As a writer of literary fiction, I am alleged to be unconcerned with such things as hooking my reader and making my novels into "page turners." Fie upon such allegations, I say. To paraphrase literary great Salman Rushdie, you can do whatever you want in the way of digressions and word play and formal innovation as long as you hang it all on a good story. And a good story, in my opinion, keeps the reader turning the pages to see what happens next.
Now, some of that "page turning" quality has to do with the premise and the characters. Heck, most of it. But some of it has to do with pacing and structure, which are purely mechanics. That is to say, there are some tricks you can play on your reader to keep them turning the pages, reading "just one more chapter" when they should be getting to bed.
In my current book (and in the MS I finished before my current project) I have been experimenting with different ways to add suspense to the structure of the storytelling. Suspense refers to the reader wanting to know what happens, or how the questions they are forced (by you, the author) to ask about the story will be answered.
I add suspense on two levels: the story level, and the chapter level. At the story level, I throw out the big Story Question ("Will X manage to do Y before Z happens?") and then as I tell the story, I throw out questions to the reader in the form of mysterious statements. "Pity about your dog," A says to B, but nobody explains what that means. Add more references to the dog as the chapters go by and, if you do it right, the reader starts to really want to know WTF is up with the dog. (Bear in mind that this is entering into a contract with the reader: if the payoff--the relationship of the dog to the story--isn't very interesting when you get to it or if it makes no sense or isn't really part of the Story Question, you have cheated your reader. Don't.) Basically you tantalize the reader with little mysteries as you go along, the answers to those mysteries revealing the nature of the Story Question.
At the chapter level, I have been experimenting with cliffhanger endings. These are pretty easy to do, at least the way I've been working it. Suppose you have a scene or a sequence of scenes leading to a Very Exciting Climax. Let's visualize the movement of the scene/chapter/whatevs toward the climax like this:
----------------CLIMAX!->
There is likely a temptation to make this into a single chapter, with the end of the chapter coming after the climax. You might be tempted do all your chapters like this, ending them at the conclusion of some exciting action or reveal. Let's use an asterisk to represent the chapter breaks:
*-------CLIMAX!-> * -------CLIMAX!-> * --- et cet.
This sets up a regular rhythm where the action always falls off at the end of a chapter, and gives the reader a place to put the book down and go to sleep. In one book I wrote, half the chapters ended with the protagonist going to bed at the end of the day. This structure did not exactly catapult the reader into the following chapter. Catapulting the reading along is, however, just what we want to do.
What I'm doing now is ending the chapters IMMEDIATELY BEFORE the exciting climax, so that the reader hits the chapter break and wants to know what happened and maybe will keep reading. So the structure looks like this:
* -CLIMAX!->--- * -CLIMAX!->--- * -CLIMAX!->--- * et cet.
Three things happen here. First, each chapter begins with something exciting. Which is good in and of itself. Next, you move on from the climax of one dramatic arc to building the next dramatic arc, giving the reader another little mystery and another question of "what happens next?" You hook them into the next scene/sequence and pull them forward into the story by raising the tension and then WHAM you end the chapter again without resolving any of the tension you've just built up.
This might be cruel to your reader and you might want to put in some slow chapters and vary the pacing so it's not exhausting and all being pitched forward through action. If you want. But you should never end a chapter at a point of rest in the story. Ask a question, or throw a grenade, or kidnap a princess, and then run like hell to the next chapter. If you do it right, your reader will stay hot on your heels, trying to catch up with you.
Showing posts with label Suspense. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Suspense. Show all posts
Friday, August 6, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Keep Your Middle From Sagging
I am thinking a lot about middles of novels right now, as I am just embarking on the middle of a first draft. The middle of a book is notoriously the place where the story slackens and readers find themselves slogging along, laboring to make headway through your book, almost fighting against you to make it safely across the swamp that is the Second Act of your story.
I think that there are a couple of things that make middles sag:
1. The story is too simple and the middle 100-200 pages are, frankly, padding (as Nick Hornby says, you're just keeping the reader's left and right hands apart).
2. The story is suspended for a few hundred pages while the writer digresses into discussions of his pet subjects, which have nothing to do with the story you're reading.
3. The plot becomes episodic, one similar conflict resolution after the other, and despite the author's imaginative new dangers to throw at the hero, the story feels repetitive (and dull).
4. The plot, the characters, the story are all sort of wandering around and going nowhere in particular for 40,000 words.
Now, consider that numbers 3 and 4 are actually symptoms of number 1.
In number 3, the story becomes a long series of episodes because the writer is attempting to show growth or progress or something, and it's all just mechanics: a dramatized list to prove that the hero is ready for the climax in Act Three. Or, the author is blindly following the maxim to "put your protagonist in a tree and throw rocks at him." But it's not a story, it's just the hero doing whatever the story's equivalent of pushups is. There is no real forward motion, there's just a lot of running in place or in circles. That is rarely interesting for long, and shows that (as I claim) the story is too simple to justify its length.
In number 4, the writer has no idea what to do and has to fill in space until it's time for the climax, so (because the story is too simple) the characters just mill about waiting for the bell to ring and let them back into class, as it were.
So really there are, as I see it, only two real reasons that middles sag: the writer decides to digress and leave the story behind for some length of time, or the writer has not got a strong enough story to fill the length of a novel.
Both of these problems are problems of structure, of the way the story itself is conceived by the writer. To fix Problem Number 2, my answer is Don't Do It. Seems pretty straightforward. But then you don't have a middle of your book, and you're back to suffering from Problem Number 1.
I pause to insert the idea that another possible problem with the middle of the book is that it's simply badly written and even if the story is well-structured, the telling is not well done. That's a whole other (and larger, sadly enough) topic. So back to where I was.
Problem Number 1: The story is too simple.
I see, in my wide travels as intinerant internet reader guy, a lot of early novels that have sort of one-dimensional stories. By that I mean stories where there is a problem put before the protagonist and they doggedly push on to solve it. There is, essentially, only one thing happening in the story, and the story operates at a single level: the level of the primary action of solving the problem. This means that these stories lack depth, usually, and they also lack variety and suspense.
They lack variety because there is basically one action: the protagonist moves toward a goal and encounters resistance. Even in those books where the protagonist gets the quest at the end of Act One, gathers strength during Act Two and then has a dark night of the soul before the climax in Act Three but suffers through the epiphanic moment to make the triumph possible (that is, books which follow the Campbellian Hero's Transformative Journey), you still have just the one real action, of the hero implacably moving against the antagonist. You throw in subplots all you like, you've still got a one-dimensional story going.
These stories lack suspense because the meaning of the actions are generally clear by the beginning of the Second Act. Yes, the story question ("will Luke destroy the Death Star and become part of the Rebel Alliance and clear up that skin condition?") remains unanswered, but if that's the only question the reader has, the suspense will turn to mere waiting during that long middle stretch. There is no mystery behind the story question, no deeper unknowns than the outcome of the primary conflict. That amount of suspense is not enough to carry a whole book.
What you need, then, is more variety to your story, more mystery and more layers of suspense. How do you do this? By making the story more complex. I am going to suggest a general framework for this, and it's a very old and reliable framework that's been around for centuries.
I call it the Inner and Outer Conflict Structure, and I have come to lean heavily on it because it works, it's flexible, it's generally invisible to the reader and it's applicable to all genres of fiction including literary.
It works like this:
You already have a story with a conflict (if you don't, then you don't have a story and this isn't the post for you). This conflict is either an external (Outer) conflict (Luke versus the Empire) or an internal (Inner) conflict (Gogol versus his idea of his parent's expectations of him, which is to say, of his expectations of himself). What you need to do is figure out which type of conflict you have in your story, and then come up with a conflict of the other type. That is, if your story has an outer conflict (George must kill the dragon), you need to find an inner conflict (George's father was saved by a dragon and George is, you know, morally opposed to killing dragons because he was raised with stories of the benevolence of dragons even though he has never, it must be said, personally met a dragon).
So you have your inner and outer conflicts. What you do then is build a three-part structure where the outer parts (Act One and Act Three) are the outer conflict, and the middle of the story (Act Two, natch) is the inner conflict. Like so:
Act One: George versus dragon (unresolved)
Act Two: George versus his feelings about dragons (conflict resolved during this act)
Act Three: George versus dragon (resolved)
When Act One ends, the outer conflict is still unresolved, and the reader doesn't know which way things will go. This is the unanswered story question, and is the primary suspense that will go stale if that's all you've got. So Act Two introduces the inner conflict, which is related to the outer conflict. This is variety, and the new story question adds more suspense for the reader. Also, the inner conflict is often more interesting to the reader than the outer conflict, which makes the reader perk up her ears and become more interested in your story as the middle of the book progresses. There's no reader boredom because there is a whole miniature drama in the center of your story, and this inner conflict must be resolved before the outer conflict can be. George can't commit to battle (or not battle) against the dragon until he works out how he feels about dragons in real life, once he has some exposure to the ways of real dragons. If he decides that dragons are as he thought, peaceful but misunderstood beings, Act Three isn't going to be a bloodbath. If he decides that dragons are actually dumb, violent beasts and his father made up the story about being saved by a dragon to hide a crime he'd committed, then maybe George will sharpen his lance and go slay a large reptile. Either way, the story has become much more complex, much deeper, possibly more meaningful and certainly it will be easier to write the middle when there's really a middle to be written.
If this is all obvs to most of you, then I apologize. If this is new stuff, or if you disagree with/see flaws in this version of the 3-Act structure, say so. If you have a different, but widely-applicable way of structuring your stories that defeats the devil of sagging middles, please share it!
I think that there are a couple of things that make middles sag:
1. The story is too simple and the middle 100-200 pages are, frankly, padding (as Nick Hornby says, you're just keeping the reader's left and right hands apart).
2. The story is suspended for a few hundred pages while the writer digresses into discussions of his pet subjects, which have nothing to do with the story you're reading.
3. The plot becomes episodic, one similar conflict resolution after the other, and despite the author's imaginative new dangers to throw at the hero, the story feels repetitive (and dull).
4. The plot, the characters, the story are all sort of wandering around and going nowhere in particular for 40,000 words.
Now, consider that numbers 3 and 4 are actually symptoms of number 1.
In number 3, the story becomes a long series of episodes because the writer is attempting to show growth or progress or something, and it's all just mechanics: a dramatized list to prove that the hero is ready for the climax in Act Three. Or, the author is blindly following the maxim to "put your protagonist in a tree and throw rocks at him." But it's not a story, it's just the hero doing whatever the story's equivalent of pushups is. There is no real forward motion, there's just a lot of running in place or in circles. That is rarely interesting for long, and shows that (as I claim) the story is too simple to justify its length.
In number 4, the writer has no idea what to do and has to fill in space until it's time for the climax, so (because the story is too simple) the characters just mill about waiting for the bell to ring and let them back into class, as it were.
So really there are, as I see it, only two real reasons that middles sag: the writer decides to digress and leave the story behind for some length of time, or the writer has not got a strong enough story to fill the length of a novel.
Both of these problems are problems of structure, of the way the story itself is conceived by the writer. To fix Problem Number 2, my answer is Don't Do It. Seems pretty straightforward. But then you don't have a middle of your book, and you're back to suffering from Problem Number 1.
I pause to insert the idea that another possible problem with the middle of the book is that it's simply badly written and even if the story is well-structured, the telling is not well done. That's a whole other (and larger, sadly enough) topic. So back to where I was.
Problem Number 1: The story is too simple.
I see, in my wide travels as intinerant internet reader guy, a lot of early novels that have sort of one-dimensional stories. By that I mean stories where there is a problem put before the protagonist and they doggedly push on to solve it. There is, essentially, only one thing happening in the story, and the story operates at a single level: the level of the primary action of solving the problem. This means that these stories lack depth, usually, and they also lack variety and suspense.
They lack variety because there is basically one action: the protagonist moves toward a goal and encounters resistance. Even in those books where the protagonist gets the quest at the end of Act One, gathers strength during Act Two and then has a dark night of the soul before the climax in Act Three but suffers through the epiphanic moment to make the triumph possible (that is, books which follow the Campbellian Hero's Transformative Journey), you still have just the one real action, of the hero implacably moving against the antagonist. You throw in subplots all you like, you've still got a one-dimensional story going.
These stories lack suspense because the meaning of the actions are generally clear by the beginning of the Second Act. Yes, the story question ("will Luke destroy the Death Star and become part of the Rebel Alliance and clear up that skin condition?") remains unanswered, but if that's the only question the reader has, the suspense will turn to mere waiting during that long middle stretch. There is no mystery behind the story question, no deeper unknowns than the outcome of the primary conflict. That amount of suspense is not enough to carry a whole book.
What you need, then, is more variety to your story, more mystery and more layers of suspense. How do you do this? By making the story more complex. I am going to suggest a general framework for this, and it's a very old and reliable framework that's been around for centuries.
I call it the Inner and Outer Conflict Structure, and I have come to lean heavily on it because it works, it's flexible, it's generally invisible to the reader and it's applicable to all genres of fiction including literary.
It works like this:
You already have a story with a conflict (if you don't, then you don't have a story and this isn't the post for you). This conflict is either an external (Outer) conflict (Luke versus the Empire) or an internal (Inner) conflict (Gogol versus his idea of his parent's expectations of him, which is to say, of his expectations of himself). What you need to do is figure out which type of conflict you have in your story, and then come up with a conflict of the other type. That is, if your story has an outer conflict (George must kill the dragon), you need to find an inner conflict (George's father was saved by a dragon and George is, you know, morally opposed to killing dragons because he was raised with stories of the benevolence of dragons even though he has never, it must be said, personally met a dragon).
So you have your inner and outer conflicts. What you do then is build a three-part structure where the outer parts (Act One and Act Three) are the outer conflict, and the middle of the story (Act Two, natch) is the inner conflict. Like so:
Act One: George versus dragon (unresolved)
Act Two: George versus his feelings about dragons (conflict resolved during this act)
Act Three: George versus dragon (resolved)
When Act One ends, the outer conflict is still unresolved, and the reader doesn't know which way things will go. This is the unanswered story question, and is the primary suspense that will go stale if that's all you've got. So Act Two introduces the inner conflict, which is related to the outer conflict. This is variety, and the new story question adds more suspense for the reader. Also, the inner conflict is often more interesting to the reader than the outer conflict, which makes the reader perk up her ears and become more interested in your story as the middle of the book progresses. There's no reader boredom because there is a whole miniature drama in the center of your story, and this inner conflict must be resolved before the outer conflict can be. George can't commit to battle (or not battle) against the dragon until he works out how he feels about dragons in real life, once he has some exposure to the ways of real dragons. If he decides that dragons are as he thought, peaceful but misunderstood beings, Act Three isn't going to be a bloodbath. If he decides that dragons are actually dumb, violent beasts and his father made up the story about being saved by a dragon to hide a crime he'd committed, then maybe George will sharpen his lance and go slay a large reptile. Either way, the story has become much more complex, much deeper, possibly more meaningful and certainly it will be easier to write the middle when there's really a middle to be written.
If this is all obvs to most of you, then I apologize. If this is new stuff, or if you disagree with/see flaws in this version of the 3-Act structure, say so. If you have a different, but widely-applicable way of structuring your stories that defeats the devil of sagging middles, please share it!
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Making A Scene
I am currently working on the middle section (or Act Two, if you use the three-act structure) of my novel-in-progress, Cocke & Bull. This section essentially does one thing: it leads up to a climactic emotional moment between two of the main characters to resolve a conflict that began at the end of Act One, the resolution of which conflict will lead to the climax in Act Three which deals with the conflict that started off the story. If that makes no sense, imagine the story as a conflict/climax within another conflict/climax. Conflict 1 is the story's outer problem, and Conflict 2 is the story's inner problem:
Act 1:
CONFLICT 1 begins
CONFLICT 2 begins
Act 2:
CONFLICT 2 climaxes
Act 3:
CONFLICT 1 climaxes
I'm very happy with this overall structure and I may just use it for every novel I write from here on out. Unless I don't. I'm capricious that way. Anyway.
The emotional climax at the end of Act 2 is a big moment in the story, making the climax in Act 3 inevitable. So I need to have this emotional climax really stand out and I have to lead into it well. I'm going to use an idea that I got from reading "The Art of Subtext" by Charles Baxter. In this book, Baxter talks about how in real life, most people avoid "making a scene." Most people bite back their strongest emotions and try hard not to bare their souls. There are things we would love to do, but we do not do them because such things are not done or because the price we'd pay for these acts would be too high.
For example, imagine two men. Let's call them Andy and Tom and let's say they work together in a large office. Tom's the sort of guy who objectifies women and is obsessed with the size of their breasts. In fact, one of his habits is to whisper his estimate of women's breast sizes to Andy whenever they're together. "Check it out," Tom will say. "38D!" He also gives nicknames to the women who work in the office with him and Andy. These nicknames all have to do with the women's breasts and are, of course, private and only used by Tom when speaking to Andy.
Andy is uncomfortable with this, but when he was first getting to know Tom, he said nothing about this behavior and subsequently it's only gotten worse as time goes on and now what Andy wants is for Tom to just leave him alone. But it's awkward. They work together on some of the same projects, and frankly Andy isn't sure how to bring the subject and his objections up. It's outside of his comfort zone. He doesn't want to make a scene at the office.
If this were the basis of a story, the climax of it would be Andy, finally unable to hold his tongue, busting out with a highly-emotional demand that Tom shut up about their coworkers' physiques and, you know, we're just not going to be friends anymore so just leave me alone. Andy will let out all this bottled-up frustration and embarrassment, unleashing it on Tom in a compressed moment, preferably in a too-small physical space like an elevator or a supply room or something, because small spaces increase emotional force. What happens after the climax will depend on if Andy or Tom is the protagonist, and that's not really the point here.
Leading up to the moment when Andy makes a scene, we'll need scenes that increase the tension between him and Tom, with Andy biting back words and being increasingly embarrassed by the whole thing. We'll have to make it clear that the one thing Andy would love to do is tell Tom to shut up (hey, maybe Tom is Andy's superior or team leader or something?), and make it clear that Andy would never do this, and then have Andy do it anyway. That's drama, folks. The conflict and tension increase over time and then are paid off in the climax.
So in my own book, I've got a character who knows that the real solution to the inner conflict of the story (Conflict 2 in my chart above) is an act that he will no way never commit. So what I'm doing now is having him fight against his urge to commit that act, putting in scenes where it will look as if that act won't be necessary and then...oh, gosh I guess it will be after all. He's faced with the decision to solve his problem and pay a very high price, or not solve his problem and live with a misery more-or-less of his own making (because the drama is better when the crisis has been brought about by the character himself).
Anyway, I just wanted to talk about this idea of "making a scene" and how the common-enough situation of demonstrating admirable restraint when we'd rather not can be the model for larger emotional movements in novels. It's a new way of seeing the dramatic arc for me, so I'm sharing. Also, this is my way of recommending Baxter's book: The Art of Subtext: Beyond Plot.
Act 1:
CONFLICT 1 begins
CONFLICT 2 begins
Act 2:
CONFLICT 2 climaxes
Act 3:
CONFLICT 1 climaxes
I'm very happy with this overall structure and I may just use it for every novel I write from here on out. Unless I don't. I'm capricious that way. Anyway.
The emotional climax at the end of Act 2 is a big moment in the story, making the climax in Act 3 inevitable. So I need to have this emotional climax really stand out and I have to lead into it well. I'm going to use an idea that I got from reading "The Art of Subtext" by Charles Baxter. In this book, Baxter talks about how in real life, most people avoid "making a scene." Most people bite back their strongest emotions and try hard not to bare their souls. There are things we would love to do, but we do not do them because such things are not done or because the price we'd pay for these acts would be too high.
For example, imagine two men. Let's call them Andy and Tom and let's say they work together in a large office. Tom's the sort of guy who objectifies women and is obsessed with the size of their breasts. In fact, one of his habits is to whisper his estimate of women's breast sizes to Andy whenever they're together. "Check it out," Tom will say. "38D!" He also gives nicknames to the women who work in the office with him and Andy. These nicknames all have to do with the women's breasts and are, of course, private and only used by Tom when speaking to Andy.
Andy is uncomfortable with this, but when he was first getting to know Tom, he said nothing about this behavior and subsequently it's only gotten worse as time goes on and now what Andy wants is for Tom to just leave him alone. But it's awkward. They work together on some of the same projects, and frankly Andy isn't sure how to bring the subject and his objections up. It's outside of his comfort zone. He doesn't want to make a scene at the office.
If this were the basis of a story, the climax of it would be Andy, finally unable to hold his tongue, busting out with a highly-emotional demand that Tom shut up about their coworkers' physiques and, you know, we're just not going to be friends anymore so just leave me alone. Andy will let out all this bottled-up frustration and embarrassment, unleashing it on Tom in a compressed moment, preferably in a too-small physical space like an elevator or a supply room or something, because small spaces increase emotional force. What happens after the climax will depend on if Andy or Tom is the protagonist, and that's not really the point here.
Leading up to the moment when Andy makes a scene, we'll need scenes that increase the tension between him and Tom, with Andy biting back words and being increasingly embarrassed by the whole thing. We'll have to make it clear that the one thing Andy would love to do is tell Tom to shut up (hey, maybe Tom is Andy's superior or team leader or something?), and make it clear that Andy would never do this, and then have Andy do it anyway. That's drama, folks. The conflict and tension increase over time and then are paid off in the climax.
So in my own book, I've got a character who knows that the real solution to the inner conflict of the story (Conflict 2 in my chart above) is an act that he will no way never commit. So what I'm doing now is having him fight against his urge to commit that act, putting in scenes where it will look as if that act won't be necessary and then...oh, gosh I guess it will be after all. He's faced with the decision to solve his problem and pay a very high price, or not solve his problem and live with a misery more-or-less of his own making (because the drama is better when the crisis has been brought about by the character himself).
Anyway, I just wanted to talk about this idea of "making a scene" and how the common-enough situation of demonstrating admirable restraint when we'd rather not can be the model for larger emotional movements in novels. It's a new way of seeing the dramatic arc for me, so I'm sharing. Also, this is my way of recommending Baxter's book: The Art of Subtext: Beyond Plot.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Rick Daley on Suspense/Thriller Writing
This week The Literary Lab presents a series of guest posts exploring the conventions of different genres and what writers love and loath about each of them. We're continuing with Rick Daley on...
Suspense and Thriller Writing
First off, thanks to The Three Moderators for considering my contribution to this blog, and to all the readers who lurk and participate in the group discussions. I’ve been following The Literary Lab for quite some time, and it’s really starting to take off. You done good, Davin ;-)
Now to the point: Genre Fiction – Suspense / Thrillers.
Suspense novels and thrillers are similar to mysteries. The main difference is that in a mystery, the reader is trying to figure out whodunit, but in the suspense novel you may know all along whodunit and how. The protagonist in a suspense / thriller faces dire consequences should they fail against the antagonist. The antagonist may be a person, but it may also be an abstract such as time. There are many sub-genres for Suspense / Thriller. Medical, legal, financial, spy, supernatural…the list goes on and on.
These novels are your quintessential page-turners. They are fast paced, and while they do not need to be devoid of rich descriptions of people and places, they typically contain more action and dialogue than lyrical prose. It’s all a part of the pacing. In a thriller, you don’t stop to sniff the daisies- they will either poison you, or you’ll get shot because you stopped moving.
The plot is the key driver, and the challenge to the writer is to know what to reveal and when. Tell too much at the beginning, and you kill the suspense. Wait too long, and you fail to generate suspense in the first place. Too much non-stop action and the reader gets exhausted. Balance is paramount.
There are several things to be cautious of when writing in this genre:
Unappealing characters. If your protagonist is in a race against time to save his life, you’d better be sure your readers want him to live!
Slow Pace. This story needs to move. White knuckles gripping the edge of the book. Page corners torn because they were turned with such fervor. Eyes red because “one more chapter” turned into five more chapters and your readers were up to the wee hours of the night.
Dues Ex Machina. This is an ending where the protagonist is saved at the last minute by something that did not exist in the story beforehand. Don’t do it. Ever.
Predictability. This challenge is for the established author, who is on Medical Thriller Number Seven and is really just retelling Number Four, but with the Protagonist from Number Three and the Antagonist from Number Five. Oh, and the twist is from Number Two. The reader has it all pegged at the end of Chapter One.
Flat writing. This is a pitfall for all writers, really. Genre fiction should be written as well as literary fiction. Symbolism, high concept themes, and characters with layers can all be incorporated into a good thriller.
Suggested Reading
Harlan Coben- TELL NO ONE, GONE FOR GOOD are two of my favorites. His plotting it top notch, and his endings have plausible twists.
John Grisham- THE RAINMAKER. Witty prose, endearing characters, and a very realistic story.
Tom Clancy- WITHOUT REMORSE. This is a tale of vengeance that Dirty Harry would be proud of. You want the bad guys to get it. And do they ever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)