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 So you have this idea flipping about in your brain for yonks like an itchy fish, and you keep trying to spit it out onto paper (or at least a decent waterproof keyboard) but it doesn't want to come. You have no saliva. What the hell do you do? Well, I tried writing from a bunch of different directions, and I reckon I might -- perhaps -- have finally found the bloody light. Halle-frikkin-lujah. I refuse, however, to show anyone until it's finished...which means you're all gonna have to put aside a few bucks/quid/drachmas and wait for me to publish. haHA! Yes, the story's called Tattoos Aren't Camouflage, and yes it's about a bunch of faerie-freaks and some albino shygirl geeknut dyke. Simply put it is the before-and-afterlife of a lass named Ben. So there. When I say the words "toodle pip" you must buy two dozen (BAKER'S dozen, that is) copies of my book and hand them out to all your friends. If you have no friends, give them to intellectual-looking strangers on the street and proclaim it a random act of kindness. Until then... :) 
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