Links, leftovers, and a whole lot of wine

You ever have one of those lunches consisting of a hodge-podge of leftovers from four different meals you've had throughout the week? Sometimes it's delicious, sometimes it's...well, just interesting.

I'm not sure which this will be, but that's what I'm serving up on today's blog.

First up, have you ever wondered what happens behind-the-scenes during the acquisition process at a publishing house? I have. Well, "wondered" is probably too mild a word.

During my years on the submission train when my agent would tell me editor so-and-so liked my manuscript and was taking it to the editorial board, I would drive myself nuts trying to figure out what that meant. I'd cyber-stalk editors to see if I could determine the precise hour the meeting might take place. I'd check my website for unexpected visitors. I'd try to imagine how the meeting might go, or what sort of shoes they'd all be wearing.

Though I'm past that stage now, I never stopped wondering about the behind-the-scenes details. Lucky for me, my amazing editor, Deb Werksman, just did a blog post over at Romance University giving an inside glimpse into the acquisition process. Though she didn't mention the shoes, she covered pretty much everything else I ever wanted to know. Check it out HERE.

Next up, just a reminder that I'm blogging over at The Debutante Ball today. We've been discussing agents all week, and it's possible I got a little mushy discussing my relationship with Michelle Wolfson. You can read that post here.

Lastly, we get to pick a winner to receive Petals and Thorns from Jennifer Paris (a.k.a. Jeffe Kennedy). If you missed the post about the giveaway, go here.

I didn't have time to stage an elaborate selection process with the pets like I did here or here or here, and Jeffe wasn't too keen on swimming out into an icy pond to fetch a stick with a name on it.

"What's something Jeffe and I have in common?" I mused as I sipped a glass of Shiraz and instant-messaged her the other evening.

"Beats me," Jeffe mused back with her glass of Zin in hand.

Ah-ha!

I made a list of all 37 people who commented on the post to win a copy of Petals and Thorns. Then I made a list of 37 different varieties of wine. I'm kind of impressed I was able to do most of it off the top of my head (though I did have to consult a book for a few of them).

My apologies for skipping some of the accent marks and other unusual punctuation, but here's the list:

1. Chardonnay

2. Sauvignon Blanc

3. Semillon

4. Riesling

5. Gewürztraminer

6. Pinot Grigio

7. Pinot Blanc

8. Frascati

9. Chenin

10. Pouilly-Fuissé

11. Silvaner

12. Port

13. German Eiswein

14. Pedro Ximénez

15. Sangiovese

16. Cabernet Franc

17. Petit Verdot

18. Malbec

19. Cabernet Sauvignon

20. Syrah

21. Shiraz

22. Marechal Foch

23. Tempranillo

24. Mouvedre

25. Viognier

26. Merlot

27. Pinot Noir

28. Zinfandel

29. Chianti

30. Rioja

31. Grenache

32. Mueller-Thurgau

33. Baco Noir

34. Grüner Veltliner

35. Dolcetto

36. Liebfraumilch

37. Melon de Bourgogne

We briefly considered drinking a glass of each just to put ourselves in the proper frame of mind, but decided against it about halfway through the list.

Instead, I assigned each blog commenter a wine variety and then sent the wine list to Jeffe. After a bit of deliberation (and maybe a few more glasses of wine) she picked Zinfandel, #28.

That's the wine I assigned to Jami Gold, who just so happened to write her own blog post about our little experiment reading outside your comfort zone. You can read her post here.

So congratulations to Jami. You don't get the wine, but you DO get a pretty awesome book from Jeffe. She'll be in touch. She also wanted to thank all of you for making her feel like the belle of the ball the other day.

She said "ball."

That's it for me, kids. Were the leftovers good for you? Are you doing anything fun this weekend? Please share!

Sometimes you've gotta strip for copy editors

I just hit another big milestone in the countdown to release day for MAKING WAVES. I got my copy edits from the production team at Sourcebooks.

For those unfamiliar with the process, copy edits happen after you’ve already gone a round or two on the big-picture stuff with your primary editor. Though I’ve heard of copy editors slashing paragraphs and changing words with ruthless abandon, that wasn’t the case here. It was mostly stylistic stuff, changing “OK” to “okay” and switching “8” to “eight.”

But there was one comment that made me giggle.

You’ve heard me mention the Strip Battleship scene in MAKING WAVES, right? It’s precisely what it sounds like, with a lot of rapid-fire dialogue as the characters fling clothing, ogle one another, and shout letters and numbers to guess the position of each other's boats.

In the middle of the scene, the copy editor wrote this:
I thought about writing a smartass comment back about how there is an easy way to check by grabbing a Battleship game board and playing a round.

But fortunately for the copy editor, I already took care of it.

Pythagoras and I invented Strip Battleship eight or nine years ago it a quiet hotel room in Jamaica. We didn’t actually own the game ourselves, so when I decided to write the scene for MAKING WAVES several years later, I went out and bought one.

“Are we playing for real?” Pythagoras asked when I dropped it on the bed in front of him.

“I have to make sure the scene is accurate, don’t I?”

He eyed the pad of paper in my hand. “You’re taking notes?”

“You should be grateful I’m not taking pictures.”

That didn’t appease him much, but he got to work setting his ships up anyway.

“B9,” I called.

“Miss. C6.”

“Miss. E2.”

“Hit.” He frowned. “Did you cheat?”

“I have to. It says so in the book. Now give me your shirt.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Wait a minute. You’ve already written the scene?”

“Of course,” I said, offering him my sweetest smile. “I just need to get the numbers down.”

“So you already know you’re going to win?”

I shrugged, not seeing any problem with this. “You want to just take off all your clothes now?”

He wasn’t a fan of that idea, nor was he a very big fan of his predestined defeat. “So there’s no chance at all I’m going to win?”

“Define win. It’s kind of subjective in Strip Battleship, isn’t it?”

In the end, I got my notes. I also got his shirt. And his shoes. And his…well, I’ll stop there. You’ll have to read the book.

Suffice it to say, I can assure the copy editor with 110% certainty the scene is accurate.

Building writing muscles one kinky book at a time

As I suggested Monday, readers commenting here often have smarter things to say than I do.

Case in point, in response to my December 30 post about New Year’s resolutions, agent Janet Reid offered the following:

I think every writer should resolve to read more. One book that is outside their normal area of interest, or one book they've been meaning to read. Then WRITE about the book.

What they liked/what they didn't' and why. In 250 words or fewer.

I firmly believe the discipline of writing clearly and persuasively in limited space builds writing muscle.

Though I’ve always tried to pick books outside my comfort zone, I’ve never made a formal commitment to do it with any regularity (though for the record, doing it with regularity is good for your health).

Janet Reid knows a thing or two about helping writers improve (if you aren’t already following her Query Shark or her regular blog, get the hell out of here and go do it now). Taking Janet's advice, I decided to challenge myself to pick an outside-the-comfort-zone book each month.

First on the docket was Petals and Thorns by Jennifer Paris. That’s the pen name used by author Jeffe Kennedy for her erotica titles. The book is a BDSM fantasy, and if you don’t know what that means, see if you can figure it out from what appears on the first few pages:


Oh, and even better:


In other words, don’t blame the author if you damage yourself (something that seems likely if you attempt some of these maneuvers).

I’ll confess, I wasn’t sure I’d like this story. I’m no prude, and I enjoy a good erotica title from time to time. But fantasy? BDSM? It seemed like a bit much even for me.

The story totally sucked me in. Pun intended. Duh.

Want to win it? Leave a comment!

Petals and Thorns is a modern, erotica twist on Beauty and the Beast. Heavy emphasis on “twist,” by the way. The kink factor is high, and this probably isn’t the book to give your child’s kindergarten teacher as an end-of-year thank you gift.

In this version of the tale, Amarantha agrees to marry The Beast to spare her father’s life. The Beast can’t take her virginity unless she begs him to, and she only has to keep her legs together for seven days to win his fortune.

You see where this is going, right? I doubt you'll be shocked to hear Amarantha isn’t the only one begging for it by the end.

This was a fun, fast read – perfect for an evening by the fire with a glass of wine and a set of handcuffs.

I’m glad I read it, and I’m glad I’ve committed to this little outside-the-comfort-zone reading experiment.

Do you make efforts to read books you wouldn’t normally choose? Have you had positive experiences with it? Better yet, do you have any suggestions for books I should consider in the coming year? Please share!

Win! Win! Win!
Oh, and as an added enticement for you to leave a comment, Jeffe/Jennifer is giving one lucky reader his or her own digital download of Petals and Thorns. Woohoo!

Just make sure you get your doctor’s permission first.

Original ideas are overrated

It is physically impossible for me to sit at my writing computer for more than 14 seconds without music. I begin to twitch, and then I fall to the floor pulling out clumps of my own hair and humming "Hotel California."

Fortunately, Pandora internet radio ensures I don't have to suffer. It also exposes me to a steady stream of new music (which I race out and purchase on iTunes when I hear something I like).

A few weeks ago, Pandora played a song that sounded familiar. I recognized the words. The melody seemed like something I'd heard before. Still, I couldn't quite place it.

It wasn't until I clicked on the title that I realized what it was:

That's Mat Weddle of the folk/pop band Obadiah Parker doing an acoustic version of Outkast's insanely popular 2003 hit "Hey Ya." Even if you aren't a hip-hop fan, you've surely heard the original. Maybe you've even been known to shake it like a Polaroid picture when no one's looking.

I'm not here to judge.

Here's a refresher on the Outkast version, just for the sake of comparison:

I bought both versions for my iPod, and I dig each of them for totally different reasons.

One reason is the fabulous reminder that something doesn't have to be 100% original to be amazing.

I've heard tons of authors fretting about the uniqueness of a story they want to write. They worry their idea has been done before, and most of the time, they're right. How often have we seen modern twists on age-old stories? Romeo and Juliet spawned West Side Story. Jane Austen's Emma inspired Clueless.

I don't kid myself that I'm the first author to write a pirate-themed romance novel with MAKING WAVES, but I might be first to include a frisky game of Strip Battleship or a discussion of the difference between a hand-job and a foot-job. Even without those scenes, I feel confident my own unique voice puts a different spin on things.

I guess that's why I don't spend too much time worrying about coming up with a story that's never been done before. My focus is on finding ways to make my version original, and to set it apart from what's been done before.

Do you struggle to come up with unique ideas? In what way do you put your own stamp on something that's been done before? Please share.

And please lend me some sugar. I am your neighbor.

Taillights, gladiators, & things that keep us moving

There’s a sizable mountain range separating my part of Oregon from the part where all the Romance Writers of America (RWA) meetings occur.

In the summertime, the mountains are merely scenic. In the wintertime, they’re downright treacherous. It’s not unusual to see cars buried in snow banks or flipped upside down, and I prefer to keep my eyes shut tight for most of the trip.

That doesn’t work if I’m driving alone without Pythagoras, which was the case this past weekend.

The drive over on Thursday afternoon wasn’t so bad, but Saturday evening’s return trip scared the holy living snot out of me. The roads were icy, the sky was dark, and the snow was flying from 859 directions.

I wanted to curl up on the floorboards and whimper. I settled for fixating on the taillights of the guy ahead of me. For two hours, I kept pace with his Jeep. I gauged his speed on slick curves, noticed when he tapped his brakes, and invented an imaginary identity for him that included a falcate sword and a gladiator costume.

By the time we made it over the mountains, I wanted to follow him home and hug him. I refrained, mostly because he’d think I was a stalker, but also because I would have been really disappointed if he didn’t have the sword.

The experience made me think about the post I wrote last Friday. In it, I talked about the downside of having bitter or jealous thoughts about other authors. The post sparked one of the coolest discussions we’ve had here, further cementing my belief that the people commenting on my blog often have smarter things to say than I do.

One of the most thought-provoking comments was this one from Mark Simpson:

When I was a hurdler in high school there was a kid in the next town (lets call it Colstrip because that's what everyone calls it) who was both amazingly talented and a complete asshole. (Lets call him Bobby Gregg, since that's his actual name. ha)

More than anything I wanted to beat him, to see his face lined in pain as I broke his will. So I drug railroad ties through the snow, trained and bled and sweated. I finally did beat him a couple times, although he won the ultimate contest. (probably because he was better than me.)

But even as the memory of my broken heart spilling its blood into the gutter of my soul still rings fresh, I know that loathing disdain for him still brought out my absolute best. I needed him like spring needs the rain. (And now we're FB friends. ha)

These days instead of running endless intervals to the Top Gun soundtrack on my Walkman, I read Tawna's blog. And although I am dazzled daily by her unattainable level of wit, humor and charm – there is a part of me that wants.. nay NEEDS... to see something that ISN'T clever, funny or charming. Every day I scour the text in vain yearning, all while honing my own writing skills – skills that even as they peak will always be deep in her shadow.

Tawna is my modern day Bobby Gregg– inspiration, nemesis, and femme fatale.

She is the rock I break myself against.

As a side-note, if you’ve ever wondered how many regular blog readers I know in real life, the answer is “almost none.” Mark is one of the few – an old pal from college I haven’t seen for years, but who recently found me on Facebook. I bring this up because seeing that comment from a total stranger might’ve creeped me out a little. Seeing it from him just made me giggle.

But I digress.

Aside from his facetious Tawna-worship, Mark makes a great point. While I don’t encourage petty jealousy and evil thoughts about others, a little friendly rivalry can push you to be better.

During my bumpy path to publication, one thing that kept me going was the steady stream of positive feedback and “almost there” comments from editors.

But on the flip-side of that, the comments that made me even more determined to succeed were the ones containing traces of the sentiment, “you can’t.”

Those were the comments that made me stand up straight, shake off my disappointment, and scream, “hell yes I can – watch me!”

So while I stand by what I said Friday about holding your venomous thoughts in check, there’s a benefit to having something that keeps you driving forward when you might otherwise be tempted to curl up and cry.

What pushes you to keep going? Is it a professional rivalry, an outright failure, or just a guy in a gladiator costume with a bright pair of taillights? Please share!

Tight ends make my blood boil, and not in the way you're thinking

I know almost nothing about football except that I believe all men should be required to wear those tight little pants.

But living in Oregon, I can’t help but notice there’s a big game occurring Monday.

I was going to just call it “big game,” but my father informed me it’s the BCS – the Bowl Championship Series. The University of Oregon will play Auburn to determine which team is the best in the nation and which team should be rounded up and executed in the parking lot.

People seem to care very much about this, but not in the ways I expected.

As in most states, Oregon has a longstanding college rivalry. Ours is between fans of the University of Oregon and Oregon State University. I won’t dwell on the hows and whys, but suffice it to say, they wish to set fire to each other’s schools.

Still, I assumed that with one of them playing for a national championship, we’d set aside the rivalries and just cheer for the Oregon team that happened to make it.

That’s not how it works for everyone. In recent weeks, I’ve heard a number of OSU fans declare themselves devout fans of Auburn. We don’t want University of Oregon to win a national championship, they say. We want anyone but them. Their fans are too cocky. They don’t deserve to win. Or my personal favorite, OSU probably won't ever have a shot at a national championship, so we don’t want U of O lording this over us forever.

And just as my blood started to boil over this silly, narrow-minded way of thinking, I stopped and realized I’ve done this.

Not over football. I couldn’t care less about the Ducks and the Beavers beyond the acknowledgment that those are two of the oddest school mascots in the country.

No, I’m ashamed to admit I’ve done this with writing.

Deep down in that place I don’t like to admit exists, I’ve had dirty little thoughts I’m not proud of (I’ve also had plenty I’m proud of, but that’s not what we’re talking about here).

I’m talking about those secret, mean-spirited, moments I think a lot of us have had. Yay! I support other writers wholeheartedly! Except THAT ONE.

Maybe it’s motivated by jealousy, or a firm belief THAT ONE is not a strong enough writer. Doesn’t have the right attitude. Didn’t work hard enough.

And while I might sincerely wish I could beat my head against the wall until thoughts like this vanish, I have to acknowledge they’re there. Not all the time – pretty rarely, really – but they do exist.

And acknowledging the thoughts is probably the first step toward taking myself by the ear, giving myself a shake, and reminding myself that someone else’s success does not diminish mine.

This is something you’ll have to deal with at every stage in your career. Someone else will always finish that first manuscript faster. Someone else will always get better feedback in a contest, a bigger advance, a prettier cover, a cooler agent.

OK, not if your agent is Michelle Wolfson – duh, there is no one cooler – but you get my point.

There will always be secret rivalries. There will always be green-eyed monsters. There will always be mean little demons that whisper in the back of your brain, anyone but THAT author.

All I’m suggesting is that you acknowledge it. That you admit it. And that you make a conscious effort to remind yourself we’re all on the same team – all writers, everyone who’s ever struggled to put words on a page with the hope they’ll eventually land on someone’s bookshelf.

Go Ducks.

Technology killed the hissy fit

I saw a guy walking down the street having an animated chat on his cell phone.

It wasn’t going well.

“Oh yeah?” he snarled into the phone. “You think so?”

Apparently, the other person thought so.

“Well guess what?” he yelled. “It’s over! Done! Have a nice life!”

Then he yanked the phone away from his ear and proceeded to spend 20 seconds fumbling for the button to end the call.

A little anticlimactic.

Technology has given us some wonderful advances, but one thing it’s stolen is our ability to throw a satisfying hissy fit by slamming the phone down on the receiver. Even if you haven’t ditched your landline for a cell, odds are good you’re using a cordless phone.

Pressing “off” in the heat of the moment lacks a certain oomph.

I’m fascinated by books written just 10 years ago when it wasn’t assumed that everyone had cell phones sewn to their palms and internet access 24/7. Characters could be stuck alone in a perilous situation without the ability to call for the police and a takeout order of egg rolls to enjoy while awaiting help.

Back then, a romance novel heroine couldn’t just google-stalk the guy she’s dating to discover he’s secretly a famous athlete with a fondness for wearing women’s underpants.

One of my favorite series of books is Sue Grafton’s alphabet mysteries – A is for Alibi, B is for…well, whatever the hell B stood for. The books star a private detective named Kinsey Milhone, and the first was published in 1982.

Grafton has kept a slow but steady pace with them, releasing U is for Undertow in 2009 while making a deliberate choice not to age the character or her surroundings beyond those first few books. Kinsey still sends faxes and writes her reports on a typewriter. She uses microfiche instead of google, and would be truly mystified by skyping, sexting, and tweeting.

OK, so a lot of us are mystified by those things.

I’ve heard of authors re-releasing older books and making small tweaks to account for technological advances. An author who spoke at an RWA conference I attended joked, “My heroines have a knack for getting into trouble in areas with spotty cell coverage.”

Do you get hung up on jarring technology details in books you’re reading? What role does technology play in your writing? Please share.

I’ll be guarding my eBay bid on an old rotary phone. The next time I need to hang up on someone, I’ll be ready.

Three annoying things writers do

My favorite thing about the holidays is the excuse to lounge by the fire devouring piles of bad food and good books.

Well, mostly good books. I’ll admit I’ve read a few that came perilously close to being hurled at the wall.

As a reader, I’ve always been aware of my pet peeves in novels. As a writer, I'm hyper-conscious about avoiding them in my own stories.

The Lazy Man’s Adverb

I don’t fault writers for the occasional use of adverbs. Sometimes you just need to toss a little -ly love around. But there’s seldom a good excuse for using them with dialogue tags. Any author worth his salt should be able to show the speaker’s tone with context clues, body language, and the words coming out of the character’s mouth.

Lazy: “I don’t want to suck your toes,” she said angrily.

Not as lazy (but maybe a little oogy): She folded her arms and sneered at him. “There’s no way in hell I’m sucking your filthy toes!”

The Big Mis

Short for “the big misunderstanding,” this is one of those ancient plot devices that never ceases to annoy the ever lovin’ snot out of me. It’s where the story’s conflict centers around something that could be cleared up if the characters just sat their pouty butts down and had a 30-second conversation. Jane sees Herbert in Victoria’s Secret, and rather than saying hello and asking if he’s buying her the latex thong she wants, she assumes he’s a cross-dresser and spends the next 250 pages sulking.

If you catch yourself crafting a Big Mis plot, slam on the brakes. Are there other forms of conflict you can introduce that have a little more substance? If you're committed to your Big Mis plot, what can you do to make it feasible the two characters wouldn't have that conversation? If your solution involves removing their tongues and hands, you might want to rethink the story.

As You Know, Bob

I’ll admit it, critique partner Cynthia Reese taught me this phrase by pointing out my own offense in some long-ago manuscript. As You Know, Bob is a clumsy method of introducing backstory by having one character spontaneously lecture another with information they both already know. The result is a conversation that’s stilted, awkward, and as natural as Chelsea Charms’ sweater potatoes (Er, that’s a fairly benign Wikipedia link. I make no guarantees what you’ll find googling her name on your own).

I’ve gotten better at catching myself when I start an As You Know, Bob info-dump. It helps to seek less sloppy ways to introduce the backstory, like flashback or internal musings. In general though, readers are smarter than we give them credit for. Trust them to piece together smaller clues as you slowly feed out backstory over the course of the story.

Do you have pet peeves as a reader? How do you stop yourself from committing them as a writer? Please share.

And really, please don't blame me for the brain damage you incur googling that name. I did warn you.

Happily ever after…or something like that

I am not big fan of television. There’s a TV in my home, but the closest I can come to operating it is staring at the remote like a monkey doing algebra.

Despite this, I must confess that I watch The Bachelor.

Not only that, I’ve watched The Bachelorette.

It started innocently enough a couple years ago. A girlfriend invited me over to share a bottle of wine while her husband was scratching himself in a bar watching Monday Night Football. Soon I was hanging out on her sofa every Monday evening.

While we sucked down Chianti, we got sucked into a show that – let's be honest – kind of sucks.

Or does it?

In case you’ve never watched, the format is simple: one eligible bachelor or bachelorette is presented with a pool of 25-30 potential marriage candidates. One by one, the suitors are eliminated after a series of dates and challenges. In the end, the bachelor or bachelorette chooses a mate and the happy couple enjoys wedded bliss for all of eternity.

Theoretically, anyway.

Out of 14 seasons of The Bachelor and six of The Bachelorette, there’s only been one actual marriage between the final couple. Not great odds.

And yet…we want to believe it can work.

Or maybe we just want to play drinking games that involve taking a slug of Sangiovese each time someone utters the phrase soulmates, falling for you, or amazing connection.

I’m hesitant to draw a parallel between cheesy reality TV and the romance genre, but I can’t pretend there isn’t one. We’ve all heard statistics about how 40-50% of all marriages end in divorce. We know relationships are messy and difficult and likely to involve as much time spent picking up your spouse’s socks as making love in a field of daffodils while sparrows sing “Endless Love.”

Still, we want to believe the fairy tale. In the happily ever after. In the idea that two people can meet and fall in love and sustain their passion even after ABC halts the flow of all-expense-paid dates.

Or maybe we just appreciate the entertainment value of watching people make asses of themselves in the name of love. There's no shame in that.

Do you have any guilty pleasures when it comes to love, lust, and cheesy entertainment? What keeps you tuning in or turning pages? Please share.

I’ll be over here filling out my application to be the next Bachelorette. They take married chicks, right?

Cleaning up carnage from a manuscript massacre

The last few days have been a bloodbath in my office.

Adverbs were slashed with disturbing brutality. Paragraphs dropped like wounded wildebeests in sticky puddles of their own intestines. Entire chapters lay twitching on the floor, gasping for breath.

I cut nearly 4,000 words from LET IT BREATHE on Saturday, and maybe 2,000 more the day before.

For a writer at any career stage, it sucks reading something you’ve written – perhaps remembering the precise, cheerful moment you put those words on the page –and knowing those hours would have been better spent cleaning your dog’s toenails with a toothbrush.

We’ve talked before about tweaking and retooling slashed scenes, but that’s not what I mean here. I’m talking about the scenes you know in your heart need to die.

And while it stings sometimes, there’s a certain power in it.

In some of my earliest forays into fiction writing, I’d get a niggling notion something wasn’t right in a manuscript. I could never put my finger on what it was, but something was just off.

I’ve heard authors complain about editors and agents who give elusive reasons for rejection, but I totally get it. Sometimes you can’t pinpoint the problem or how to fix it – you just know something isn’t right.

That’s why it’s so empowering to read something I’ve written and to proudly declare, THIS SUCKS…but I know how to make it suck less.

Once upon a time, I assumed there’d be a day when my manuscripts would come out perfect on the first try. Sure, there’d be a few tweaks for typos, but no more heaving entire chapters into the dumpster. I looked forward to that day. I pined for it.

With eight years of fiction writing and a three-book deal under my belt, I can tell you for sure that day will never come.

I’m OK with that.

Because while cutting can be painful, there are few more exhilarating experiences than deleting words with one hand while the other is types words you know for certain should replace them.

Do you recognize when you suck? Can you relate to the euphoria of knowing exactly how to make yourself suck less? Please share.

I have to stop the dog from rolling in that puddle of manuscript brains.