In the spirit of full disclosure, I have not actually skinny-dipped with Neil Gaiman.  However I find this phrase a quick way to reference an important writing lesson, which I'll share if you'll permit me the latitude to explain.

Also in the spirit of full disclosure for those of you keeping track, I only achieved 2 of the 5 writing goals I set this week. 
In a moment I think you'll understand why.

My son was due to get on a plane last Saturday to spend a year studying in Sweden, but as of one week prior he still didn’t have the requisite Residence Permit.  Everyone involved was sure he’d have to forfeit his ticket and reschedule his trip, but I wasn't ready to give up.  So I spent last week relentlessly phoning, emailing, and faxing the Swedish Embassy, and to everyone's surprise (even my own) managed to secure my son's permit 24 hours before his flight.

Lesson Part One:  PERSEVERANCE PAYS OFF

Or at least it can pay off when applied properly.  In my case I did not apply it to my writing, thus only completing 2 of my 5 writing goals this week.

So, what does this have to do with Neil Gaiman?  The easy answer would be that I found a quote from him about perseverance, but if you bet on that you just lost your lunch money because what I found wasn't about perseverance at all.  What I found was this:

"The moment that you feel that just possibly you are walking down the street naked...
that's the moment you may be starting to get it right."                                   Neil Gaiman

I sure don't like feeling (or being) naked in public, but "getting it right" as a writer is what I live for.  It's right up there with family and coffee.  It's what I strive for each time I sit down to work on a manuscript.  Which brings us to:

Lesson Part Two:  TO WRITE THE GOOD STUFF, YOU MUST EXPOSE YOURSELF

Of course I'm talking about feeling vulnerable and exposed due to putting authentic, personal thoughts, emotions and fears on the page, so don't take this as license to become a flasher. 

And finally, the Finding Nemo connection.

As I slogged bleary-eyed through multiple phone mazes in Swedish (which I don't speak), and then later as I searched the Web (in English) for writing quotes about perseverance, I kept hearing this little voice in the back of my head. 

And thus we arrive at:

Lesson Part 1 + Lesson Part 2 = 
TO WRITE THE GOOD STUFF, YOU MUST EXPOSE YOURSELF OVER AND OVER
-- JUST KEEP SWIMMING, JUST KEEP SWIMMING --
AND IF YOU'RE FEELING NAKED, NEIL GAIMAN SAYS YOU MAY BE STARTING TO GET IT RIGHT

Which is a really wordy lesson to carry around in your writer's toolbox.  Believe me, I tried.

So I hope you'll forgive me the somewhat misleading headline "Skinny-dipping with Neil Gaiman" and allow that it's a much pithier (and easier to hum) mantra.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm swimming my naked self over to my manuscript -- I'm down by 3 goals, and I'm determined not to let the Swedish Embassy team win this one.

The thing about ducks and demons is, they can be difficult to tell apart. 
Yes, I know, some are more cute and cuddly than others.  But when it comes to achieving my writing goals, they both do an impressive job getting in the way.

This past week I set extremely unambitious goals because I expected life to get in the way.  I just didn't expect it to BLOCK the way.

Life, the universe, or something put up a ginormous roadblock that prevented me from making a single iota of progress on my novel. 

I confronted that hulking roadblock, daring it to declare itself:

Duck or Demon?

"Ducks" are those responsibilities I feel obligated to attend to:  family stuff, house stuff, health stuff, etc.  I try to keep them all in a nice orderly row so that my life runs smoothly and I can accomplish everything I want to accomplish, including my writing.

"Demons" are nuisances, distractions, deterrents and temptations that get in the way of writing and threaten to derail me from achieving my goals.

If I told you that my roadblock involved the Swedish Embassy and oral surgery, you'd probably say, "No question:  DEMON."

But hold the phone.  You're jumping to conclusions based on your knowledge of the anguish typically experienced when encountering bureaucracy and high-powered dental tools.  I agree they're unpleasant, unpopular and unforgiving, but that doesn't necessarily make them demons.  At least not writing demons.

As I stared at the massive, oozing roadblock in front of me, trying to figure out a way around, across or through it, I had some time to think.  So I pondered for awhile the real difference between my ducks and my demons....and I concluded:

What I mean to say is, when a demon gets in my way, I know I'm supposed to get rid of him.  I don't always make that choice, like when it comes to eMal or Davy Jones (the Demon of Facebook), but that's beside the point.  The fact is, demons should be banished.  I know that and you know that.  It might as well be law.

But ducks?  They have every right to be there.  Family.  Friends.  Chores.  Errands.  Appointments.  Even taxes. 
We don't get rid of them (at least not usually).  We can't.  They're obligations.  Responsibilities.  Facts of life. 
We don't always like them, but we accept them.  We have to.  Again, law.

So back to my colossal roadblock of Embassy red tape and wisdom tooth extraction--

Oh, did I mention that the international imbroglio and repeated visits to the oral surgeon's office were made possible courtesy of my teenaged sons? 

Family obligation.  Duty.  Responsibility. 

Ducks.  Clearly ducks. 

And if it quacks like a duck, well, you know what I did. 
I treated that roadblock like one giant duck. 

The truth is, I'd have been better off if it had been a demon.

Why?  Because then I would have at least tried to write. 

Instead I paced back and forth in front of the roadblock, clenching my teeth to keep from cursing obscenities. 
(If you must know, it's possible an obscenity or two slipped out.)  I accepted without question that I had to take care of
my son's apparently-impossible-to-obtain-in-a-timely-manner Student Visa and my other son's quadruple wisdom tooth extractions, complete with the requisite buying of ice cream, and the mandatory making and delivering of milkshakes. 

Of course I had to take care of those things.  I'm not saying I didn't.

So what am I saying?  That I used them as an excuse not to even try to work on my novel.

There.  I admitted it.  I could probably have gotten at least a tiny bit of writing done if I'd tried.  But I didn't try.  I called a duck a duck and I treated it as such.  Had I just called it a demon....  Who knows what I might have accomplished?

So next time you face a writing roadblock, ask yourself:

I say it's in the eye of the beholder.  And I also say:

Don't be afraid to put on your demon-colored glasses.

Right now I'm in the throes of a final editing pass (or two) before sending my manuscript to two agents who requested it.  If you read my post from two weeks ago, you may be a bit confused by the fact that I'm still editing, given I referred to last week as "Editing Week."  Rest assured, I never believed I'd be done in one week.  I just thought "Editing Week" had a nice ring, like Shark Week.  But we all know that, despite what we see on TV, those sharp-toothed predators prowl the seas every week of the year.

Go ahead, carry that analogy over to editing. 

So yes, I'm still submerged in the deep, dark sea of editing, battling my sharp-toothed demons, and I will be for a bit longer, despite the cute "Editing Week" moniker. 

Anyone want to know what I'm doing down here in the deep?

I thought I'd share a bit for your voyeuristic enjoyment, and perhaps even a little learning pleasure.  Here goes.

To get the most out of the answer to questions like this, David prompted us to relive the scene, right down to what we were wearing, who was with us, what the weather was like, and what we said and felt.

Delving into your past can be painful!  But David didn't push us to do it because he's a sadist (he may be one--I have no personal knowledge one way or the other--but this isn't the reason he gave).  The reason for a writer to do this kind of "work" (and make no mistake, it is work) is to bring authenticity to our characters.  Reflecting on how you reacted in your most helpless moment can shed fourteen suns worth of light on what your character would do, why he'd do it, how he'd do it, and what he'd feel and think while doing it.

Skipping right past the memory of the moment when *I* felt most helpless, I'll share what this moment was for Reid, the main character in my work-in-progress, a post-apocalyptic New Adult novel, SEEDS:

As a little boy he secretly watched as his mother was euthanized against her will.

This event shapes Reid's life from that moment forward.  For example, he becomes a medic to help others, and refuses to commit euthanasia even in the face of severe punishment.

That right there gave me a lot to think about. 
But it was a different question posed by David that shone a spotlight into my character's core:

It turns out, this moment of guilt is Reid's defining moment.  It provides the internal motivation for pivotal decisions in the plot.  It explains why in the end he does something that would otherwise make no sense to us.

What, you want to know what that moment of guilt is? 

Okay, here's Reid's guilty moment:
When Reid was nine, he had the chicken pox and was quarantined with a ten-year-old girl, Kayla, who stole his heart.  It was just the two of them, laughing and telling stories to distract each other from scratching.  Despite the itching, it was the best time of Reid's young life.  That is, right up until his older brother Brian came down with chicken pox, and Kayla fell head over heels for Brian.  Reid wished Brian were dead so he could have Kayla to himself.  Then when Brian developed complications and nearly died, Reid felt responsible.  He promised Brian that if he lived he could have Kayla.  Brian recovered, but Reid never did.  He still carries that guilt, even when intellectually he knows better.  He's never stopped loving Kayla, but he's never broken his promise to Brian.  Not even when Brian dies leaving behind his pregnant young bride -- you guessed it -- Kayla.

Exposing my characters and my story here has made me feel sufficiently vulnerable that I'll leave it to your imagination what my personal guilty and helpless moments were that led to these character revelations.  But you get the idea, right?

So, writers, ask yourselves:
When was I most sad, ashamed, or afraid?

Then, David suggests, look at the converse of that moment:
What was my golden moment, when I was most joyful?  Or most proud?  Or most brave?

Now imagine your character experiencing those opposite emotions, and draw a line connecting them:
How does the character get from anguish to joy?  From fear to courage?  From pride to shame?

By taking opposite emotional gems -- mined from your own life -- you can create a character arc.

Jiminy, that's enough right there to keep me revising into next year.  But that's not all David shared, not by a long shot.

What really struck me during David's workshop was the offhanded comment:

Now that got me thinking.  Not just about how chock-full of great writing knowledge David must be to effortlessly discard such insightful bits of wisdom, but about how this particular bit of wisdom applies to my character:

You see, Reid lives in a barren, post-apocalyptic world where nothing will grow.  He doesn't believe any other way of life is possible, so he dedicates his life as a medic to keeping people alive.  Maintaining.

He still feels this way when he and Kayla are banished from their community in Cheyenne Mountain. 

Here's an excerpt:

The city below was brown and silent and still. 
Reid couldn’t imagine it any other way.  He’d never shared his brother Brian’s conviction that the world would be reborn and green again.  Kayla had.  He wondered if she still did, now that Brian was gone.

But then Reid and Kayla meet the first stranger they've ever seen, and she has an apple.

This is the moment when everything changes for Reid. 

Now he knows that there's grown food in the world.  He has hope that his people won't starve, hope that the world will be green again.  After he sees the apple, he will never be the same, never look at the world in the same way again.

I knew this about Reid before I attended David's workshop, but now I see it a little differently: 

In this pivotal moment, Reid goes from being someone who's trying to maintain a way of life to someone who's trying to create a new one.

Don't even get me started on Reid's enemies.  Thanks to David, I see them with fresh eyes now, too:
One is busy provoking the community to defend their dysfunctional way of life against fabricated "Raiders," while the other is out to create his own way of life that runs counter to what Reid wants ... Or does it?

Wow, I've got lots to think about, lots to work out, and lots more editing to do.  What about you?  Are you intrigued by these concepts?  Do you see your characters in a new light now?  Are you flashing back to memories that suddenly appear to be studded with gems for mining?

To learn more, check out David's book, THE ART OF CHARACTER, visit his site at http://www.davidcorbett.com, and head over to the "Recordings" section of Delve Writing where you can listen to David's 2-hour workshop completely free.  Or click here if you can't wait another moment and want to watch the recording now.

"What we have to be is what we are." 
-Thomas Merton

I believe the wisdom we need to live our best possible lives is everywhere abundant. We're not starving for truth, we're drowning in it. 

After all, we humans have been pouring out our stories of victory and tragedy, heartbreak and epiphany for thousands upon thousands of generations.  Surely those brackish waters contain more than a little of the good stuff. The trick (perhaps) is to catch hold of a sufficiently buoyant bit of flotsam and a favorable current and then flow with it. 

In other words, find a program that strikes you as true enough and right enough, and follow it to the best of your ability (rather than circling endlessly in a search for perfect wisdom, until you sink from perfect exhaustion). 

I've been trying to do this ever since I was given the quote from Thomas Merton printed at the top of this post. "What we have to be is what we are." That little bit of wisdom struck me as so simple and so right. Give your gifts. Do what is in you to do. Become what you are. What if that's really it? The whole show? Wouldn't that be grand?

Since being given that little gem, I have: 1) seen the same advice printed at least a hundred different ways from a hundred different authors (thus affirming for me that it's worth heeding), and 2) realized it's a bit harder than it sounds.

So, I've augmented the quote a little with other sources I've stumbled upon and turned it into a 3-step program, one I've been trying to follow for the last several years. 

I have to warn you though, I'm by no means an expert or a perfect success story, though I do think the program is working. 

My journey has taken me from frustrated wanna-be writer/teacher/entrepreneur stuck in a numbing job to someone happily running a couple of small online teaching businesses, including one about writing, with a first novel on the way to print at the end of this year.  That said, each month can still be a struggle to make ends meet and the road has been anything but smooth. 

So...grab your grain of salt (or even a whole salt lick) and take this for whatever it's worth to you. (And please feel free to tell me in the comments if you agree or disagree with any of the following.)

Step 1: Do what you can't help doing (that also creates useful beauty)

The most common push-back I've heard to the idea of "becoming what you are" typically falls in at least one of three categories.

a) I don't have any worthwhile natural gifts or useful talents (or I don't know what they are)
b) What I want to do doesn't pay well (or at all)
c) Too many other people are trying to do what I want to do, so I could never be successful

My response to the first of those concerns is to focus on the "useful beauty" part. By "useful," I mean that someone else can get some kind of enjoyment, value or help from something you do or create. If there's anything you find yourself doing often and with ease that proves helpful to others in your life, then you have a gift to give. 

If you tend to do it well enough or efficiently enough that your contribution has at least a little sparkle of artistry to it--something unique that sets it apart from when others do the same task more grudgingly or with less joy--than you've got the capacity to bring more beauty into this world. I'd even say you have the responsibility to do so. 

To my thinking, beauty comes in endless variety, and has far less to do with aesthetic considerations than with the quality of workmanship. A spreadsheet or wooden spoon can be just as beautiful as a sonnet or silver dish when made by a master.

As to the money and competitor considerations, I think there are a million creative ways to fit your calling to a vocation and if you follow the next two steps, after a certain point the money and competition won't matter, except insofar as they spur you toward further and further creations of useful beauty.

Step 2: Do it for 10,000 hours and then do it some more

This is where things get both incredibly difficult and blissfully simple. If you've never heard of the 10,000 hour rule, a quick internet search will give you troves of studies and elegies extolling the notion that greatness only comes after a certain amount of dedicated practice. I first learned about it in Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers, and commend that book to you.

Of course, this rule is tremendously hard not only because it's a heckuva lot of work but also because we're so well-trained in this culture to want rapid results. Many of us quit when we don't hit it big right away or when we bet everything on the hope of "making it" in six months or a year and then fall flat because we haven't put in our time.

So, put in the time.

10,000 hours = 5 years of 40-hr workweeks; 10 years if you're putting in 4 hours a day, 5 days a week; or (obviously) much longer if you're putting in much less.

But here's where the simple part comes in. Knowing it's going to take a while, you're free to let go of the pressure to perform. Just drop that weight from your shoulders like the useless burden it is. You don't have to be perfect. You don't even have to be all that good. You simply have to commit the time.

Don't expect success at the start. That expectation will wreck you. Prepare for a long haul. 

If you can learn on someone else's dime, doing something at least similar to what you ultimately want to do, grab that opportunity like the gold it is, and remind yourself you're fulfilling your call simply by moving closer to it. 

Take pleasure in your progress.

I also find it helpful--particularly when I'm wishing the world could just give me the money and time I need to focus on my art--to think about how many lottery winners have gone on to become brilliant writers or craftsmen or creators of any sort. Maybe there are a few, but I haven't heard of them. And yet, I'm willing to bet many of those winners had similar thoughts to mine before they hit their numbers. Oh, if only I had millions, I would just do X. But then they don't seem to do X when they get the millions. Are they all just talentless hacks cursed by a complete lack of inborn skill? 

Or is the struggle part of the secret? Is the challenge of finding ways to build your talent over 10,000 hours part of what makes you ultimately successful? I think it must be. 

In addition, the more we can focus on doing the things that do arise from the gifts we have, the less those hours will seem a chore. Indeed, they may start to seem a lot more like pure joy. By my rough calculations, I've got about 9,000 hours in on my writing, 10,000+ hours of teaching, and 8,000 of entrepreneuring. I haven't quite hit all my marks yet, but every day gets better and clearer and more rewarding as I try to bring these 3 callings into some kind of alignment.

Step 3: Remember, it's a gift

Particularly during the 10,000 hours, it's easy to get greedy about our gifts, but it helps to remember they came to us unbidden. We have in us a capacity to do certain things better and with more beauty than others can do them. That's not something we earned. It's something we were simply given. That's a thing to be grateful for, not greedy about.

During the 10,000 hours (and beyond) our job is to give back. The primary reward can and should be the satisfaction of aligning with our essential selves. The output is for someone else. Yes, we need money also, and we will likely struggle to earn that, but the gift and the giving of the gift should remain as unencumbered by our grasping as possible. The great thing is: the more we let go of the need to get something from our giving, the more we tend to actually get.

There's another way in which this reminder about "the gift" is useful. I've known plenty of people who are working their 10,000 hours but, in my opinion at least, largely wasting them. They do so by clinging to the notion that their talent is for them. I think it's a reaction against the harshness of criticism and of exposing your gift before you've mastered it. 

And because it's true we can go too far when taking others' critiques to heart (some of which will undeniably be flawed), some people convince themselves to shut out critiques altogether. The trouble with this is, if you ever want to receive a fair return on the talent you bring to the world, it has to prove valuable to others who will be the ones giving you something for it.

The selfish gift giver only gives people things they themselves want. These gifts, no matter how elaborate or expensive or fine, fail to delight their recipients. On the other hand, the person who listens--truly and deeply--to the desires and longings of others can give the simplest of gifts and those gifts will become the most treasured of all. 

This doesn't mean you should try to adapt your talent to serve everybody all the time. That's another sure recipe for failure. But it does mean you should find those who long for what you have to give and listen to them; learn from them; honor them. Take them as your teachers as you do your 10,000 hours and more. Those to whom you give in this spirit, will eventually return to you the greatest gift imaginable: the gift of fully becoming that which you are. 

In the coming week I'll be working on a big editing pass of my entire epic-length work-in-progress, so I spent the past week preparing for the onslaught of demons I'll face while editing. 

You may think this is a clever way of saying I sat back and watched re-runs of Buffy the Vampire Slayer while drinking iced tea and eating bon bons, but you'd be incorrect.  My writing demons are real and plentiful, and there's no telling who may show up or what chaos they'll bring.  Preparing for their Armageddon-esque attack is not to be taken lightly. 

To give you an idea of what I've been working on, I provide you with this "demon compendium" of sorts, complete with my plans for how to fight off each of the nasty buggers.  Enjoy!

DEMON:
Aunt Fay, the demon house-guest of fatalism

MOTTO:
Que sera, sera
(which she says means "no matter how hard you try, you're still going to fail")

DEFENSE:
Optimism, coffee, idealism, and a little faith for good measure
If all else fails, smoke a cigar (at least that's what Uncle Vex swears by).

DEMON:
Uncle Vex (Aunt Fay's Ex-husband)

MOTTO:
aggravate, agitate, anger, annoy, chafe, depress, displease, embarrass, exasperate,
gall, get in one's hair, get under one's skin, grate on, harass, harry, hassle, infuriate,
irk, irritate, needle, nettle, peeve, pester, plague, rile, tease, tick off, and torment
(Aunt Fay told him this didn't qualify as a motto and would never catch on, but he wouldn't listen.  It was the primary reason for their divorce.  That and the cigars.)

DEFENSE:
Calamine lotion, reggae music, and chamomile tea
If all else fails, have these administered by Aunt Fay.

DEMON:
eMAL, the demon of e-mail

MOTTO:
You can't do just one.

DEFENSE:
Just say no.  (Granted this doesn't always work for me.)

DEMON:
Davy Jones, the demon of Facebook

MOTTO:
I'll drag you under and hold you there.  You'll love it down here, Matey.  Argh.

DEFENSE:
Stay off Facebook.  He can't get you if you stay out of the water. 
And get some big water-wings, just in case.

DEMONS:
Mabel & Ethel, the telephone landline demons

MOTTO:
Call your mother.  She worries.

DEFENSE:
Unplug the phone. 

Note to self:  tell Mom first. 
You think I'm kidding?  Mabel & Ethel aren't really that scary, but you don't want Mom to think you're not answering the phone because you took out the trash at night by yourself and you slipped and broke your ankle and fell into a drainage ditch and are at that very moment being eaten by a bear.  Trust me on this.  I've been there.  When Mom's worried, she's a hellova lot more intimidating than Mabel & Ethel AND the bear.  Combined.

DEMON:
Snickerdoodle, the sweet demon of procrastination

MOTTO:
You’ve already blown it for today, might as well put it off until tomorrow.

DEFENSE:
A 12-step program that includes establishing goals, making lists, setting timers, prioritizing, earning rewards, channeling Popeye, and using lots of Post-it Notes to plaster reminders and threats all over my workspace.

DEMON:
Junk food and other delicious treats that facilitate avoidance of editing

MOTTO:
Eat me!

DEFENSE:
There is no defense.  If junky snacks are anywhere in my vicinity, I will find them.  It does not matter if they're hidden.  When I'm editing, I track junk food like a bloodhound on a scent.  Candy stands no chance.  Ice cream?  Gone in the first day.  Cookies never even make it home from the store -- they're devoured in the car.  By the end of the week I'm dipping pickles in strawberry jam and drinking Hershey's syrup out of the bottle.  Snack foods hear this:  resistance is futile; you will be assimilated.

DEMON:
Heartburn.  Not the demon of anger or bitterness or regret.
Actual heartburn from all the snack foods and snickerdoodles.

MOTTO:
It burns!  It burns!

DEFENSE:
Antacids
(Were you expecting something clever?  What do you use against heartburn, a mantra?)

DEMON:
Creepy Doll Sitting on Typewriter

MOTTO:
You're not really a writer.  Let's play!

DEFENSE:
1. Don't ever let something like this in the front door.

2. If it somehow gets in and asks to play, run.

3. Stop watching scary movies about creepy dolls.

4. If you wake up in the morning and find an unfamiliar note in an old typewriter, run.

5. Keep a shoebox and duct tape handy, just in case.

DEMON:
Insidious Sam, the sneaky, poisonous demon of worry
(magnified 100x)

MOTTO:
Uh oh...
Have you thought of that?
Did you prepare well enough?
Are you sure?
If it can go wrong, it will.
Bad things do happen to good people.
I don't know...

DEFENSE:
Worry dolls and a healthy dose of denial
(and maybe a little Jack and Coke, if you must know)

DEMON:
Butt-ugly

MOTTO:
Your baby isn't really beautiful.  You just think it is.

DEFENSE:
La-la-la-la-la (said with fingers in the ears)

DEMON:
Spike, the nay-sayer

MOTTO:
Everything you write sucks.

NOTE:
Spike isn't really MY demon.  He belongs to my friend Bonnie.  But you never know who might show up during Editing Week.  It's like New York Fashion Week, but for writing demons.  Better be prepared to deal with crashers and wannabes. 

DEFENSE:
Bruce Willis in his most intimidating Bouncer mode. 
You always need a good bouncer, especially during Fashion Week. 
And Editing Week. 
And Shark Week.

DEMON:
Joe-Kid, a hungry, lonely, needy child looking for his mommy

Oops.  Correction.  That's not a demon, that's one of my ducks. 
Please strike this from the official record.

(Confused?  See the blog post THE DUCK THAT BROKE THE CAMEL'S BACK from May 22nd of this year.  Then you'll understand.)

DEMON:
Kakorrhaphiophobia, the demon of fear

MOTTO:
Whoever said "There's nothing to fear but fear itself" has not met my brother, Terror

DEFENSE:
Anti-demon spray, and powder, and gel
Citronella candles
Dream-catchers
Protection spells
A three-legged guard dog
Lucky charms, four-leaf clovers and rabbits' feet
Knowlege
Meditations and affirmations
Nightlights
A strong perimeter
Pretty flowers
My handy-dandy Harry Potter replica wand and a Riddikulus incantation

DEMON:
Bruce Willis

MOTTO:
Old habits die hard.
or
Yippee-ki-yay, mother-fracker

DEFENSE:
None.  I'm convinced Bruce-baby is on my side.  My tenacious hold on my binge-writing habits will serve me well in the coming demon apocalypse.  I've got him on speed-dial.  On my cell phone.
Hear that, Mabel and Ethel? Cell phone.

DEMON:
This is no demon.  This is me after Editing Week. 
Yes, I realize I bear a striking resemblance to Kakorr's brother, Terror.
It could be unfortunate for you if you were to bring that up again.