Now What?

I missed posting anything to my blog for the past two weeks because I had nothing to report. Since this blog is dedicated to my work-in-progress, Cooking Athanasia, writing that I had not finished yet but was still very close, did not seem like a newsworthy piece. However, I have finished writing the book is most definitely newsworthy.

Last Friday, March 5^th, 2013, I wrote the final words in the final chapter during my lunch break. As I approached the end, I could feel it. My pulse literally increased and when I got to the final sentence, I was juiced with a shot of adrenaline. That was very surprising. I was also astonished with the mixed emotions that followed. On one hand, I was ecstatic that I had completed the writing portion of a project started over a year ago. This was contrasted by the sadness of parting with the characters I have thought about all the time for over a year. Getting to know them and watching them grow, and then one day I am suddenly done with them (for the time being).

I say for the time being because Jenna and crew will be back for the third volume of the series. The second book is the back story to Cooking Athanasia and has already been written in screenplay format. I have started work on converting it to a novel and plan to work on it for about a month while letting the just completed novel cool off. After the waiting period, I plan to start the editing process, which is daunting because I once again find myself in uncharted waters.

I have grown comfortable with writing the story a little bit at a time and all I had to do was move the story forward. It was somewhat intimidating when I started, but I developed a process and I think my writing was strengthened during the process. But now I have a manuscript that needs to be edited and that process is new to me. I’m sure I will do just fine, and I know I am not alone if help is needed during this part of the journey. 

Build to Climax, or Slide Down Slippery Slope

For the past few weeks, I have reported how close I am to completing my story. I do truly believe there are only two or three chapters left. The problem, however, is that I am finding it difficult to figure out the details of the ending. I know how it will end, who will be the victor, and even how I will set up the third book from this conclusion. Nevertheless, thus far it is a fluid process and every time I think, “okay, this will happen, and that person will do X, which will result in Y,” I take a step back and discard the idea. Various issues induce these mental recalculations such as logic, reader experience, and character involvement.

Logic refers to an unrealistic chain of events based on the rules established throughout the book. Some of the alternatives pondered are simply not consistent with the norms found in the story. Reader experience is a matter of providing a conclusion that will satisfy conflict(s) introduced in the story in a way that will please the reader. For many months, I had a broad idea of how the story would end to set up book three (I don't want to give too many details here), but a few weeks ago I realized the ending I had envisioned would be very unsatisfying for readers. Fortunately, I think I have worked out conclusion that will satisfy both needs; making readers feel good about the conclusion and leaving the story open enough for the basis of subsequent tale.

This brings me to character involvement. Throughout the story, a core group of characters who should be a part of the finale were developed, but the issue is that I’m not sure what I want each character to do. I know who the hero or heroine needs to be, but the details of how he or she overcomes the villian or villainess keep eluding me. As I write this, I consider that maybe I haven't developed or transformed that character enough, or perhaps it's just a case of too many cooks in the kitchen. Of one thing I am sure though; I will figure it out sooner or later. On a final note, this is not a rant and I am enjoying the process, really, I am. If you have experienced similar issues, I would love to hear what you did to move past your sticking point.

Thanks for reading!

~K

Constructive, or Just Plain Criticism?

To those of you who have been following the story, it is time to shift gears. I will not be posting any more chapters from the book on this blog. From this point, I will update you on progress and discuss the writing process until completion of the project. I am aiming for release in April or May. Thank you to all of you who have followed along until this point.

A very wise person once told me "all of us scribblers are a bit odd." This bit of astuteness came at a point when I seriously doubted my writing, and pondering if the entire year spent on Cooking Athanasia was simply a waste of time. At the beginning, I felt it was a story worth telling and continually reassured by family that I was on the right track. Of course, I thought, family is supposed to say things like that. I looked for body language after anyone offered support, trying to determine they were really hiding the ugly truth. What has been even more amazing to me, is readers of my blog have (and I thank each and every one of you), for the most part, given favorable feedback.

            When I started posting chapters on this blog, I thought the rules were clear that it was a work in progress and final edits were planned for sometime in the future. However, there was a person on one of the social media sites, which I frequent, who single handedly nearly derailed my confidence and the project. As a newby, I am self-conscious about my work and have doubts that I am writing this correctly or not describing that enough, and I am open to constructive criticism.

The unsolicited review of my work, by this individual had valid points, which I included in a subsequent edit. My problem with the review was how the message was phrased. Without getting too deep in the weeds, the person essentially compared my work to a high school composition. When this individual presented his opinion, the internal editor and I were already engaged in mortal combat and he was not happy, thus verbally abusive with me about the story. As such, receiving criticism wrapped in negativity created a perfect storm and I almost gave up. If it was not for the kindness of a stranger who picked me up out of the emotional gutter, I may have scrapped the whole project. Since then, others have provided ideas of how to make improvements, but they did so without judgment and as peers, which I readily accepted.

The bottom line is that how one says something is at least as important as what is said. In addition, just to allay any concerns, the individual whom I speak of is not in any of my circles. On a completely separate note, I leave you with a spoiler alert; Anna did not die in the accident, she was merely in a coma (I found that out during an edit of the prologue).

Thanks for reading!

~K

Chapter 6: Eavesdropping

Scott Kennison was feeling sorry for himself. After all, he was still hung-over from the previous night's drinking and gambling binge. He spent the evening nursing his disappointment for life via a regimen of Jack and Coke and craps at the local casino. The aftermath was cottonmouth, a Goliath-sized headache, and $500 in the hole; $300 more than allotted for the night's excursion. He ran his fingers through his thinning brown hair and realized he smelled of the recent bender. On his way to the coffee shop, Scott thought of the reason for his Seattle trip: The Northwest Heath and Beauty Convention, a four-day event to showcase the PH Cosmetics line to Northwesterners. He spent the agonizing morning with at least a dozen elves tapping on god knows what inside his brain while preparing his area for the event. Additionally, the fact that he was less than thrilled to be working a boring convention booth for the next four days didn't help his headache in the least.

Caffeine was the first step to cure his ails, and Scott was impatient about the long line at The Perk, which was moving at glacial speed. Adding to his misery was the incessant babble of the women in front of him, which droned until he overheard some of details of their discussion. The younger woman spoke about an old book and a recipe. The older one took on hushed tones and thought no one could hear when she said it was a spell book. His ears perked up at this statement. The older one told the younger that there were witches in their bloodline, which interested Scott because of stories about a witch his that his grandfather used to tell.

Scott ordered his coffee, extra caffeine, which he used to wash down two aspirin, and then searched for a table near the two women where he could continue listening to their conversation. A tall table near the women was open, and he sat with his back toward them so they couldn't tell he was eavesdropping. He pretended to fidget with his Blackberry while the older one continued the story. She mentioned a witch named Jennabel who was originally from Massachusetts. Could this be the same woman in his grandfather's stories? The young one talked about a recipe, to which the older one said it caused immortality. As Scott continued to eavesdrop, he thought, What's the big deal? So she found a spell book.

He massaged his temples and reached into the memory bank to recall the gist of the stories his grandfather told about Patrick, Scott’s great-great grandfather. In the stories, Patrick had a relationship with a girl back east in Massachusetts during the mid-1800s. The girl’s name was Jennabel and she was a witch. Patrick and Jennabel fell deeply in love one summer and would have likely been married one day if she didn’t have to leave suddenly. There was an power struggle in her coven, which placed Jennabel in danger because of the position she held. She ended up having to flee for her safety and Patrick stayed behind to hold off the posse while she escaped. He never saw her again, but he never forgot her and always said he had a hole in his heart because he wasn’t able to spend his life with his true love.

Scott had always thought the stories were make-believe, until this exact moment. He found it too coincidental that the woman in his grandfather's stories and the one these women spoke of were both named Jennabel. Especially in light of the fact that both Jennabel stories centered on witchcraft. The conviction with which the older woman told the younger about the immortality spell also added credibility.

Scott contemplated the marketing possibilities if the story was true, if the younger woman had in fact accidentally stumbled on a spell or formula that provides immortality. Perhaps it was the sureness in which the older woman relayed the story made Scott want to believe it to be true. Maybe it was the multiple coincidences between his grandfather’s and the older woman's story that made him want to accept it as truth. Realistically, it was more likely that he wanted to believe it because he was flat broke due to a gambling addiction. That same addiction led to a nasty divorce and a large settlement for the ex-wife, which caused frequent visits to the bottom of a whiskey bottle, trying to forget his misery. Perhaps the constant threats of losing his job from Kelly, his boss, made him want to believe.

Whatever reason he used to rationalize that there really was a formula for immortality and it could be a boon for PH Cosmetics and potential for personal success, it required immediate action because the women had finished their coffee and were preparing to leave the shop. He decided the situation warranted further investigation. He pocketed the Blackberry, picked up his cup, cursed under his breath because it was still hot, and nonchalantly followed the women out of the shop. He watched as they hugged and said their goodbyes in front of the bookstore across the street. The older one turned and disappeared inside the bookstore and the other woman headed to her Focus parked on the street. Scott’s rental was parked three cars behind the gray Focus and, luckily faced the same direction. Doing his best to blend with other pedestrians, Scott crossed the street and got in his car as the younger woman pulled away. He quickly started the rental and slipped into traffic four cars behind hers, where he followed her all the way to her apartment building. Scott filed the location of her residence away for future use while he began mulling over the plan to get his hands on the formula for immortality.

Chapter 5: Revelation

Jenna went to The Perk right after class Monday and peered in the window. She didn’t see Aunt Donna so she waited outside in the April mist. The rain was very light and in the air was the fresh scent of new life brought by spring. She stood by the unused bistro tables outside the coffee shop, frequently checking across the street for signs of Donna in the Enlightened New Age Bookstore doorway. The previous owners of Enlightened sold it to Donna after she had worked there forever. They were only too happy to sell it to Donna upon retirement because they didn’t have any children and knew she shared their same affinity for books. They also knew the business would continue to run as they envisioned. In their words, “It was like keeping it in the family.”

 Soon, the Schnotz sisters emerged from the bookstore, followed by a waving Donna. “Sorry I’m late,” she said as she stepped onto the sidewalk outside the coffee shop.

“No worries,” Jenna replied and hugged Donna, “I was just enjoying the arrival of liquid spring. How is your day going?” They went inside the coffee shop and got in line for their caffeine fix.

“Today wasn’t a bad day. I would have been on time had the Schnotz sisters not showed up with a book order.” Charlene, Chenille, and Cherri Schnotz were triplets who did everything together, which many assumed was because they shared a common brain. “Everything with those three takes triple the time it should.” She chuckled, “Those girls are a real hoot with their continuous nonsensical talk. For some reason they insist on dealing with me exclusively. They say it’s because of our history from high school, but they were three grades ahead of me. I don’t think we even knew each other until well after we had all graduated.”

“I have run into them in the past, but I don’t know them very well,” Jenna admitted. “It’s truly a shame about their father.” The sisters’ father had recently died suddenly, leaving the girls his newspaper, The Chronicle, and the struggle to keep it alive in the digital age. Worse, they had not bothered to learn the newspaper business while he was alive, so they were lost when it came to the nickels and dimes of publishing a daily.

Donna agreed, “The girls are skilled at sniffing out drama and reporting it but they don’t know the first thing about running a successful business. Oh well, enough about them. How is school going?”

“I can’t wait to be finished.” They moved slowly toward the counter because of an unusually long coffee line. “June can’t come soon enough.”

“I’m sure you’re excited. Have you started looking for a job?”

“Not yet. I think it would be better to wait until graduation is closer. And truthfully, I think I would enjoy a mini-vacation before diving headlong into my career.” Jenna recalled dinner from the other night. “You might find this amusing; I used one of Grandma’s old cookbooks for help with my homework the other night.”

Donna laughed, “Good for you! Recycling works! Which one did you use?”

“It’s an old, leather bound book with ornate decorations on the cover that were obviously done by hand. It’s cool! It’s old though. In fact, I can hardly read the title on the cover because most of it has been rubbed off over the years.”

“Oh my.” Donna’s mood suddenly darkened, “What was the recipe called?”

Jenna’s eyes narrowed and she tilter her head to the side, “Athanasia, I think.” The tremor in her hands began as soon as she answered. Startled, she surveyed the coffee shop for visible danger signs, but everything seemed normal. The line in front of them moved slowly and continued to grow behind. A man reeking of old booze got in line behind Jenna. Then two more women, discussing the high price of gas, entered the shop. Despite the innocuous appearance of her surroundings, her personal alarm had triggered, putting her on high alert.

“Oh my,” Donna was visibly concerned, “I was wondering where that book had disappeared to.” She leaned in close to Jenna’s ear and whispered, “I think you may have found a spell book.”

They were next for their coffee order. Jenna gave a half-hearted laugh trying to alleviate the tension, “What are you talking about?”

Still in a muted voice, Donna said, “I looked for that book for weeks in your grandmother’s house after she died. While she was sick, she told me it needed to be protected once she passed. I thought maybe she had just gotten rid of it and forgot.”

Jenna massaged her forehead and eyebrows for a moment, then looked Donna in the eyes and asked, “Okay. So what does all that mean?”

Donna took a quick look around the shop and when she was sure no one was listening she whispered in the quietest voice she could muster, “There are witches in your...in our bloodline,” and then it was their turn to order.

After retrieving their coffee, they went to the back of The Perk for some privacy. Donna sat in an oversized chair and Jenna sat on the couch. They placed their drinks on the coffee table between them.

Once situated, Jenna asked, “Just what are you talking about?” Her voice quaked.

“Keep your voice down,” Donna cautioned. “Your great-great grandmother, Jennabel, was a witch. That is as far back as I have ever traced our bloodline.” Donna leaned forward, “The book belonged to her.”

“Why have I never heard of this?” Jenna sounded anguished as the bricks that built her reality began showing faults.

“As far as I know, Jennabel had to hide her craft and eventually flee Massachusetts to avoid persecution. She passed the secret on to her daughter, your great grandmother, because of the unique skills that need to be hidden blend with society.” Donna spoke very softly, “Your grandmother, my mother, was the last to actively acknowledge the fact that they were witches. For whatever reason, your grandmother did not tell your mother or me about the craft while we were growing up. I assumed it was because the bloodline had been diluted, diminishing our powers or something like that.”

Jenna was at a loss for words for a spell, she just sat with her eyes closed, massaging her temples. She opened her eyes but looked suddenly tired, “If Grandma didn’t tell you, then how do you know about our ancestry?”

“I know this is a lot to take in all at once,” Donna offered, sensing Jenna’s anxiety. She continued, “Diana and I found the book and some other witch paraphernalia in the attic. Your grandmother caught us examining it and scolded us. She told us to leave it alone, it was only for adults.” She chuckled, “Of course that just made us more curious and we explored more when we were teens.”

“This is too much.” Jenna’s head swam. “Okay. Suppose it is a spell book. So what is athanasia?” Donna furrowed her brow. “I’m not sure.” She pulled out her phone to do a Google search. “Ahh. It means immortality.”

“So you think I cooked up a spell for immortality the other night?” Jenna laughed nervously. The laugh belied her feeling of unease because she had never heard Donna speak like this. She looked at the ceiling and rubbed her chin for a moment, “Come to think of it, both Randy and I felt a jolt of energy a few minutes after we finished the dinner. It was an unusual. A feeling of contentment that neither of us could explain.” She raised her eyebrows and thought some more, then hypothesized, “Maybe it could have been a spell, I guess.”

“Exactly!” Donna was very solemn, “This is serious. There are forces you know nothing about at work here. Using the spell book can only lead to bad fortune, which is the main reason your great-great grandmother had to flee and the family had to quit the craft.”

Jenna was shaken at the revelation. She wanted to go home to digest the information that changed the foundation of who she was. She finished her coffee and stood up, “I had better get home. Randy will be there soon.”

“Of course dear. Be very careful with the book.” They hugged and Jenna turned to leave. “I’ll check on you tomorrow,” Donna called to Jenna, who replied with a wave of her hand without looking back. “Dear Jenna, what have you gotten yourself into?” Donna asked herself under her breath.

Chapter 4: The Marketer

Scott Kennison sat in his drab office at his desk, which was overflowing with work he didn’t care about. The phone buzzed with an interoffice call from his boss, Kelly Elias, which he ignored. Once the buzzing ceased, he picked up the receiver and dialed the hotel in Seattle where he would be staying for the next few days to verify they had received his FedEx shipment of marketing materials.

“Mr. Kennison, from San Francisco?” the registration clerk asked.

“Yeah,” Scott replied, like a ton of Kennisons FedExed marketing materials to you yesterday, he thought.

“Yes sir, I'm looking at the box right now.”

“Fantastic,” he offered sarcastically, and then hung up the receiver while the clerk was in mid-sentence. The interoffice buzz from Kelly started again immediately, which he ignored once more. It was likely she just wanted to remind him how much of an idiot he was and not to spend too much company money during the cosmetics conference. Neither thought was of much consequence to him as he opened the bottom desk drawer and reached for the emergency bottle of Jack so he could have a drink before heading home for the night. Kelly was leaning on the doorframe of his office when he sat back upright.

“God you're an idiot,” she informed him. Kelly was in her forties with long brown hair and a thick build that she accentuated with clothes that were too tight, which left nothing to the imagination. Her good looks had faded to rode-hard middle age but her position of PH Cosmetics Marketing Director demanded a certain youthful look, which she painted on with multiple layers of makeup. She traded the dream of marriage long ago for a successful career, besides; she couldn’t think of any man that she could stand on a social basis for more than one night. “Why didn’t you pick up the phone when I called?”

“I didn’t hear it,” he lied.

“Seriously? I could hear the damn thing clear down in my office!”

“Oh?” he said tipping his head sideways. “What did you need?”

“Look moron, the marketing department is being scrutinized by the higher-ups. They say we’re spending too much money so I wanted to remind you to mind your spending during the conference.”

“Right.” He took a pull of the amber liquor. “Always do.” He paused then asked, “Want a drink?” and held the bottle toward her.

She ignored the offer, “Bullshit, you always do! Last time you were on the road, you pulled cash on your corporate card from a casino ATM. A casino ATM! Let’s see, I think it was $600 that time. Is that right?”

“I was entertaining clients,” he rebutted and put the bottle to his lips for another swallow. “We just happened to be at a casino.”

“You were entertaining yourself stupid. Know this: I don’t need you. I could do your job and mine, and still close more deals than you. You need to get yourself together.” She turned to leave, “And watch your spending.”

“Right, right. Got it,” he replied, but she was already down the hallway. He took one more sip before returning the bottle to the drawer. He had heard it a million times before, She doesn’t need me. She could do my job better. Who cares? he thought. Scott made sure the laptop was in his briefcase, and turned off this time, then headed for the door. I care. I need this job, he thought ruefully, eliciting a grimace of distaste.

He pulled out of the parking garage into the San Francisco grayness. He preferred gloomy weather and hoped the fabled Seattle rain lived up to its reputation. Dreary conditions helped him forget how miserable he was, it acted like white noise that countered the murky darkness surrounding his soul. The slight buzz will make the drive home more pleasant. During the drive, he pondered more about weather, particularly about how sunny days actually pissed him off. While people are doing fun things in the sun and enjoying their families, nice weather is taunts Scott. It laughs at him because of his failed marriage, scoffs about his abusive and controlling boss, and heckles him about how everyone else is generally happy. Nice weather serves to remind Scott Kennison that he is not allowed to experience joy. Sunny days suck, he thought, and then, Was that a stop sign? He checked the rear-view but couldn’t be sure. No red and blue lights, so whatever. He did his best to concentrate on the task of driving for the remainder of the trip.

In his apartment, he tossed his briefcase on the chair by the coffee table, on top of a rumpled pair of slacks and two wadded up dress shirts, which reminded him, for the third day in a row, that he needed to drop off his dry cleaning. He loosened his tie on the way to the kitchen and kicked off his shoes by his dining room set, which was a card table found at a garage sale. Once in the kitchen, he picked up a glass from the sink, smelled it, and shrugged his shoulders in acknowledgement that it passed the test. From the refrigerator, he withdrew an ice tray and wrestled it for its bounty. The klink tink of ice hitting glass was the signal that reward was close at hand. He filled the glass with the dark amber liquid to just under the brim and raised it to his lips, uttering a satisfied ahhh after a long pull.

He set the glass on the counter after another sip, and then opened the refrigerator to forage for food. In one of the drawers was an opened, half-empty package of bologna that had dried out long ago and was ready for carbon dating. The next contender was a Chinese restaurant leftover box from one of the shelves, which he opened to find what appeared to be sweet and sour pork and noted no fuzz or strange growth. A quick sniff test did not raise any red flags, so he took a fork from the sink and, after a quick exam of the utensil, dug in for his dinner.

The first Jack on the rocks went down smoothly with dinner, so Scott decided another would make a fine dessert. The thought of going to the casino crossed his mind briefly, but Kelly’s words echoed in his mind and he knew she would blow a gasket if a withdrawal appeared on his corporate card from a San Francisco gaming facility. Beshides, I gotta pack. Probably shouldn’t drive anyway ‘cuz even my thoughts are slurred, which made him laugh. He decided it would be best if he packed while he was still partially coherent, after which, it was time for a nightcap and then to pass out in the chair in front of the television while Hardcore Pawn droned.

Scott was rudely awakened by the bbbrrrriiingg of the old-style phone ringtone on his cell. It would ring, stop for a few moments, likely sending the caller to voicemail, and then the process would repeat. This pattern happened several times before he was fully aware of it. Although willing to answer the phone, primarily to silence the din, he wasn’t able to immediately because he didn’t know its location. It seemed that somehow between passed out and present, he managed to shed his pants and move to the couch, the latter suffering a fist sized puddle of drool as evidence. The rub was that the pants were now rendered invisible somehow, along with the contents of the pockets, which included his cell phone. “Shut up!” he commanded the invisible phone, the uttering of which hurt his head worse that the incessant reiteration of ringing. After an eternity of searching, he found the slacks shoved under the couch, extracted them, and then dug the phone out of the pocket to answer it.

“Christ! What?” he said to the persistent caller.

“Well good morning idiot,” Kelly sarcastically greeted from the other end. “I knew you would be passed put. Your flight is in two hours and you probably haven’t even packed yet."

“Ha! That’s where you’re wrong! I packed last night!” any victory over Kelly, no matter the size, was satisfying. “At least I’m pretty sure I remember packing.”

“Amazing confidence this morning. Get your shit together and don’t miss your flight. I’m gonna check on you in a half hour to make sure you didn’t just roll over. M’kay Pumpkin?”

“Right. Sure I won’t,” and he pressed the end button. He smacked his dry tongue against the roof of his mouth a couple of times and looked at his watch. Holy crap! Two hours? He ran to the bathroom and brushed his teeth while he ran the electric razor over his face. There was no time to shower so once finished, Scott ran to the bedroom to find something suitable to wear for the flight. Why didn't I lay this shit out last night? he thought as he played clean, dirty, or good enough with the pile of clothes on the bed. The sniff testing finally revealed a clean shirt and good enough pair of pants. He elected to buy socks when he got to Seattle and took a pair out of his packed suitcase to save time. The wake-up call to out-the-door time was 13 minutes, which he thought should be some kind of record.

Traffic wasn’t bad and Scott pulled into the parking garage ten minutes later, confident that he could still make the flight. However, there was a tradeoff because his head was still throbbing and there hadn’t been any time for coffee during the whirlwind of getting ready. He hoped there would be time for a cup before boarding, but at the very least he would be able to get one during the flight. Check in was smooth once the ticket agent was able to ascertain he was not the Scott Kennison on the no-fly list. That took some time and people in line behind him bore a hole through the back of his head with their glares, wondering what he did to take so long.

Finally, he passed through security and arrived at his gate just in time to hear the gate agent announce that people needing assistance boarding his flight are welcome to come forward. Scott looked at the boarding pass and noted he was in the third group. Not enough time for coffee. Since he was no longer rushing to make the flight and just waiting for his group, he was again acutely aware of his throbbing cranium, which felt like a series of tiny TNT explosions timed with the beat of his heart. He longed for a cup of coffee to wash down a couple Tylenol to hopefully disable the demolition crew.

The gate agent called his group forward and he followed the procession of fellow travelers onto the aircraft. He felt fortunate that he was in a window seat and there was only one other person in his row, who sat in the aisle seat. The plane taxied to the end of the runway and then opened up the engines to accelerate to climbing speed. They passed through the grey layer of cloud cover during their assent that always provided a bumpy ride, which Scott hated and gutted through by keeping his eyes tightly shut. The craft reached cruising altitude and the flight attendants started their refreshment service. Scott already had the pills out when they reached his aisle and, when asked what he would like to drink, he replied, “Jack and Coke please. Better make it two; it’s gonna be a pretty long flight.”

Chapter 3: Inspiration

     The following morning, Jenna had a late class schedule. She woke still thinking about how to improve the previous night’s glaze and she decided she would thumb through some of the cookbooks in her extensive collection for inspiration. She dressed for class in a white kitchen shirt, white chef's pants, and black Crocs. While air-drying her hair, she set a stack of cookbooks on the granite bar, turned up Elvis Costello, and pulled up a barstool.

     While Elvis crooned about Allison, Jenna thumbed through some of her more contemporary books, skipping to the sauces and glazes section of each, looking mainly at the ingredients for the different recipes. She searched for divine inspiration and, as such, did not look for a specific recipe per se. Rather, she sought an idea for an additive or combination of ingredients that would bring the glaze recipe to life. Her dilemma was that none of the books provided any inkling of fresh ideas.

     She needed to leave for class and was fairly frustrated. One more, she thought. The next in the pile was a very old book she inherited from her grandmother. Jenna received all of her grandma's cookbooks because of her affinity for the culinary craft. However, Jenna did not remember seeing this particular book in the box Donna packed for her when she cleaned out her grandmother’s house. It must have been buried in the box with the rest of the cookbooks and that strange amulet, which seemed out of place when she found it. She always meant to ask Aunt Donna about the amulet but never remembered while they were talking.

     The book showed its age. Handcrafted ornate patterns decorated the edges of the dark brown leather cover. Lighter patches of tan dotted the front from years of wear and the gold lettering of the title was almost completely smudged off: Th- ----h's Co-kboo-. Inside, the pages were discolored from age and several spots from archaic kitchen spills intermingled with the ancient text. One of the first recipes in the book was Athanasia and Jenna noted it was very similar the glaze recipe she used with the pork medallions. It seemed the major difference was the addition of cumin. Perhaps this could be the answer to making the glaze pop. She decided to give it a try after school.

     After class, Jenna hurried home excited to take another stab at the apricot glazed pork medallions armed with new information. Athanasia was a sauce, so she marinated the medallions the same way as the previous night and then, once the meat was in the refrigerator, focused on the glaze. The old book was very specific about the measurement of ingredients, so she exercised dutiful precision while combining recipe items in a metal mixing bowl. Upon completing the glaze, she noted it to be extremely eye appealing because of its translucent, dark-peach color and velvety smooth texture, which had an almost glowing quality coming from within. Impressed with herself, Jenna placed the athanasia next to the meat in the refrigerator to serve time once again.

     While waiting for the marinade to do its bidding, Jenna needed to find something else to occupy her time. There were dried flower arrangements in the craft room that needed attention, but, because of her busy school schedule, she had not had time to complete. She decided to occupy her mind with them. She clicked on her iPod and Jewel asked Who Will Save Your Soul while she added lilac to the edges of the dark blue orchid-centered arrangement. She continued working on the piece and a good bit later, she finished it. Sheryl Crow was Leaving Las Vegas, as Jenna began working on another. Time slipped away from her while she toiled with the flowers and was surprised when the DJ told her it was 5:45. She quickly came to a stopping point then jumped into the shower.

     While toweling off, she heard Randy open the front door. “Hi. How was your day?” she asked when he walked into the bedroom.

     “Good. Nothing exciting to report.” He liked when nothing exciting happened because excitement was invariably code for extra work. “What's for dinner?”

     “We’re going to redo the pork medallions. I found an old cookbook that belonged to my grandmother and found a recipe in it which was similar to last night's glaze.”

     “You know there was nothing wrong with last night’s dinner right?” Randy knew trying to talk her down once she focused on something was futile, but he honestly could find any fault with the meal.

     Jenna chuckled, “You’ll see. These medallions will be infinitely better than last night’s, or my name isn’t Jenna Sims.” She was not sure if she was trying to convince Randy or herself. She moved to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. She opened the refrigerator, pulled out the glaze, and thought it looked even better than when it was deposited in the refrigerator.

     “Cool. What should I call you then?” he joked and sat down at the dark-stained oak dining room table, ready for a second showing of the previous night’s dinner. He couldn’t help thinking how appetizing the medallions looked when Jenna put them on the table. “Is it just my imagination, or do those look like they're glowing?”

     She laughed. “I thought the same thing. I think is just because of the bright orange from the apricot preserves. Dig in.”

     He obeyed and there was not much conversation during the meal. They both ate the medallions as if they had not seen food for very long time. It was as if the athanasia put them in a trance while they ate. Randy was the first to speak after they finished, “That was one of the best, if not the best meal you have ever prepared.”

     “Well thank you sir!” She did her best version of a curtsy. “I told you there was something missing from last night's meal,” she joked. In her mind though, Jenna thought how spectacular the meal was. She could not believe that simply adding cumin put this dish over the top. It was almost magical. She looked forward to telling Aunt Donna about the book and the dish the next time they met at The Perk.

     “Okay, you are still Jenna Sims,” and then he felt it, “Whoa! What is that?” He felt a burst of energy, not nervous energy though. More like a blast youthful vigor that washed over him leaving a feeling of contentment in its wake.

     “What are you talking about?” Jenna asked. Then she felt it too, “Oh…oh my! That is amazing!”

     Curious, Randy asked, “Just what did you add to the recipe?” He was feeling good, “ Not that I’m complaining.”

     “Nothing out of the ordinary,” content Jenna replied. “Just cumin, but it was good.” The two finished the evening in an aura of indescribable contentment. Once in bed, Jenna reflected on the feeling they experienced. Where on earth did that come from, she thought, Just cumin. Hmmm...This lingering thought and feeling was followed by a thoroughly restful night of sleep.