For a moment my ego peeked its ugly head into the creative process. My ego had been cast aside, forgotten as I dove head first into my imagination, writing and rewriting and rewriting. Remarkably, and rewarding, from somewhere within the jumble of my thoughts the characters began developing as if they were actually stepping off the pages onto my keyboard and writing the story their own damn selves! Perhaps I should blame the characters for the horrendous critiques spat like acid on me by my first three readers? No? Well, it was just a thought. In fact, and true to my past 50 years, I am only distracting myself from the work needed to produce something worth doing. Seeking whatever reason to quit something that I enjoy doing but is now requiring even more time and effort.