Monthly Archives: February 2012
Happy Leap Day!
Today is a day out of time, a day where the progression of the year stops, a day…an extra day in February.
Okay, all that but the last bit is rather untrue. But what better day to talk about what will make this year different than February 29?
First of all, make sure you meander your interwebby way over to Ms. Kristin McFarland’s blog today. She was friendly enough to host my Buffy-related attempt to create a new abstinence-only sex ed curriculum! ***
As it is both Leap Day AND the first week of my shiny new schedule at work (bound to give me more time to write and less of the moniez, just you wait), I’ve been busy hatching.
Chick: You guys are taking too long. Egg: HALP.
For the last couple weeks, I have been that egg. I’ve been yelling HALP to the winds of 2012. I needed time to write. I needed time to query. Now I have it, and it is a glorious thing to be poking my head out of that egg. Yesterday I met my goal of 2,000 words. Today the goal is 3,000 and a list of new agents to query. Tomorrow is 10,000 and an agent with a bottle of champagne! (Kidding.)
I have three days per week to devote to my craft. For that I feel profoundly grateful. I don’t know how long it will last, but I intend to milk it for all it’s worth.
I did a little hunting around about Leap Day. Did you know that if Leap Year falls on the turn of a century (like it did in 2000), there will only be a Leap Day if the year is perfectly divisible by 400 (like it was in 2000)? I didn’t know 1900 got skipped. I wonder if it feels put out.
Additionally, 20-year-old Americans, rejoice! According to the omniscient Wikipedia, in the US of A you legally turn a new age the day before your birthday. This makes sense if you think about it — 365 days have passed, so why not? That means you can legally drink the day before you turn 21! Good luck finding a bartender who will serve you, though.
And for all the rest of the world, you can go ahead and keep laughing at us for the world’s highest drinking age.
Among other things.
Also, as evidenced by that horrible movie, many countries have a tradition that says women can propose to men on Leap Day. Being a feminist, I say propose whenever you want, you strong woman, you — but for the sake of funsies, let’s hear what happens if the dude in question says no to your profession of love!
- He has to give you money. Or buy you a dress.
- In upper class Europe, he has to buy you 12 pairs of gloves so that you can hide the shame of not having a ring on your finger.
- (So if you propose, he has to go out and buy a ring? “Marry me? Good. Now get me a rock, dammit!”)
- In Greece, you can get engaged today, but do NOT get married if you don’t want bad luck.
- In Ireland, the tradition supposedly originated from a deal St. Bridget made with St. Patrick.
I sowwy.
So in Leap Day fashion, gentle viewers, I’d like to hear where YOU want to be on the next Leap Day! Assuming the world doesn’t end, what do you want to be different in your life? February 29, 2016: where are you gonna be?
***That there’s a joke. Abstinence-only doesn’t work. Just compare Texas to Massachusetts.
Like this:
Evil Evoking Sympathy: How the Mayor Won Hearts
If there is anything that makes Joss Whedon stand out even more than he already does, it’s his ability to make complex antagonists who manage to create a laundry list of emotions in viewers. Being a huge fan of Buffy and Angel (I’ve even read all the comic continuations of the series), the Big Bad who stands out to me most after all these years is Mayor Wilkins.
The man speaks the truth. Image via buffyandangeltrainspotters.com
When we first meet the mayor (or hear of him, rather), there is an aura of mystery and danger about him. Whenever Principal Snyder mentions him, it’s in an almost reverent tone. When Mayor Wilkins comes on screen, we see that he has some serious quirks.
He hates germs. He regularly comments to his aide about cleanliness, going so far as to ask if one of them washed under his fingernails. He is also polite and friendly to almost everyone in a genteel, Leave It To Beaver sort of way. All of that is well and good, but his real moment happens when Faith turns to his side.
Faith Lehane is a troubled young woman. While some people might argue with this statement, I think her sexuality is the only part of her life that she has under control. She decides who she sleeps with and when, and it seems to be the only elective she has. Faith is a Slayer called after Kendra died, but Buffy is still head honcho. Though Faith is technically the continuation of the true Slayer line, she is forced to play second fiddle to Buffy. She has different methods and a very different background. No family, no friends, no real connections after she saw her Watcher murdered.
Until she meets the Mayor.
He sets her up in a fabulous loft apartment with exposed brick and a blue color scheme I can’t help but envy. Gaming equipment galore. For a girl from Southie who grew up in poverty, this is the big cahoona. One of their early exchanges begins to set the tone of their relationship when she thanks him for the apartment.
Faith: Thanks, sugar daddy.
Mayor: Now, Faith. You know I don’t like that. I’m a family man. Now, let’s kill your little friend.
Not her normal look.
From that moment, their relationship becomes familial. From the pink dress he gives her to wear to his Ascension to the glasses of milk he offers her to drink, his affection for her is clear even as he plots to become a full-blooded demon snake and eat Sunnydale’s class of 1999. Together they conspire to make Angel lose his soul, and the Mayor acts like Angel is a date coming to his house to take out his daughter.
He calls her his little firecracker and gives her gifts. Even though he’s evil, his love for Faith is evident — especially when Faith shoots Angel with a poisoned arrow and the only antidote is the blood of a Slayer.
Buffy goes after Faith with Faith’s prized knife as her weapon, and she manages to nearly gut Faith, giving her a beating that puts her in a coma.
The Mayor’s reaction to this makes you forget that he is evil. While standing in her ruined apartment, he repeats over and over, “She’ll be all right. Faith’s a good girl. She’ll be all right.” He finds her comatose in the hospital. Racked with crippling pain, he tries to smother an unconscious Buffy in the adjacent room, roaring at everyone, “Did you see what she did to my Faith?”
His love for Faith becomes his downfall, the humanizing element that gets him where Buffy needs him once he becomes the giant snake.
Their relationship is expounded upon in flashbacks in season four, dreams in Faith’s mind while she slumbers. You see more love and normalcy and Buffy painted as the villain who destroyed Faith’s family. When Faith wakes, she finds a video he left her along with the gadget that allows her to switch bodies with Buffy in “Who Are You?” Even later, in season seven, the First Evil is able to manifest to Faith as the Mayor, and you see that connection revived.
Through all the spider eating and baby tributes to demons, the Mayor is a fully-realized villain and one of the best I’ve ever seen. He evokes feelings of fury and pity alike, and if you’re like me, you ached for him when Faith was lying in that hospital. Their relationship is one of the show’s most poignant, and in spite of their poor decision-making, you relate to them.
For that, Mayor Wilkins is today’s Monday Man and the first in a series of posts about the Big Bads of Buffy. To a fascinating villain and a guy who loves his calcium and Little Women, this one’s for the Mayor.
Related articles
- Monday Man: Spike (emmiemears.com)
- 30 Days of Buffy Day 1: Favorite Season (essaysonbuffy.wordpress.com)
- She Saved the World A Lot (emmiemears.com)
- Chillers, Thrillers, and Killers (emmiemears.com)
- Monday Man: Rupert Giles (emmiemears.com)
- Monday Man: Xander Harris (emmiemears.com)
Like this:
I Got Sunshine
No, for real.
It’s bright and golden and morning and it looks an awful lot like something I think of as…spring.
I’m feeling allegorical this morning, gentle viewers. Maybe it’s the pouncing kitten purr that woke me, her tiny paw patting my cheek. Maybe it’s the creme brulee coffee I’m slurping as I write.
It's like this -- in a mug. Image via Wikipedia
Kitten or coffee or the bright promise of an early spring, I’m looking forward to the rest of the year. I have some great projects to work on, some new corners of my genre to explore, and what more can a woman ask for then the ability to write about demons and witches who want to watch people’s heads go poof?
This is a year to push myself. Aside from the goals I talked about yesterday, I have one other big ginormous one: to have an agent by the end of the world year.
(“mnfrtttt0,” says Willow.)
(She’s quite right.)
Whatever metaphor you want to use for life, I think I like the potter’s wheel the most. Big hunk of gooey clay, plop onto the wheel and spin. Spin until that clay looks like what you want it to be. Add water as needed. Move your hands to make a different shape or design. I’ve never been a believer in fate or serendipity — I don’t think the vessel of your life is shaped the moment you gasp your first breath to squall out your entrance to the world.
As I said to New York this week, the future is what you make of it. It’s your job to decide how large to loom and how you’re going to get that big. So many disasters can be prevented by foresight and plotting. If you don’t want heart disease, keep a healthy weight and don’t smoke. If you’re afraid of being jumped on your way home from work, take a self-defense class and make yourself strong. If you’re afraid of being swindled by your accountant, learn about investing and business enough to talk about it knowledgeably — and the same goes for finding a good mechanic.
We have so much information and opportunity in this age of the world. It’s up to us what we do with it. Sometimes we’ll still get blindsided by tragedy or sorrow, but if we live each day in the expectation of horror, we will live horrible lives.
Bad things happen — often to good people — and life just isn’t fair.
But I look at it this way: life can be a lottery. The more you shape your clay, the more you press your hands into it and form it on your wheel, the more tickets you get. So if a bully comes by and scrunches a corner of it, it will leave a mark. But you can smooth its edges and keep spinning and getting tickets. Sure, some people pick their noses all their lives and get that one lucky ticket, but if you keep earning your tickets, one day your number will come up.
Get your hands dirty and get spinning. Image via Wikipedia
What do you want your vessel to look like? What can you do today to ensure a brighter tomorrow for yourself? For your family? How can you take responsibility for your future?
Like this:
Things That Go Bump
I remember when I first started reading Kim Harrison‘s Hollows series. At first, I was put off by the idea of pixies.
Snore -- brought to you via fairiesvampires.com
All I could think of were squeaky voices and Tinkerbell — but then Jenks turned out to be a trash-talking, dust-making badass who had a family of over 20 children and a heart to match. What made him so effective was the fact that Harrison made a four inch character into a three-dimensional dynamo. He has his flaws and his pride, and he is an integral addition to the cast of the Hollows.
I think even more than vampires or werewolves, some of the other creatures of urban fantasy are prone to cliches, from sparkly pixies in bluebells to fairies with butterfly wings in an array of purples. There are some creatures I would like to see more of, so here’s a few examples — and some ideas on how to keep them fresh and new!
Mmm...green goblin. Image via nerdcaliber.com
These guys saw a rise to prominence again with Harry Potter — as bankers no less! That is a perfect example of putting a spin on an old stereotype. While still warty and rather unattractive, J.K. Rowling made expected characteristics (greed, pride, tricksy-ness) into a respectable position as the owners of Gringott’s. While goblins are known for rather nasaly cackles and boniness, there are plenty of ways to make a goblin character interesting.
- A shy goblin with a stutter.
- A chubby goblin who steals Twinkies.
- A goblin with perfectly manicured nails who only wears designer clothes.
Awesome image by aselclub via twintaverns.wordpress.com
Dryads are the traditional tree spirits of Greek mythology,but they also exist in Celtic mysticism and neo-paganism. I haven’t seen any interesting dryads lately (although I try to write them into my trilogy!), but David Eddings wrote some fun ones. Instead of being trees themselves, his dryads were humanoid creatures who were tied to a specific tree but could mate with humans. They were also all female and very frisky — with a fondness for chocolate.
Dryads are often depicted as scantily-clad and anatomically correct females. Here’s some ideas for making them different.
- Make them androgynous, male, or asexual.
- Make them capricious or self-serving.
- A dryad who smokes — or even better, a dryad who owns a lumber company.
Disney made some good ones with these guys.
Visitors
While your visitors might not be little green men or aliens at all, a lot of fantasy involves visitors from the Otherworld — whether that be an extraterrestrial sort of Otherworld, another dimension, or fairyland.
In recent pop culture, Paul was a great play on aliens. Irreverent, outside the box, and goofy, Paul was a visitor who defied the bright lights and tractor beam stereotypes.
Otherworldly visitors tend to be greeted with awe and shiny things. What makes them fun is changing it up with elements of the creepy, the gritty, or the unexpected. They don’t have to be godlike to inspire awe. Instead, you could have:
- A Celtic sidhe who hates whisky and goes bonkers for technology.
- A succubus from hell who happens to be a virgin.
- An alien terrified that humans are going to invade his home planet.
There are plenty of ways to make the fantastical creatures of urban fantasy and sci-fi interesting and three dimensional. Here’s a fun little exercise to open up the imagination!
Pick your critter. I’ll use vampires because they’re handy. Imagine your first picture of this creature. For instance, in spite of the fact that they’ve moved away from this norm, I still see:
Male, pale, swirling cape. Prominent fangs. Beauty. Aura of mystery. Blood.
Now. Start switching these things — take the opposites.
Female, copper-skinned. Spandex. Tiny teeth and an awkward appearance. Reading a tabloid and sipping orange Fanta.
By articulating the stereotypes, it’s easy to combat them and create more interesting characters — or you could even show someone a stereotype and make them think you’re giving them a vampire only to have it be an ill-informed alien or an amnesiac who believes he’s the reincarnation of Vlad Tepes.
Great writing keeps you guessing and delights you with surprises — if you can do that, the markets matter less and less.
How do you create your fantasy creatures? What are your favorite standouts from current urban fantasy? What’s got you hot to trot right now? What do you want to see more of?
Related articles
- Mommy, Why do Vampires Sparkle? (emmiemears.com)
- Treading the Tightrope Between Worlds (emmiemears.com)
Like this:
In Which Emmie Plots a Murder
If I had to make a theme for 2012 at this stage in its fledgling development, I would say that it has been difficult choices.
Right out of the New Year’s Gate, fresh on my celebratory phlegm and spat with bronchitis, I realized that Spouse and I couldn’t make it to Scotland this year. I’ve already written about that decision, so I won’t rehash it here. I’ve started the query process and thought long and hard about my professional goals for this year.
Something an told me at the Writer’s Digest Conference sobered me up about my books. She told me that four years ago, she could have sold my trilogy in a hot minute, but now editors bristle at the v-word. My book was finished in 2008 — four years ago. I sat on it. It’s now a hard sell in a changing market.
Yep. It was one of those moments. Image via MeBitches at deviantart.
Yep. Gentle viewers, this is for real.
For the last month, I’ve been taking a long, hard look at my book series. Do I think it is ultimately salable? Yes. Do I think it’s salable now? Not really. It’s a disturbing bit of reality that wriggled in through her words. I don’t think she meant to be discouraging — and I still need to submit her requested partial now that I’ve karate-chopped 20,000 words from it — but she knows the markets better than I do.
While I still want to sell this trilogy, I don’t know if it’s feasible at the moment. That’s terrifying to think and even more frightening to admit publicly. I have two completed books that I’m thinking I might have to murder. At least temporarily.
In order to feel like I’m doing my job and not giving up, I’ve begun to formulate a plan for this year. I’m going to continue to query this trilogy, but while I’m doing that, I am going to bang out the last book by April. After that, I am going to start a new project, which I want to finish by June. By the end of July, I want to have a revised draft of the new project to query and get the ball rolling there. If something transpires for either, it can only help the other.
While I’m not exactly killing my darlings, I’m operating on the assumption that it might become necessary. I realized yesterday that the reason I haven’t gone back to working on book three is because I’m afraid I won’t be able to sell something with vampires — even if they’re outside the fangy norm.
I think that this awareness is a sign of maturity if nothing else — to recognize that I might have something good that won’t sell in the current market. That’s okay. It might also be the big ole stinky fear talking. I’m not sure yet. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.
Until then, I’m going to keep writing.
What do you think, gentle viewers? Have you ever had a major goal or project (writing or otherwise) that you had to put on hold for the sake of pragmatism?
Related articles
- An Open Letter to New York Publishing (emmiemears.com)
- Sunday My Prints Will Come (emmiemears.com)
- Emmie’s Salacious New York Adventure (emmiemears.com)
Like this:
Willow Kitty is Home!
Well, gentle viewers, today our clan gained a four-legged furball!
Willow Kitty is home! She arrived a couple hours ago, very peaceful in her kitty carrier. She ventured out and took the apartment by storm! Spouse made her a veritable jungle gym of cardboard boxes, which she immediately decided was home.
She loves the Whack-a-Mole box!
We showed her where her litter box and food were — and mid-play she bolted down the hall and used her litter box without us doing anything! She already knows the drill. 
Willow's Castle
So far her favorite toy is the fishing pole with the purple and turquoise feathers. She spent an hour and a half going nuts over it. She also looooved the soft chicken treats we got her after we broke it into little pieces for her. Willow Kitty is making herself right at home.
She is a gorgeous kitty — she has glorious tiger stripes down her body, and leopard rosettes on the sides of her tummy with a white strip down the middle of her belly. Her green eyes are so pretty, and she has a solid little motor on her, which is rumbling against my foot where she’s leaning right now.
She has had a big day, and now she’s taking a wee nap.
I have a bunch of pictures to share with you, but right now I can’t bear to move away from her warm little self to upload them from my camera.
Instead, here is a video of Willow in action. Enjoy!
EDIT: Here are some pictures of Willow for you to enjoy while she has a nap!
She stalks her prey.
Did I leave the gas on? ! No! I'm a kitten!
I am just a tiny tiny kitten.
Like this:
An Open Letter to New York Publishing
Downtown New York (Photo credit: sreevishnu)
Dear New York,
I love you.
When I went to the city for a conference this year and came face-to-face with agents and editors for the first time, it made me tear up. I stumbled upon Random House whilst walking around the city, saw the lobby lined with books from floor to ceiling. I wanted to go in. I wanted to walk in and just stand for a minute. Traditional publishers have made so many books possible. They’ve made dreams come true for many, many people.
I’ve been a writer since I could hold a pen. It’s been my dream to see my book on a shelf. To feel the spine, the covers, to feel the pages flip in my hands. It’s been my dream to work toward that result with others who love books and stories. I know I’m not alone, but in this rapidly changing era of publishing, it feels just a bit lonely.
By now you should know the deal. You’ve seen Amazon’s profit margins; I know you have. You know that writers are flocking to e-publishing in droves, their stories trailing behind them. Some of those are books you could have put on the shelves, but chose not to for many reasons. They might have even been the right reasons — in some cases I’m sure that’s true. Do you believe the future lies on a Kindle or a Nook, written in 1s and 0s? I’m asking you that, New York. Do you?
I want to know what you say. If you believe that’s true, tell me so I can get out the wrecking ball, demolish the construction of my dream and prime the foundation to build anew.
But I have a suspicion that you don’t believe that is the future. Or that you don’t want it to be. What I have to say to you is this: the future is not built on a road to inevitability. It is what you want it to be. It is what you strive and sweat to make it. And if you want that future to be built with you in it, writers like me need you to start laying bricks.
I believe competition is hearty and healthy. I believe readers should have choices of how to get their stories. They might want to read them on paper or on a phone, on an e-reader or on a computer screen. They might want to listen to them. They should have those choices. The last few — those are easy. Anyone can make those things possible, and there is a beauty in that.
But you. You are still New York. You still produce most of the printed books in the world. You are still relevant if you want to be. I want you to be. I love printed books. I love the weight of them; I love being able to flip to a part I remember. I love having those favorite parts marked on a spine worn from so many readings. There is poetry and beauty in that, too.
You must innovate.
You must.
You will need to make sacrifices. You will have to trim some fat. You will have to reinvent the way you find your authors and how you reward them for their work. You will have to do those things because you need to compete — because we need you to compete. Fight. Stay relevant. I may feel alone, but I’m not alone. For every die-hard indie published author out there, there is someone like me. I still have the dream of bindings and pages. I know I’m not the only one.
Writers like me need you. I’m willing to query my heart out until I find the right agent. I’m willing to work and write and rewrite and rewrite and write some more until I have an excellent, salable product. I’m willing to commit to you, New York. I already told you I love you.
There is a growing unease among writers like me. We fear being ostracized by our fellow writers who gladly e-publish, but most of all we fear that you will get a knockout punch to the nose from Amazon. The only way that will happen is if you stand still. You need to move. You need to put on your gloves. You need to fight for writers, because frankly, right now Amazon offers us a lot more, a lot easier, and with more perceived opportunity.
If you’re still finding the best stories, you will remain competitive. If you are willing to take some chances and show that you are committed to the evolution of stories, you will remain competitive. If you are willing to innovate your turnaround time and get books on shelves faster and more efficiently, you will remain competitive. If you are willing to show just how well you will treat your writers, writers will flock back to you. Show us an industry built on a love of books. Show us an industry that loves writers and agents and editors and designers and all of the people who make books possible. Don’t just show us. Show the world. Show Amazon.
Because you have something Amazon does not and cannot have.
You love books. You breathe books. Every day is about making books happen. About finding new stories and new information to put on shelves. Your entire business from top to bottom is built on a foundation of books.
That can only help you.
I love you, New York.
Don’t fail me.
Love,
Emmie
Related articles
- “Book on Shelf” and the Evaporating Dream (emmiemears.com)
- Are Paperbacks Necessary? (kellielarsenmurphy.com)
- Bracing for Impact – The Future of Big Publishing in the New Paradigm (warriorwriters.wordpress.com)
Like this:
We Interrupt Your Scheduled Programming
This pretty much sums up my metaphor for life, courtesy of the omniscient Cheezburger.
They say that life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. In spite of the cliche, I can attest to the validity of the statement.
I’ve been thinking a lot about distractions lately.
I meant to send out a bunch more query letters yesterday, but I didn’t get to it. Sunday I meant to write a couple of overdue guest blog posts for friends and didn’t get to it. Today I meant to return to Wednesday Woman and didn’t get to it.
Kittens, taxes, doctors appointments, late buses — all of these things sometimes get in the way of what we mean to do. It happens. It’s understandable. As a writer, though, I feel like these distractions multiply. There’s always something clamoring for your attention, and when you’re yet unpublished (and unpaid), sometimes we feel like we lack the clout to say no to them.
All mah attentionz are belong to you. Cheezburger, ftw.
What’s a couple more days before sending out that new query? Okay, so the dog is super energetic today and really needs a long walk. I’ll get back to my writing schedule tomorrow.
I really should work out. I need to go over the budget. I need to take a day off. All of these things are familiar to me. Except the dog thing, but I can see that coming in a couple weeks.
I’ve blogged every day since October. Part of this was an exercise in discipline, in training myself to write every day no matter what, no matter how tired or uninspired I felt. Over three and a half months into this, I feel like I’ve made my point. But what I need to do is get back to business.
I haven’t been working on my manuscript. I haven’t been writing anything new. I’ve sent out a total of four queries. It’s time to buckle down.
For the next week, I will continue to blog every day, but come March, I will be choosing three days a week to blog. I can already feel the loss — I love this community and I love hearing all of your thoughts and comments daily. I love that people subscribe knowing that I will pop my head up in their inbox every day, and it humbles me to think that you’re okay with that.
But with a growing list of distractions and interruptions (and two four-legged, furry additions to the clan), I need to hone my focus a little. I need to get back to creating. I’ve proven that I can write every day — what do you think I can manage when I put that work into my manuscripts? Something awesome, I hope.
In an effort to punt my momentum into the fiction craft, I need to make a schedule and stick to it. And don’t worry, I’ll still be around here lurking and talking Buffy. I’ll have to nurse my addiction a little, I’m sure — so you still might see me more than 3 days a week.
It’s time to get focused and move forward. I hope you’ll all come along for the ride.
Once a Cheezburger, always a Cheezburger.
What do you do to hone your focus? What distractions pull you from writing the most? How do you get on track?
Like this:
Rustle
The following is an entry for the Fairy Ring Flash Fiction Contest over at Anna Meade’s blog, Yearning for Wonderland. I’m a horrible procrastina-pod, and I waited till the last second — or more accurately, the last twenty-eight minutes. But here you go!
I didn’t expect it to be so wet.
Oh, I knew it rained in Scotland. How else would everything be such a virulent shade of green? Somehow when I pictured majestic mountains shrouded with twilit silver mist, that mist lacked the power to turn my hair into a fro.
Right now the expanding mass of curls atop my head didn’t make number one on my list of problems, but it also didn’t help my visibility as I squinted into the engine of my rental.
Steam rose from the metal, along with the acrid tang of seared rubber. One end of the betraying belt flopped against the oil dipstick.
I’d come here looking for magic. I’d found wet feet and a fro. Two hours to wait for AA – that’s what I got for picking a nameless glen in Sutherland over a pub in Fort William. My brain taunted me with the memory of malt vinegar over chips and Glen Ord scotch.
The forest to the west looked drier and less cramped than the tiny car. I squished into the underbrush and picked my way to an oak tree, sitting on the cushion of moss to wait for my rescuers.
The air smelled of peat and crystal water, clean. A deep breath afforded a small comfort against the damp seeping through the seat of my pants.
Bright in the gloaming, eyes met mine through the trees. Breath held tight, I pushed my back against the tree, feeling the bark crease my skin. Eyes. Deep green-gold set into a face of leaves. The pat of the misting rain fell silent as I stared across the clearing.
Someone called my name.
My head swiveled toward the road and the flash of reflective yellow jacket. When I turned back, only the rustle of leaves remained.
