See, maybe you've already read these and are looking for someone with whom to commiserate, or you're wondering if you should bother reading them because what's all the fuss about, or you read one and hated it and are hoping I'll rip it apart like that Foley book. I'm gearing this toward those who are wondering whether they should bother, because I am the proud converter of at least 10 people - from Outlander Virgins to Outlandaphiles, courtesy of Yours Truly.

So let's begin with the beguine. Or, um, the first book.

Outlander
The first book, but I do tend to refer to the whole shebang as "Outlander", because Diana Gabaldon (hereafter referred to as DG) has created this whole universe of people romping around in her version of 18th century Scotland - and other places, but we'll get to that.

I was working at the bookstore with Snookie when I read this book. Honestly, this book is one of the things that solidified our friendship, so it's worth the price of admission right there. Snooks and I would often go out after work for a drink when the day (every day) was particularly bad (in retail, every day is Hell) and one day she got off 30 minutes before me and I said "Hey, hang around and we'll go out when I'm done?" And I'll never forget her looking at me with these half-crazed eyes and saying, "I would but I totally can't because I have to get home and read and I know how lame that sounds but I'm reading this Outlander book and it's this woman who's a nurse in like WWII and after the war she goes on a second honeymoon to Scotland to reconnect with her husband because they really love each other and while she's out one day she steps into this circle of stones and winds up 200 years before and there's this passing dragoon and then later on she has to marry this Scottish guy" DEEEEEEP BREATH "so that she can have the protection of the clan and she falls in love with him but she still loves her husband and is trying to get back to him but this Scottish guy is SO GREAT and I know this sounds cheesy and I'm not explaining it well but anyway I have to go read it NOW because they're gonna burn her as a witch, her and this other girl and where I left off reading at lunch they'd just ripped the other girl's dress and she's from the 18th century but SHE HAS A SMALL POX VACCINATION SCAR and I have to GO READ NOW."

I yelled after her "What's it called?!?!" And she threw "Outlander! Romance! Top Shelf G!" over her shoulder. I took my copy home that night and the rest, as they say, is history.

Here's the bottom line about this book: It's excellent. I know good writin' and this is some fiiine writin', my friends, in EVERY sense. Fantastic characterization - just - like - dude - gah - you wouldn't BELIEVE, man. And here's one of the hard and fast Truths of this life: Jamie Fraser Is The Perfect Man. Claire ain't no slouch neither, and Jamie isn't always Mr. Nice (because he's quite real) but holy crap do I love that man. Even guys I know who've read it? STRAIGHT guys? They can totally understand why Claire stays with Jamie.

On top of the great characterization - of ALL the characters, not just the main ones - though hang on, I'll admit the villain is rather annoyingly one-dimensional in this book. But anyway, who cares, the book is a total page-turner. Ya know how I harp on the concept of storytelling alla time? This woman can tell a story. And I don't give a rat's ass WHAT the woman says, she wrote a romance novel. The rest of them really DON'T belong in Romance, I can agree with that. But this one is, among a lot of other things, the story of these two people falling in love and figuring out how to make their improbable relationship work. About 90% the conflict is romantic, and the 10% that isn't romantic? Is shit that directly fucks with their romance. So there - it's a romance. It's a heck of a lot of other things, too, but it doesn't fit anywhere like how it fits in the Romance section.

I love this book. It's beautiful, it's well-written, it's fucking amazing that DG wrote it as "practice" and it's the first thing she ever tried her hand at. I love the characters as intensely as I love a lot of real-life people. It's in my Top Ten Beth Recommends, perpetually. Read it. Adore.

Dragonfly In Amber
The second of the series, and here is my first warning: if you decide to read past the first book in this series, resign yourself to an at least mild obsession. But please be aware that if you slip over into LOLishness (That's Ladies of Lallybroch, a fan-site that I am NOT linking here because they'll find me and bring out the flamethrowers for I dare to less-than-worship every sacred word DG ever wrote and I don't feel like dealing with it), then I really can't have anything to do with you. Even Snookie, who is slavishly devoted to the books, thinks those women need psychiatric counseling. But basically, if you go past the first book, you're committed. Trust me on that. It'll become this Thing in your life. You will be in the grips of Gabaldon. That bitch.

Outlander finishes well. And by that, I mean that there was a resolution. A stopping point. I felt perfectly okay putting down the book and disregarding the rest of the series. Many others just plow right into the next one, but I didn't feel the need. But like maybe 8 months later I was looking for something to read and figured hey - might as well read the second since I liked that author, what the heck. So I went and bought the 2nd book. Here is my second warning: if you buy the second, buy the third. Just TRUST ME ON THIS. You do NOT want to finish the second (which you will inevitably finish faster than you think - as everyone I know has done) without having the third on hand. The circa 6 hours between the time that I finished the second book and the time that the bookstore opened so I could get my mitts on the third still haunt me. It was traumatic, that dark, dark time. And I am COMPLETELY serious. I don't want anyone to suffer as I did.

So the second book - has bits that are just SO annoying, really. But only little bits. And stuff that I could quite easily shrug off and suspend my disbelief and whatevah, fine, I don't care, I'll forgive these things for they are only little bits. Overall, it's brill. And it's this absolutely amazing achievement, how she paces the whole (very large) novel - the emotions of it, the personal things happening between Jamie and Claire, the politics, the coming war. It's really just stunning. And there's a scene in it that is one of the best pieces of writing ever - just the sheer beauty and sadness of it, how every word is just…gah, I'm getting all weepy just thinking about it. Tis truly amazing.

Overall, it coulda been tighter and a little less silly plotting at certain points. But I forgive all, because the good stuff is so plentiful and the great stuff is blindingly great.

Warning the third: And if you believe none of the others, please believe this one. You'll find yourself reading this book everywhere. I actually recall reading it while on the phone with friends, me saying "uh huh, uh huh, yeah, uh huh," happily immersed in the book as they chattered to my deaf ear. I think Snookie actually read it while she was waiting at stoplights on the drive home sometimes, okay? But PLEASE remember this: when you reach the part before Culloden, when they come to the castle? Put the book down. Put. It. Down. It will be SO HARD to put it down, but this is of the utmost importance. Put it down. Then go arrange a couple of hours in a quiet place with nothing and no one to disturb you. Bring a box of Kleenex and a glass of water. Take a deep breath. Then read on. Okay? Okay. Good job.

Then get to the end, freak out, and wildly flail about, hyperventilating and bleating; "the next book WHERE IS THE NEXT BOOK I HAVE TO READ THE NE-- oh. Beth told me to have the next on hand, here it is, whew." And thus I become your personal savior. You're welcome, man, no biggie.

Voyager
This is where it all really begins to fall apart. But it's too late, see. You're sucked in. You might think you're done with the series, but believe me: the series isn't done with you. Goddammit. The first half is wonderful. Just wonderful. But unfortunately the first half goes by in a blur (at least the first time you read it) because you're DYING to get to this one part - and that part doesn't come up until halfway through. Sadly, once you get to that much-anticipated part? It blows from there on out.

The first half: brill. The second half: absurd. There are frikken pirates and Totally Extraneous Chinese Guy and a plague at sea and a serial killer and pseudo-voodoo and tea with a crocodile (oh, and some weird but smokin' nookie when she's got this fever) and, basically, 300 more pages than is needed. We do get introduced to Lord John Grey, though, who's not just a great character, but maybe one of my favorite gay characters in literature. And really, what DG does is just like torture - you suffer through two useless and frustrating chapters, begin to think okay, I'm not reading this anymore, how STUPID is this crap? and then the third chapter rips your heart to pieces and puts it back together again and makes all the crapulence worth it. Rar.

Looking at this book, I think (and thought, when I first read it) that unfortunately DG was
(1) beginning to care less about telling a great story and more about just "hey wouldn't it be fun to make some shit up?" - and yes there IS quite a difference between the two - and
(2) beginning to believe her own press. Which is the kiss of death.

Drums of Autumn
This is the first time I ever called in sick to work because I'd stayed up all night reading and had to finish the last hundred pages. And did you get how disenchanted I was with the third installment? How ready I was to write it off? Hah. I picked the 4th book up one boring weekend at the library and wound up glutting myself. Dammitalltohell.

I admit that I liked this book much more upon the second (and years later) reading. The new setting (America) kinda annoyed me, the new storyline (Roger and Brianna) annoyed me, and Brianna annoyed the living fuck outta me. NOTE: the books are still about Jamie and Claire. It's just that Roger and Bree are sharing the stage. I rather adore Roger as a person, but found myself wanting to run over Brianna with an SUV. Repeatedly. But there are good things, too, and some of the stuff that the whole crew of them has to face and the discussions they have -- about slavery and abortion and Indians and alcoholism, homosexuality, what is the definition/nature of romantic love, what does it mean to be a father, not to mention the whole idea of if it's possible to alter personal (if not political) history -- it's riveting stuff. Not because all those topics are interesting, but because all of them are intensely personal to the characters, in ways that a lot of authors just can never manage to do. It's a matter of very, very high stakes. And I love those moments.

But then there are also these bullshit things happening all the time, these meanderings that add nothing to the story. More of the stuff like in the second half of the 3rd book, but less absurd. You get the feeling that she did all this in-depth research and doesn't want to waste an ounce of it. There's this rule to storytelling, see: if it doesn't fit in the story, don't fucking put it there. Someone please clue DG in on that one, because I don't think she knows. I think she finds all this stuff fascinating (and it is) and can't wait to bend her story to fit it all in, using Jamie and Claire as the conveniently bestselling and comfortable milieu to aimlessly blather. Hey, DG - you wanna blather? Get a blog. Works for me.

So after this one, I once again said Nae muir! I am done with this Outlandish stuff! But then

Fiery Cross
came out and the day it hit the shelves I was all "AHHHHHHH I HAVE TO READ IT NOW!!!!!"

I swear to God, it's like crack, man. Which is especially unfair, since Fiery Cross sucks so bad that I want my goddamn money back. The first hundred-plus pages? The same day. THE SAME DAY. The same BORING day. Snookie and I call it The Longest Day. I dunno if DG is pandering to some fanbase that really, really wants to read about chapped nipples and dirty diapers and menstruation and dealing with all of it Way Back When, but I can tell ya - IT GETS OLD, OKAY? I get the point: it was tough back then. A lot of shit happened. A lot of people were there. It was a long and tiring day with a lot of conversations and screaming babies and cramps-but-no-Midol. I get it. I GET IT. I got it LONG before we hit page 40, and I got tired of it long before page 100, but you kept fucking blathering on and on and ON about this goddamn day that I don't give a flying fuck about. There is no skill here. There is no deftness or lightness of touch or craft. There is bludgeoning the reader. But hey, at least you were kind enough to accompany the bludgeoning with a soporific, you long-winded cow. And Jesus H Roosevelt, as Claire would say, what POV is next? The leaves on the trees? No doubt you'd find something for them to say, too.

(side note: yes, this is kinda how I crit. No wonder no one wants me to crit for them much.)

Oh, and another warning: Don't read the acknowledgements or thank-you's or whatever it is in the beginning of this book. It gives this major thing away and totally ruins the suspense of it - and a sad thing, too, since it was one of maybe three truly wonderful things in the whole book.

So it picks up after The Longest Day, yes, but it's still infuriating. So many pointless detours, so much boring minutiae (look! I'm Diana Gabaldon! I research details and I prove it IN EVERY GODDAMN SENTENCE WHETHER YOU WANT TO HEAR IT OR NOT), so much chaff. There's none of the brilliant pacing of her first two books. A good editor really is worth his/her weight in gold. Just a message to any writers out there: every word you write isn't worth publishing. In fact, most of them aren't.

There are about a thousand pages in this book. I don't know the exact number because the book isn't anywhere near me. I don't know where it is. I lent it to a coworker about a week after I read it (3-4 years ago now) and never bothered to get it back from her, because the real worthwhile content amounted to maybe 350 pages.

A Breath of Snow And Ashes
Hits bookstands this September. And there will be like two (or is it three?) more after this. At this point, Jamie is just a mass of walking scar tissue. Like seriously - what the hell else can HAPPEN to these people? Answer: whatever DG researched and felt like throwing at them.

And yes, as betrayed as I feel by the last few books, I'll buy it. And probably call off work again to devour it. And probably be disappointed again.

But I can't help it. I love Jamie and Claire. I love them. Clearly, so does Diana Gabaldon, because she just can't finish their story. I said THEIR story, which she keeps confusing with every other frikken thing that pops into her head.

Seriously, though, read the first one. It's so fantastic.

Wanna taste of my family?

beep
You have. Three. Messages.
Friday. Six. Oh. Seven. PM.
"Hey, Beth, it's your broooooooother. Gimme a calllllllllll. Are you coming over tomorrow, are you not, what? Speak to me. Gimme a call when you get in."
beep

beep
Friday. Seven. Thirteen. PM.
"BETH!!! Why haven't you called back yet, hellllllllooooooooo???? I left a message. Call me, you gotta call me!!!"
beep

beep
Friday. Eight. Thirty. Five. PM.
"Beth. S'me. Call. What the fuck? CALL."
beep

beep
Saturday. Seven. Twenty. Two. AM.
clickboooooooooooooooo
beep

beep
Saturday. Eleven. Fifty. Five. AM.
"Beth, it's your mother. [Beth, sound asleep and drooling on her pillow, sits bolt upright, clutching her chest in preparation for tragedy because her mother HATES Beth's answering machine the way (most) cats hate water and refuses to even consider leaving a message unless it's a dire emergency] Your brother just called, he's been trying to get hold of you, he's left I don't know how many messages. Maybe something's wrong with your machine. He's worried something's happened to you. Where have you BEEN? I'm worried, now call."
beep

I scootch down on the bed - for the phone, she is at the foot of it. I put a bundle of disarrayed bedding about me and settle in comfortably. I play alla the messages to verify that yes indeed, all were placed on Friday night and then this morning at the profane hour of before 10am on a Saturday. I decide, despite my disinclination to talk to any of them, that I can't have my ma worried that I'm dead in a ditch somewhere - which is her favorite thing to worry about, what with her being a mother and all.

So I dial her up, ringring. It goes like this:

Me: "Ma? I'm here, I'm fine, I was out last night and I didn't check my messages until now."
Ma: "He said he's left a lot of messages!"
Me: "Yes, all last night within the same few hours, during which? I was out. Friday night. Beth in the city. Out. Social-like. It happens."
Ma: "He said he's tried to call you ALL WEEK."
Me: "He called Tuesday. I called back and left a message with his wife to call me back when he got home. He didn't call until last night. When I wasn't here, because I was out."
Ma: "He called this morning and there was no answer!"
Me: "I. Was. Out. Last. Night. I wasn't picking up my phone at seven freaking a.m., ma, okay? Tired sleeping, it's what I do on Saturdays at 7:00, pretty regularly."
Ma: "He started calling at like six last night!"
Me: "Mmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. I was out! I went out directly after work, do not stop do not pass go went OUT on a Friday night for the love of christ on a cracker PLEASE don't make me explain the definition of OUT, okay?"
Ma: "Okay, okay."

And then the dreaded pause. Intake of breath from Ma. Wince from Beth, immediately followed by a voice screaming in my head HANG UP FAST HANG UP HANG UP HANG UP.

Ma: "So when are you gonna come visit me, anytime soon?"
Me: "Uh."
Ma: "I could really use some help."
Me: "Uh."
Ma: "Blah blah blah blah [and she talks on about how this brother was coming this weekend but now he can't and the other brother's been helping, the sister's there this weekend, blah blah, all as I flash back to talking to Karen about it last night and me saying truthfully, sincerely that I can't do it. I can't go there. I can't help with the house, be surrounded by my family. I can't because listen to me and believe me - it makes me CRAZY. This is a matter of self-preservation at this point, and I honestly can't do it because I think it could be scientifically proven that such an endeavor is hazardous to my health and that's not a joke, okay? It nearly finished me off last time. But I can't say all this to my ma or to anyone in my family so what do I do? She's talking about how much help she needs and can't get it done by September without help, WHAT THE FUCK AM I GONNA DO] blahblahblah and hopefully we'll get some stuff out of here with this garage sale and make more room to work in there."
Me: "Okay. Well, we'll talk about it. I'm going to call the alarmist and tell him to stop being such an old woman, okay? Talk to you later loveyoubyeclick."

A study in guilt and fear: Beth sits on bed, full of panic. Hating herself for doing that to her mother, knowing she can't do it again, knowing that her mother feels abandoned by her daughter, a burden rejected, and who could blame her mother for feeling that? But what's a girl to do in order to avoid the loony bin?

Well, take it out on brother - there's a good start. Sadly, I was thwarted, for:
ringring
Neff: "Hello?"
Me: "Amore mio? Hey you."
Neff: "You wanna talk to my dad?"
Me: "No, I'd rather talk to you. For a lot of reasons. Are you outide?"
Neff: "I'm riding my bike. And talking on the phone to you!"
Me: "Hot damn is that cool or WHAT?"
Neff: "Yeah, hey you know my new friend? Megan?"
Me: "Megan? [omg he's got this note in his voice, does he maybe like a girl? and is she worthy of the arduous affections of my sweet smitten little neff because he's a big heart and a bucket of sweetness and just the kind to be taken advantage of by the wrong kinda-- hey stop it, he's only TEN] Who's Megan? Does she live on your block?"
Neff: "No, she lives up on - I think it's Warren Street."
Me: "Oh, so you know her from school?"
Neff: "Yeah. Just from school. I like her."
Me: [don't be a girl about this, don't ask him HOW he likes her, just roll with it, be cool, damn your eyes, PLAY IT COOL] "Good - I like you to have new friends. If you guys hang out this summer, maybe I'll get to meet her."
Neff: "Oh yeah, you gotta meet her. Hey, what do you want me to tell my dad?"
Me: "Tell him I'm fine and I didn't get his messages til now and he's an intrusive bastard and a worried old woman."
Neff: "Okay, you called and he's an old lady, I'll tell him. Bye!"
click

I have a brother whose child doesn't ride his bike without the cordless at hand, for cryeye, no wonder he can't comprehend that I can't be reached when I'm not at home.

I will now consider "breaking" my leg. Seriously. Fake cast. I'll look around and start pricing them. Dawn, give me a call and let me know if that'll buy me like 3-4 months? I know I can't have a serious break to the femur, that'd leave me like all bedridden and stuff. I need something that puts me in a walking cast for at least 3 months. It has to be a walking cast, no crutches. Anyway - I'll take care of the details, but just let me know what kinda break would do the job, because my ma would know the difference.

If I'm not home, just leave a message. The machine works.

fever dream

I was sleeping (with much waking)
and dreaming that the cherry blossoms were ending (except that's real)
and that arp was here (yes, a dream)
and that arp was sad (not a dream).

I woke and was cold and hot both
with the blankets and sheets bunched all around me,
ruins of of sleep-waking.
All that back and forth felt like nothing, in the end,
except it felt cold and hot and confusing,
and the aching aching aching,
and I thought: probably how arp feels lately.

Back into the fitful slumber
where the cherry blossoms are ending
and falling all around arp.
I gather them up, petals from her feet,
resting in her hair and snuggled to her shoulders,
and even miraculously clinging to her eyelashes.

Put them in a shallow little brown lacquered bowl,
holding it out to her, brimming with fallen blooms,
then I woke again hearing myself say to her,
They're yours, all yours.

And I sat here and tapped it out and thought:
I hope she knows what that means.

Welcome to

Smart Bitches Day!

Where you are allowed - nay, encouraged! - to write something, anything, even just a widdly-biddly mention, having to do with Romance novels. (Then you blog it or send it to me in an email or post it to my comments, and then you comment below to make sure I don't miss it, and then we all celebrate the good-n-badness of the Romance genre, and then we live long and prosperous lives, the end.)

***Edited to say***
Celebrate with
Kate!
Candy! (a real-live Bitch!!)
Sandy!
and arp!
/edit

Because I'm hanging with the peeps tonight, I'm getting this done early. And it's totally random. AND I'm gonna make an effort to not talk about What I Hate. Positivity! Bright-Sidedness! Up up with people! You meet em wherever you go!

First, I must stake my claim. I go to the Smart Bitches site, and admire the look of it, and have come to a decision on something, so LISTEN UP, ALL YOU BITCHES - I hereby proclaim that I am this Bitch:

It took me a long time to decide, and I really think that I'm more like the bitch in front of the pyramid - nice and dorky-looking AND she has a hat - but then that one below the blond has that look that maybe fits me better, hmm - but I can't resist being blond and smarmy and professional-looking. I think I actually have that lipstick somewheres. And I certainly have that facial expression - insincerity at its best - in my vast repertoire of Fake Beths.

So that's me. If the Official, Original Bitches have a problem with this, they can of course let me know and I will renounce. (But secretly, I will always think of myself as that bitch. That's me.) And if any others of you want to claim one of the bitch-images? YOU CAN'T HAVE MINE. Step off. That's me, not you or anyone else, get it? Good.

(Aside: don't you just love how immature and defensive without cause and, well, bitchy I can be?)

(And note to Candy: While I admit the match-up as you've depicted it would be hilarious, I think anyone who attempts to shave my cat should be reminded of this general rule of thumb, which certain veterinarians never seem to take to heart: Never fuck with someone named Thunderpussy.)

Now that that's settled, let's move on to my topic, which is:

What I actually LOVE about Romance

I was thinking about how Snookie (who, fyi, seriously needs more time for herself because she's sucked into mommyhell) once said that there were certain things she loved in Romance novels that were kinda dumb and totally cliché, but she didn't care because "I LOVE IT."

Specifically, she was talking about one of the things that I, too, adore: the forbidden attraction thing. When they're like I mustn't… no, I must resist... oh shit my tongue is down his throat and he's touching my boobies and and and… no! we mustn't! And then they stop - or more likely, are stopped by someone/thing - and then they vow never to be mindless lust-hungry animals again. Never! But then they see each other like at a ball or sumpin' and sparks fly and must… have… him… no, must resist!

I dunno, I just really like it. No idea why. It's actually better when it's something like they're all burning for each other and he just like touches her hand in passing and thrn they're all panting and locked in this hell of denying an outlet for the passion. It's this whole emotional/physical longing thing that's all intense and it totally works for me.

Another thing I love: The girl dressed as a boy schtick. I LOVE IT. I don't care, I LOVE IT. It's one of those things that I'm absolutely willing to suspend my disbelief on. She has doe-like eyes and a way of swishing her hair back from her face and are those tampons in "his" pocket? But the hero still doesn't catch on? Fine with me! It's amazing to me, but I actually don't care how beyond far-fetched it is. I love the device that much.

Also -- the marriage of convenience. On this, I am less willing to suspend my disbelief than on the girl-dressed-as-boy thing. There are SO many marriage of convenience stories out there - hell, the vast majority of historicals are marriage of convenience or else forced marriage stories. But I don't mind that. They can be written very well. I grant you that they very often aren't written well, but that goes for most books, sadly enough. I love when they get married because society forces them to. Or when a powerful monarch commands them to. Love it.

I also love some of the old standbys that are almost never done well, like the Heroine Who Is SO INCREDIBLY SMART, but then she never really is. She'll spout one out-of-the-blue quote from Euripides on page 14, and that's it -- other than the author consistently reminds us that she's a bluestocking, reads all kindsa books, why it's just scandalous in her day to be so learned! Feh. I love an intellectual heroine when she actually IS an intellectual, and when it has some bearing on her character and personality and life. But honestly, I don't know that I've read many.

I also love the OMG He's Such A Total Manslut Rake hero - but man, it's just so standard. It's a given, like how he's almost definitely a nobleman and/or wildly rich. In Laura Kinsale's Flowers From the Storm, the hero is a total ho-bag. But it actually MEANS something to his character and to the plot that he's such a tart - and that's a rarity. Most of the time, it's just like "tall, dark, handsome, fucks anything that moves, likes long walks on the beach." Ho-hum. Someone gimme a rake I can hate to love, please. It's pretty rare.

And pirates. And piratical types. Like the old-skool kind, who take the ship and lock the heroine up in the master cabin and vows that he will not force her like he forces all the others because he'll just wait for the hellion to beg for the honor of hosting his love-muscle some day, which will happen any minute. After he deduces that she is, in fact, not a ragged cabin boy. And after she goes through lots of No we mustn't… I don't want to want him… oh if only I could touch his rock-hard abs… no! I must resist! And then, despite her years of proclaiming that she wants only to live the scholarly life, she's caught with the manslut pirate in a compromising position and they have to get married.

And then they live HEA.

Do all that and write it in decent prose and make it all believable, and I will be in hawg heaven. Yee haw.

I remain,