And there she lay, transformed into something beautiful by the passion of murder.

I don't know what to write about. I could use this time to tell the story of my new midnight mystery lover. Or I could tell you about my weekend in Naptown or I could write dark sentences or talk about how much I'm in love with Rocco DeLuca.

But it's hard to know who's reading. I don't want to waste intelligence on the average audience nor do I want to present mediocrity to the liberal artistic elite.