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Heather becomes a full-fledged woman.

Because of all of history, Geneva was confident her instinctive thought to settle in Denver would be the right one. She'd already leased an apartment off the Internet and had purchased and beautiful small holiday home in Florida to give her beach living contrast to big-city living whenever she required a breather.
Yes should could have purchased a cabin on the side of a remote lake to pound away at the keyboard in a dream environment many people would say would be just right for a creative novelist. Well she hadn't done that because she hadn't instinctively thought she ought to do that and she'd purchased the property in Florida simply because she'd long dreamed of having a beach house in Florida.

Geneva entered the airport terminal at Denver. Now in a novel this is where a handsome (yes that word was back) guy would bumped into her, giving her a dazzling apology and take her to bed after a sumptuous dinner.

Well it didn't happen that was at all. She certainly was bumped, but rudely, in the crush and she waited a long time in line for a cab. The cab driver was grumpy, the manager at the apartment signing her in kept yawning and she had pizza for dinner and cried and thought about that log cabin in Vermont. But then had the vision of a big beer-belly ranger ordering her to evacuate because rising flood waters would send crocodiles into her cabin. What crocodiles in America? No this guy wasn't a field ranger. In posters they were always slim and handsome. The ugly and fat ones pushed pens in offices or were managers. She looked out of the window and saw a line of refugees from Somalia waiting to occupy her cabin in idyllic wilderness. Oh god.

She wailed, "Come on you fool, get out of your emotional rut. You'd be no good alone a cabin and Denver is where you are supposed to be."

Geneva felt better and went out and bought a bottle of wine, ran a bath, and spent the evening sipping wine and flicking her toes in water, reflecting about her draft novel.

That turned out to be an amazing session. Geneva was horrified that although she'd written 88,000 words, a little over half the target size of her novel, nowhere had her heroine cried. What a cold-hearted bitch.

There was no mention of Wanda's religion, political or lack of political leanings, that some of her shoes were too tight and some bras were too loose, she was prone to sniffing when alone and idle, she was always fucked by a guy, Wanda never fucked him, and her mom was always as nice as pie. Oh yeah! Did Wanda ever pass wind? Geneva had no idea and thought readers would be keen to give that a miss and ditto for the couple of times Wanda drunkenly peed her pants, although perhaps male readers might be enlightened by that.

There were other things missing including why did Wanda choose a black car, how many dents had she added to the car's bodywork, could you change a tire, what were her supermarket practices, how many times a week did she wash here hair, what did she really wish to do with her life, what did she want out of life, what were her worst fears, had she ever smoked pot, did she smoke, it was often stated she cooked and what she cooked but what were her favorite things to cook and her favorites when eating out, and how often did she go to the hairdresser and what did she and the hairdresser talk about?

Oh god, Wanda was a cardboard cutout and only emoted when having sex or not finding what she wanted when shopping or some asshole mistreated her.

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