"A pen is to me as a beak is to a hen." ~J. R. R. Tolkien
Ainsley and I have been friends for years; from little girls running like tomboys in the backyard of our church to the women we are today. I cherish her friendship and admire her sweet spirit and care she has for those around her. I'm delighted that she agreed to collaborate with me, and so, without further ado, on to the questions she has granted me, and let us hope I do them justice.
Corliss rolled her head from side to side, unkinking her neck as she turned to view her appearance in the mirror, unconsciously biting her lower lip. She had to look perfect, better than she ever had before, because this was it. This is the night she had dreamed of for so long. The night where her one wish would begin to come true.
I skipped into my father's home office, where the news was on and talking about something depressing, where the dog was stretched lazily on his bed, and where my dad was at his desk with his brows drawn so close together I knew that he was overwhelmed and--how shall I put it--not in the lightest mood...
The Irregular Undómiel 