An Actual Conversation

  "So, SGT Sharp, I have some good news and I have some bad news."
  "OK."
  "The bad news is that SGT Stafford and I got into a brawl about your Cokes in the middle of the chow hall. He was yelling and I was yelling back. A First Sergeant tried to step in to break it up. I slapped him across the face and SGT Stafford stomped on his groin. He kept on saying 'To hell with your gonads.' It was crazy." 
"What's the good news?"
  "I got you some orange juice."

A Brief Afghan Image

I am facing to the West with the whole of the camp in front of me. Tents, shacks, vehicles and dirt are what make up my temporary home here. I can see the Afghan mountains in the distance, obscured by the dusty haze filling the air. Even though they are only a few miles away they seem much further. The sun is settling lower in the sky, late afternoon light shines into my eyes causing me to avert my gaze. I look up and see the clouds overhead. They are sparse and gray, filled with the little moisture contained in this dry land, tempting rain. Light spears the clouds, rays of warmth casting shadows on the gravel strewn earth. Two helicopters drift by in close formation, one protecting the other, cutting through the beams of light. This was my day. A day to remember.

Talent

My daughter is talented. And here's some proof of that:

There are two things that go through my mind when I see this.

"She did that with markers?" and "She will make a fortune working for Disney some day."

Life Goes On

Wow, it's been a while. I have been seriously neglectful here haven't I? And no, that doesn't require a response. I wish I could say that I haven't written because I've just been too busy to write here. That's partial true, but not all the way. I have had time to jot a few words down-if I was so inclined-but the motivation simply wasn't there.

Every time I call up my browser I see the Blogger link on my bookmarks bar. It's just sitting there, looking accusingly at me, reminding me of how horrible person I'm being for ignoring it. I can't ignore it any more. Well, I could, I just don't want to. OK, so the economy is still hell and my time in the military will end in a few years. I could do one of two things. First, do nothing and hope I'll be able to get a job in an improved economy (because it will be all unbroken in a few years, right?). The second? Improve myself by gaining a skill I can profit from-or at least live off of. I'm good at management, but that's not what interests me. OK, so it does interest me to some degree. Running things is something I'm good at. I've basically done it at every job I've had as an adult. But there is no way in hell I'll be back as a manager in customer service again. Those days were torture (but may make a good blog post sometime).

I'm currently working as a mechanic, but I'm not comfortable doing that job on the outside. I also like writing, but I don't know how I'd make that a career. Hmm, I've got a bit of thinking to do.

Current stuff: The wife had surgery this week. She was in the hospital from Monday until Sunday morning. She was very happy to be leaving for home, unfortunately the 3 hour car ride didn't make her feel too hot. She was in pain most of that day and the morning of the next. She seemed better last night and hopefully will continue to improve. Got to take her to the doctor today. She's having an issue with her medication. She has to crush up all her pills and mix them with water to take them. Of course pills without their coating on them taste worse than death, so we have to find out another way of dealing with her medication.

Good thing: The wife's mother is here to help out. That's great, especially since I go back to work tomorrow and won't be home during the days for the recovery. My daughter is having a pretty good time hanging with her grandmother as well. Benefits all around.

There are big changes coming to the job soon. The thing that kills me is that no one has a clue what's happening to me. Am I staying or am I going? No one can tell me, just rumors so far. I know this part makes no sense, but it's something I can't go into depth about now. I'm really hoping they tell me what's what this week. Either I have a lot of packing to do, or I have a bit of stuff to fix around the house and car. Can't do both unfortunately.

I know this doesn't make a lot of sense and is probably deathly dull, but I had to get these things out of me and down somewhere. Putting a problem on paper (or in a blog post) makes the problem a bit more real and manageable. It makes them not so problematic. Now, time to carry on with my life.

Practice 1, Revised

So here's my revision of the first practice. I added or altered a lot of the material. I tried to add a bit more to the story, add some feeling in the characters. Overall I tried to make it less dry.

Everything was going well on the flight. I had a window seat with no one beside me. The flight attendant even gave me an extra pillow. How nice of her. But the seats were still uncomfortable and I’ll be in the air a lot longer before we land; 6 more hours to go. We’d only been in the air 3 hours, scheduled to land at 5 AM. Way too damn early.

Looking out an airplane’s window at cruising altitude flying over the Southwest in the dead of night is not a very stimulating experience. I have better things to do than to stare out at the dark. Eyes drooping, I slip into a haze, thinking about the past and if I will have a future. I remember what I’ve left behind and what I hope I can go back to. This trip is important. I need to be rested for it.

“Where’d the guy go that was sitting here?”

I started from my daze and looked toward the voice. Standing in the aisle was a guy, late thirties, bald with a serious weight problem. He was looking in my direction, eyebrows arched, sweat pouring down his unshaven face. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days. I know the feeling. I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. Why was he bothering me?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“I said ‘Where’d the guy go that was sitting here?’ Well, where’d he go?”

This guy looked liked trouble and I sure as hell didn’t want to talk to him. All I wanted was to get a bit of rest before we landed. With the schedule I was keeping today I’d be hitting the ground running. I won’t have the chance to close my eyes again for nineteen or twenty hours. One of the cons of my job-no sleep ever.

“Look guy”, I replied “I don’t know who was sitting there. I thought I saw someone earlier but I’m not sure. Ask the flight attendant.”

“I did ask the flight attendant and he doesn’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

This guy was testy with me and all I did was tell him that I didn’t know who was sitting there. I did know that I was very tired and going to be pretty bad off if I didn’t catch at least a bit of a nap. Whatever this guy’s problem was, it has nothing to do with me. And also, I didn’t care.

“Easy there, fella. I’ve been sleeping most of the flight, which is something that I want to get back to doing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be attempting to do just that again.”

I begin closing my eyes, shutting out the noise and light of the cabin. Trying to sleep at 36,000 feet with a bunch of strangers around you being annoyingly loud is bad enough. Having one of those strangers come up to you and ask a stupid question knowing that you are trying to sleep is something else entirely.

“Hey!” the fat man shouted, “I’m fucking talking to you.”

I slowly opened my eyes and turned toward the aisle. There, still standing by the empty seat, was the stranger. He was visibly upset now. His formerly pale face had turned a shade not far off from the red commonly seen on a beet, visible capillaries added to the darkened shade. His brows were furrowed, eyes blazing. His teeth were clenched through slightly parted lips. I could see the rise and fall of his chest, pumping like an over-worked bellows. This guy was seriously pissed off and was looking like he wanted to take it out on me.

“Don’t you turn away from me! I asked you a simple fucking question, so answer it. Who the fuck was sitting here?”

I put up my hands and try to remain as calm as possible. With the possibility of violence from this guy I did not want to be here. I was stuck in a window seat, barely able to move my legs more than a few inches forward and back. Defending myself if he decided to come over the seats at me would have been a problem. I was completely screwed. Time to try and talk him down.

“Easy man, there’s no need for this.” Isn’t there supposed to be an air marshal on every flight these days to deal with problems like this? Isn’t that way the big hiring push was in the news a few years ago? Where the hell was he and why hadn’t he taken this crazy out yet? “I haven’t seen anyone in that seat all flight. There isn’t anyone sitting there. If you tell me what the problem is I may be able to help.”

“Bullshit!” the wacko said. “I saw someone here. There WAS someone here. You had to have seen him. I recognized him. You have to tell me who he was and where he went.”

“Look, I don’t know who was sitting there. I didn’t see anyone. You sure that you have the right seat. Maybe you’re thinking of the one of the others further down the aisle?”

“No, he was here” he said. There was an immediate change to the stranger. He started looking less angry and more confused. The color left his face and went back to his natural shade of too pale. His brows were still furrowed, but they shifted from anger to concentration. “He has to be here, I saw him. I saw him right here.”

Now this guy had my attention. He was clearly upset about something. He truly believed that someone had been sitting there, someone that he knew. Or someone that he thought he recognized. And that’s when the marshal showed up.

“Is there a problem here, sir?” the marshal asked the stranger.

The stranger looked dumbly at the marshal. “He’s on this plane, I know he is. He has to be, because I saw him here. He was right here” the guy said as he gestured toward the empty seat.

“Who was here, sir? Who are you looking for?” The marshal put his hand around the guy’s shaking right bicep, ready to restrain him if necessary. The flight attendant must have told him about the outburst and he was ready, taking no chances. The guy wasn’t angry with me before, I see that now. He was terrified. The way he was quivering I was amazed he could even stand.

“He was.” The stranger looked pleadingly in the marshal’s eyes. “You have to help me find him, he’s here.” Getting frantic now, “He’s on this plane; you have to find him and arrest him!”

“Arrest who, sir? Who are you talking about? What are you talking about?”

Seeing this exchange sends a chill down my spine. I know what he’s going to say before he says it. It’s my job to know things first, to know fact before anyone else does. I see where this is headed and wish I’d taken the later flight. Or at least a different seat.

The stranger, tears welling in his eyes, looked from the marshal to me, and back again, his shoulders slumped. All I could see in front of me was a broken man, one that had obviously lost everything. I couldn’t be angry at this man, not seeing him that way. Looking at the marshal I could tell he thought the same way.

“Sir, sit here, tell me what this is about.”

The heavy-set man looked at the aisle seat in front of him. Resignedly, the man collapsed into the seat causing it to bump against the legs of the passenger behind.

“Hey! Watch it, that hurt.”

He didn’t hear, I don’t think he was aware of anything happening at that point.

“I’m Marshal Brice, what’s your name sir?”

The man looked at the marshal, eyes empty. “Huh?”

“Sir, what is your name?” the marshal repeated.

“Dylan. Sam Dylan. I’m from Colorado. I’m heading to California to see my sister. To…”

The man’s eyes go vacant again, all the energy drained out of them.

“Mr. Dylan?” The marshal tried getting the guys attention but failed. Placing a hand on his shoulder the marshal gently shakes him. “Mr. Dylan!” more forcefully now. “Mr. Dylan, you mentioned a man, a man that you recognized. Who was this man and why do I need to arrest him?”

“Hmm?” replied Dylan, coming back to the land of the present. “What?”

“Who was the man and why do I have to arrest him?” asked the marshal again.

“He is…” Mr. Dylan began. Then he looks deeply in the marshal’s eyes, his sight filled with nothing but pain and anguish. “The guy I’m looking for-the guy I saw sitting here…He killed my wife. Two days ago. And he’s somewhere on this plane.”

Well, so much for me getting any sleep on this flight.

I added about 400 words to this story going from 1060 words to 1500. Just adding words to try and make the story better won't work. You have to add the right words to accomplish that.

Practice 2

I’m walking down the hallway. It’s dark, smelling of rotting trash and mildew. Further along the hallway are doors, several on each side and all are closed. Most of the doors are dark; a few have a pale, sickly light escaping from beneath them. I come upon a pair of doors, one on the left, one on the right. I try the knob on the door to the left, it turns freely but the door remains closed. I try pushing harder thinking that the moisture in this dank place has caused the wood frame to swell. No luck, the door is still wedged firmly shut. Frustrated, I throw my shoulder into the door. The only thing I accomplish is to cause my already aching shoulder to scream in pain. The right door is the same, it won’t budge. The doors aren’t locked but something is causing them to remain closed.

I hear a muffled crash behind me and turn toward the sound. That is the way I came and I know there are no windows there. A crash again, more distinct this time. I walk slowly down the hall, cautious of every step and straining to hear every noise. But there are no further sounds to hear. There is a door on the right, one that I don’t remember seeing before. This is where the sounds originated. Behind this door could be the answer that I’m looking for.

I lean toward the door, turning my head to the left as I listen for any more sounds. There are none. Straightening back up I again look at the door. It is made of wood and painted the deep red shade of fresh blood. On the door is a symbol made of a shining silver metal, meticulously made and perfectly finished. I can see myself reflected off of it. The symbol is a horizontally oriented dagger with a rose vertically behind it. I don’t know what it means but seeing the symbol fills my heart with dread and anxiety. As I reach for the door I feel a chill reach my spine causing me to shake violently for a couple of seconds. The shakes stop as I withdraw my hand.

There’s nothing there, stop being a baby. Suck it up and just open the damn thing. Hell, this one probably won’t open either.

Encouraging words, but I don’t believe myself. I am afraid; something evil is behind this portal. I don’t want to open this door but I must know. I hesitatingly reach my right hand toward the knob, pausing halfway. There are no shakes this time. I reach the knob. Taking a deep breath I attempt to turn it. But the knob won’t move. Placing my left hand on the knob with my right I try again. Straining, I feel a slight give, the knob emitting a screech that sets my teeth on edge. It’s as if a build-up of rust has started breaking free. I alternate the direction the knob is turned, gaining a little more motion and with each attempt. Finally, the screech stops and a loud click from the knob. There is a pop as the door is freed from it’s frame.

I look at the door. I can see that sickly light around the whole of the door now, through the gap that releasing the door from the frame has created. Breathing deeply I close my eyes.

All this way. All the loss and here it is. Do it for them.

I reach my right hand out to the door. Placing my hand upon it I pause. It has to be done. I breathe deeply one more time and shove the door all the way open.

And that's it for practice 2. I know what I have to work on and I will come back to this one after a bit more experimenting. And more practice, of course.

Portable Convenience

I haven't mentioned my Kindle here yet, ignoring my blogging duties again. I've had it since right after Christmas and have had plenty of time to play with it, so now I think it's time to write about it.

Boring stuff first:

The Kindle I got is the current generation 3G/WiFi graphite colored model with a 6" pearl e ink display. Basically what that means is that with 3G and WiFi connections I can get on the internet from anywhere I wish. I'm currently in Germany and have no problems connecting to the Kindle store and purchasing books.

What do I think? I think the Kindle is a great idea that's in the process of becoming the best idea, but it's not there yet.

What I like about it:

The display is amazing. Pulling the Kindle out of the box for the first time there is a message on the screen. Usually, when you buy an electronic product with a display there is a sticker over top the display. But that wasn't the case. The E Ink pearl display is crystal clear and mimics the look of a page from a book extremely well. The type is very clear and easy to read (it is also adjustable to be able to see easier, something that those dead tree books can't do for you). The message itself just stated that the device needed to be plugged in and charged for a couple of minutes, then it could be used.

The cord used to charge the Kindle is a no-frills type cable. One end is a standard USB connection. The other end is a micro-USB. There is also an adapter that connects to the USB end that allows charging from a standard 120 volt wall outlet. The adapter can be used with 240 volt outlets as well-with the correct adapter plug, of course. Now that I was charging I was ready to go. I slide the on switch to the right, as per the on-screen instructions, and I was ready to read.

Turning on the display causes the screen to go black then white. The words or pictures show up after less than a second. Again, the screen is amazingly crisp, clear and very easy to read. I hate using my cellphone in bright sunlight. The colors on screen wash out and the display becomes hard to read, not so with the Kindle. In bright, direct sunlight the display is perfectly clear-even more so the brighter the light. Unlike LCD displays, there is little to no glare, so there in nothing preventing you from taking the Kindle outside to read.

One thing I wasn't sure about with the Kindle-and why I was looking at a competitors model of ereader-is the keyboard on the device. I wasn't sure I'd want or need the dedicated keyboard. I will say that it's not as obtrusive as I thought. I don't use it a lot, but I like it for when I do use it. There are a few buttons on the keyboard that are essential though. You have menu, home and back buttons that are required for navigating the Kindles menus. You also have the 5-way controller (basically a button with a 4-way button bordering it) for making menu selections. All the buttons are clearly marked and easy to use.

Getting books to read is simple and with the 3G/WiFi model there are a couple of ways to do it. First, you can connect the Kindle to a computer and manually transfer books to the device, just like you'd do with any external hard drive. Second, you can connect wirelessly to the Kindle store and download books directly from there. Navigating the store from the Kindle is easy as well. Book downloads from 3G/Wifi connections take a matter of seconds and happen automatically. The amount of on-board memory, at 3 gigabyte capacity, is sufficient to store a few thousand books on. Plenty of room even for the most serious book collector.

Selecting books on your Kindle to read and reading them are simple processes. Selections are made from the home screen using the 5-way controller. Opening a book will take you directly to the beginning, unless you have already started the book, in which case it will take you to the last page you were on. Turning the pages is accomplished by buttons on either side of the device. There are two on each side-the larger bottom button is page forward with the smaller upper button being page back. As I mentioned, paging through an ebook is quick, less than a second per page.

As no device is perfect, there will always be room for improvement. Attempting to navigate the menus quickly often leaves artifacts and can be slow at times. I also found the 5-way click button awkward to use under certain circumstances. Normally all you'll use are the up and down and select aspects of the controller, but when you want to say, search for a word in the built-in dictionary, navigating there can be a bit of a chore. Neither one of these concerns break the device and it works very well for what it was designed for. The quality of the device itself is also top notch, no complaints there.

There are more features and functions available on the Kindle, but since I'm not trying to write a book here, I'm going to cut this short. Final word? The Kindle is definitely a worthwhile light weight and easy to use portable ereader. I have no compunctions recommending this device to any book reader. All they have to do now is add a touchscreen and color and the Kindle will be perfect.

So Far So Good

OK, so, first practice is up and I don't think it's that cringe-worthy. I know that it's short, it doesn't introduce the characters at all-other than a couple of base descriptions-and there is no conclusion. But, it's just practice after all. As I get further along in this process (if I stick with it like I should) I'm going to need feedback. As I mentioned two posts ago, I know I'll be bad at this, that is why practice is important. And practice I shall.

Now, what did you think?

Practice Begins

I mentioned practicing in my last post. Well, going through this book on writing that I'm reading are some practice exercises. Here's the first one. Don't be too harsh, I'm new at this.

Everything was going well on the flight. I had a window seat with no one beside me. The flight attendant even gave me an extra pillow. How nice of her.

“Where’d the guy go that was sitting here?”

I started from my daze and looked toward the voice. Standing in the aisle was a guy, mid-forties, bald with a serious weight problem. He was looking in my direction, eyebrows arched. I rubbed my eyes and took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said ‘Where’d the guy go that was sitting here?’. Well, where’d he go?”

I could tell this guy was a winner and I sure as hell didn’t want to talk to him. All I wanted was to catch a bit of a nap before we landed in an hour. With the schedule I was keeping today I’d be hitting the ground running. I won’t have the chance to close my eyes again for another 15 hours, one of the great perks of my job-no sleep ever.

“Look guy”, I replied “I don’t know who’s sitting there. I thought I saw someone earlier but I’m not sure. Ask the flight attendant.”

“I did ask the flight attendant and he doesn’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

This guy was testy with my and all I did was tell him that I didn’t know who was sitting there. I did know that I was very tired and going to be pretty bad off if I didn’t catch at least a bit of a nap.

“Easy there fella. I’ve been sleeping most of the flight, which is something that I want to get back to doing. If you’ll excuse me I’ll be attempting to do just that again.”

I begin closing my eyes, shutting out the noise and light of the cabin. Trying to sleep at 50,000 ft with a bunch of strangers around you being annoyingly loud is bad enough. Having one of those strangers come up to you and ask a stupid question knowing that you are trying to sleep is something else.

“Hey asshole!” fat man shouted, “I’m fucking talking to you.”

I slowly opened my eyes and turned toward the aisle. There, still standing by the empty seat, was the stranger. I can tell that he was upset now, and not just by the tone of voice that he used. His formerly pale face had turned a shade not far off from the red commonly seen on a beet, visible capillaries added to the darkening shade. His brows were furrowed, eyes blazing. His teeth were clenched through slightly parted lips. I could see the rise and fall of his chest, pumping like an over-worked bellows. This guy was seriously pissed off and was looking like he wanted to take it out on me.

“Don’t you EVER turn away from me again! I asked you a simple fucking question, so answer it. Who the fuck was sitting here?”

I put up my hands and try to remain as calm as possible. With the possibility of violence from this guy I did not want to be here. I was stuck in a window seat, barely able to move my legs more than a few inches forward and back. Defending myself if he decided to come over the seats at me would have been a problem. I was completely screwed.

“Easy man, there’s no need for this.” Isn’t there supposed to be an air marshal on every flight these days to deal with problems like this? Isn’t that way the big hiring push was in the news a few years ago? Where the hell was he and why hadn’t he taken this crazy out yet? “I haven’t seen anyone in that seat all flight. There isn’t anyone sitting there.”

“Bullshit!” the wacko said. “I saw someone here. There WAS someone here. You had to have seen him. I recognized him. You have to tell me who he was and where he went.”

“Look, I don’t know who was sitting there. I didn’t see anyone. You sure that you have the right seat. Maybe you’re thinking of the one of the others further down the aisle?”

“No, he was here” he said. There was an immediate change to the stranger. He started looking less angry and more confused. The color left his face and went back to the natural shade of too pale. His brows were still furrowed, but they shifted from anger to concentration. “He has to be here, I saw him. I saw him right here.”

Now this guy had my attention. He was clearly upset about something. He truly believed that someone had been sitting there, someone that he knew. Or someone that he thought he recognized. And that’s when the late marshal showed up.

“Is there a problem here sir?” the marshal asked the stranger.

The stranger looked dumbly at the marshal, his face beyond pale. “He’s on this plane, I know he is. He has to be, because I saw him here. He was right here” the guy said as he gestured toward the empty seat.

“Who was here sir? Who are you looking for?” The marshal put his hand around the guy’s right bicep, ready to restrain him if necessary. The flight attendant must have told him about the outburst and he was ready, taking no chances.

“He was.” The stranger looked pleadingly in the marshal’s eyes. “You have to help me find him, he’s here.” Getting more frantic now, “He’s on this plane; you have to find him and arrest him!”

“Arrest who, sir? Who are you talking about?”

Seeing this exchange sends a chill down my spine. I know what he’s going to say before he says it. It’s my job to know things first, to know fact before anyone else does. I see where this is headed and wish I’d taken the later flight.

The stranger, tears welling in his eyes, looked from the marshal to me, and back again, his shoulders slumped. All I could see in front of me was a broken man, one that had obviously lost everything.

“He is…” began the stranger. “The guy I’m looking for-the guy I saw sitting here…He killed my wife, two days ago. And he’s somewhere on this plane. Right now.”

Thoughts And Words

No, I didn't drop off the face of you-at least not intentionally. I know it's been a very long time since I've written here, and I feel ashamed for it. Err, not really, but that's beside the point. I have been neglecting my blogging duties. I should had have my Blogger Badge™ revoked by now, the Publishing Police must be napping. OK, what have I done lately?

So there I was, in the field (and by "in the field" I mean in a heated building in the Hoenfels Training Area in Hoenfels, Germany, not an actual field) working from 9 PM to 9 AM for three weeks straight, no days off. That kinda sucked, but I had time to think. And what did I think about? I know it's going to be hard to believe, but I thought about writing. Writing? But I haven't written anything here for ages. If I'd been thinking about writing why didn't I just write here? I have an answer for that. I was not thinking about blogging writing, I was thinking about writing writing, as in fiction writing. I heard that, I do not write fiction here. This blog is the honest to Spaghetti Monster truth.

Was that too obscure or obtuse a reference? Don't know what obscure or obtuse means? Never mind.

I have tried to write fiction before, but it never seemed to work out. I mean, it's daunting just to think about doing it. I actually want to create something original and have other people read it. I know the stuff here is original, but it's all me. I want to challenge myself a bit and write about something I don't necessarily know. And that lead me to the idea of writing fiction. Good thing for me I had a story idea or two, or so I thought at the time. I wrote a beginning to...something. I don't know what yet, could be a short story, could be longer. I also threw together a short outline for a story. Unfortunately, the outline has one problem-lack of a complete plot. After a week of fleshing out characters and an outline, I shelved my idea.

After I returned home I was still thinking about writing, about the characters that I had outlined, and I realized I needed a bit of help if I was going to get this right. First step: Get books on writing. OK, did that and have read the first one. After I read the rest comes step two: Read more books. Huh? I've read hundreds-if not thousands-of books already in my life, why would I need to read more? Because now that I know what to look for (6 layers of plot, theme, 3 act structure, style, etc...) I can analyze the books in the category that I'm shooting for and see how the professionals do it. Third: Practice writing a little bit each day. I was thinking that this would probably be the hardest step for me. It's not a problem for me to find the time to write, it's just the idea that when I do start to write I will be bad at it. Then I realized: Of course I'll be bad, that's the point of practicing every day, to be less bad as time goes on.

And that's my plan, for now at least. It's not much, but it's a start. Do I expect to become a world famous author out of this? No, but I might be able to self-publish something. If I don't get that far I'll still be happy creating something, even if I'm the only one to see it.

I can take one consolation from my blog. I have written here a long time now, and I have gotten better. I just need to refocus that experience in a new way. Well, here goes nothing.