Weekend Writing Warriors: Southampton Quarrels

Hi there and welcome back to my blog, warriors! Today I'm looking forward to making the rounds and sharing another part of my recently published fantasy novel Anoethau. Critique and comments are always welcome, and I hope you enjoy today's snippet. :-)

After fleeing his parole, Artie, the protagonist, finds himself at a place called Southampton, England. Most commonly known for the Titanic commencing its first and final voyage from the Port of Southampton, it is also a place of pubs and heavy drinking. This is what happens, when Artie finds himself in the midst of it...

The next thing he knew; there was a large object flying right by his face. 

It landed behind him on the road and from the sound of shattering glass, he recognized it as a beer bottle. People yelled at each other in front of another bar only a few feet ahead and there were three or four men in a drunken fight out in the street. The loudest of them wasn’t involved in the actual fighting, but shouted from the sidelines to the ones pummeling on one another with their fists.

“Get on with it you sissy,” the agitator yelled, laughing.“If I lose the money, I’ll start beating on you too,” he shouted, slouching at the corner to the open bar door.

Artie didn’t want to get involved in their quarrelling, but he knew, if he passed the group, they would make him get involved. From his experience with fights in prison, he figured that his best bet was the offensive mode, but he was a little too drunk to spin the plot all too clearly. 

“Hey Dickhead,” he slurred at the agitator from a distance, “how much money did they bet on your stupid face?” 

Dumb, I am dumb, he thought, but it was too late.

Synopsis

A play on the famous Arthurian legend, Anoethau tells the story of Artie Kendrick, an ex-convict, who has spent the better half of his life in prison, and now prefers the solitude of his house to being in the company of people. Backyard gardening is a newfound and most welcome hobby of his, until, after days of heavy rainfall, he discovers a strange artifact in the puddles of his vegetable patch - a sword. It's not just any sword, since it was given to him by a mysterious woman named Viviana, who introduces herself as a deity of another world. The gift comes at a tremendous price: with it, Viviana wants him to kill her arch enemy and save her world from destruction.

Anoethau on Amazon 

Anoethau eBook Release - Partying like it's 1995

Zzzzzing, I'm so happy, flying, or at least floating a foot above the ground. I just published my first fantasy novel on Amazon. I'm glad I did it, I'm glad it's finally "out there in the universe". I have been coming back to this story since NaNoWriMo 2012, when I wrote the first draft. 

Synopsis

A play on the famous Arthurian legend, Anoethau tells the story of Artie Kendrick, an ex-convict, who has spent the better half of his life in prison, and now prefers the solitude of his house to being in the company of people. Backyard gardening is a newfound and most welcome hobby of his, until, after days of heavy rainfall, he discovers a strange artifact in the puddles of his vegetable patch - a sword. It's not just any sword, since it was given to him by a mysterious woman named Viviana, who introduces herself as a deity of another world. The gift comes at a tremendous price: with it, Viviana wants him to kill her arch enemy and save her world from destruction.

Since some of you asked: The book title Anoethau is mentioned in the longest surviving Welsh prose tale "Culhwch ac Olwen", and refers to impossible task or "difficult things of wonder". It is allegedly the first time, Arthur and his huntsmen are mentioned in a manuscript that old (about 11th century).


Once more unto the breach, my friends. I'm diving head on into the second book in the series. The story evolves around an important character in Anoethau, Eloise Walsh. I feel as though she didn't get enough "screen time" in the first book - and clearly, she's the reason Artie gets to have such a well-trained companion in Cabby, the French Bulldog.

I wrote the first draft of Aned in 2013 and it is a prequel to Anoethau. This will be fun! Wish me luck with book number 2.

Anoethau on Amazon.com

Anoethau on Amazon.de

Story news about Anoethau

This year, a lot of stuff is about to happen: I'm adding the final touches to my 2012 NaNoWriMo story for it to be published in the last quarter of this year. I'm excited about this story. Interestingly enough, re-reading it, I didn't find it completely horrible. Yes, certain parts were longwinded descriptions, and reflected thoughts. The main character is alone for a certain time of the story and with no dialogue options and no interactions, strange things happen in storytelling. Plus the NaNo requirement of having a story with at least 50000 words demanded a certain creative "redundancy" on my part. I'm excited though, I feel like I can move on from here.



Reading Guy Gavriel Kay's Fionavar Tapestry trilogy reassured me, that re-imaginings of known narratives can be an asset. For his story, he revived some of the Camelot cast, just like I did, but unlike him, I did it in a contemporary setting. Read The Fionavar Tapestry if you get a chance. Guy Gavriel Kay was Tolkien's editor for the Silmarillion, so that should tell you everything you need to know.

I hope you're not turned off of me saying hang in there once again. We're almost there. I still need a website, but hubby promised to help me with that. And amongst other things, hubby is a website wizard, and a tech-fex if anything else. OK, enough pampering, back to work.

Weekend Writing Warriors: The House Guest

Hey everyone, and welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors and my NaNo story Aned! Last time - a little long while ago, Eloise entered a grove searching for the white shepherd dog that seems to be following her everywhere she goes. I'll move forward this week, to where Eloise finds the mysterious dog hiding in the backyard, in her own dog's hut...




Eloise approached Aethelia's dog house, where the grumbling noise grew into a clarion growl.
"So what is the deal with you anyways, dog?"
She slowly knelt down by the hut, facing away from the entrance, with her heart hammering against her chest.
"It's not very polite to growl at the host, but I guess you must have your reasons to distrust humans."
She reached for Aethelia's red rubber ball and tossed it from one hand into the other. Moments went by. The growling turned into a soft gurgling, before it stopped. Startled, she felt something touching her arm; in the corner of her eye, the dog's nose quickly withdrew from her elbow, back into the darkness of the hut.

Aned - character drawing

www.wewriwa.com

Weekend Writing Warriors: Into the Dark

Hello everyone and welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. Wow - it has been one year since we started this nice little Sunday tradition and I'm glad be a part of it and to have met such a talented bunch of writers! Today, I'm diving deeper into my story. Eloise, being haunted by the sight of the white shepherd dog that appears to be stalking her on her daily walks, curiously follows him into a grove...

Eloise plunged into darkness. Like crossing a line, the tree trunks, broad and mighty, swallowed the light of day, and with it all evidence of the outside world. 
It was a strange place, unfamiliar, and foreign to her senses and
without a flashlight, she’d soon be lost. 
Eloise moved forward regardless, and the air lay still and cold against her quickening breaths. 

“Come here, dog, I won’t hurt you.”  

Two small lights lit up between trees like pale blue crystals.




Synopsis

Eloise Walsh is a woman of modest needs - she lives with her husband George and French bull dog Aethelia in a quaint little house in the heart of Southampton, England. When fate strikes and her husband suddenly falls ill, Eloise barely accepts the seriousness of his situation. Desperate to do something, she persuades her husband to go on medicinal walks through the elaborate city park. She notices a white shepherd dog trailing them from a distance.
The dog appears to be cut off from his pack, determined to following them to the point of stalking. Struggling to shake him off, the dog makes himself comfortable in their backyard, and soon Eloise finds herself at a turning point; challenged to take care of her sick husband as well as taking in a stray dog with a strange set of abilities that cause a wild amount of trouble in their household and between the married couple. It doesn't take long before she realizes that there is a reason why the white shepherd Aned is in her hands, an how not only her life but the lives of others will be in danger if she doesn't take on the responsibility of being his guardian.

#8sunday Into the Dark http://t.co/gEU3JgXVxl
— Dana Renelt (@dasdanalein) February 1, 2014

Bad Mother of Ideas!

Writing is such an odd activity compared to some of the other things I do for fun. First of all, unlike the other stuff, the process is not as much fun whilst I do it, as it is to file away a story - and knowing that an entire universe just sits there, right inside a folder. Finishing is the ultimate reward to writing.

Unfortunately, the finishing line is not always in sight. While I noticed that something always gets my writing started, the commitment to completion part is much harder. It happens, that as I write down an idea, another one pops into my head and as it sits there, making waves, I'm beginning to wonder if the new one wouldn't be much more inviting. Why bother carrying on with a mediocre idea when there's a better one out there? However, I learned from NaNoWriMo that the purpose of writing is not only the idea, but the sticking it out part, and that's why the yearly writing challenge is such an essential experience.

As I'm looking through my archives, there are tons of orphaned beginnings, some of them only one sentence long. It's fun to look at these fragments from time to time and think about what they could have become, if I hadn't so callously abandoned them..

This is me in the front yard! one of them begins (and it ends right there as well).

And I still have no idea which direction this would have gone. Yard - then what? Kitchen? Probably nowhere.

Mother never was particularly versatile in her ways to torture me... another one goes.

I like to believe that there is a story to be told, second nature to my first.

I usually hate re-reading these kinds of self-important notes. 90 percent of the time I am convinced I can barely compose a full sentence, let alone swoop anyone away with the cut of my quill. Writer's baggage!


Anyways, there is more.

Ryku, I’m yelling, Ryyyykuuu, but she doesn’t look up from the thing she made out of mud. That’s the thing with kids. I approach her and she finally looks up at me. There you are! she says, and I detect rebuke. Typical, I think, that she’d twist it like that; as if she had been waiting for me, not the other way around. 

A cute children's story I was working on for a bit. Well five sentences long to be exact. 

The quickest way to hell is taking in a visitor. I titled this one Purgatorial Suspense.

Barlo was a vile man, a boy who grew up to bring nightmares. He had outgrown his father by the age of ten...

Weekend Writing Warriors: Oblivious

Hi there writers and readers, and welcome to this week's Weekend Writing Warriors. Like so many of you I have been busy during November, working away on a new story. Well, the idea for it wasn't exactly "new", since I first thought about a back story for Anoethau during last year's NaNoWriMo. Anyways, this excerpt is taken from the beginning of Aned. I always appreciate your comments, and feedback, so don't hold back, kay? :)

Eloise only had to take one look at her husband to know that everything wasn’t alright.

“Tell me, what did he say?”

George uttered one barely audible grunt when he sat down and took off his shoes. A French bulldog made leaps around his feet, as usual, happy to see him - and oblivious to George's grim face.

“Aethelia, stop it,” Eloise demanded, and the dog backed away instantly. The pair of black and white eyes followed Eloise as she approached her husband.

“Won’t you tell me now what the doctor said?”

George folded his hands between his knees. 
“Nothing we didn't already know.”

Synopsis

Eloise Walsh is a woman of modest needs - she lives with her husband George and French bull dog Aethelia in a quaint little house in the heart of Southampton, England. When fate strikes and her husband suddenly falls ill, Eloise barely accepts the seriousness of his situation. Desperate to do something, she persuades her husband to go on medicinal walks through the elaborate city park. She notices a white shepherd dog trailing them from a distance.
The dog appears to be cut off from his pack, determined to following them to the point of stalking. Struggling to shake him off, the dog makes himself comfortable in their backyard, and soon Eloise finds herself at a turning point; challenged to take care of her sick husband as well as taking in a stray dog with a strange set of abilities that cause a wild amount of trouble in their household and between the married couple. It doesn't take long before she realizes that there is a reason why the white shepherd Aned is in her hands, an how not only her life but the lives of others will be in danger if she doesn't take on the responsibility of being his guardian.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Easy Confidence

Hey and welcome, warriors, this week I'm finally back with a snippet from Anoethau. Wheew! For plot reasons, I have to skip ahead a little. Last time, the mysterious woman Artie met in Southampton asked him to take her dog with him on his journey to Wales. For understandable reasons Artie declined, but out of compassion he now agrees upon watching her dog Cabby for a little while, in order for Eloise to run some errands...



“Let me give you some money for the day, so Cabby doesn’t eat you out of house and home.” She digged deep inside her handbag for coin, but Artie waved his hand at her, “you can pay me later if you want to, after I have done my job.” 
“I live over there in the house by the corner,” Eloise said, pointing past the busy street café. 
Artie immediately knew it when he saw it; the quaint, lilac house with the white balustrades and overgrown iron gate strangely met his expectations of this woman. 
“Well then, at least, let me give you this,” she said, holding a door key out to him.  
“You can take a bath or a shower, and wash your clothes instead of having to go back to your seedy motel. The fridge is well-stocked, and there are cans of Cabby's favorite food in the pantry; he likes to eat from his bowl, you know.” 
The dog regarded each of them with easy confidence, a sentiment that Artie himself did not share.

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Quick Story Update

While revising I have started to outline the plot for a new story, which will be a prequel to Anoethau. The story focuses on Eloise, one of the supporting characters. As I was writing Anoethau, an idea for Eloise's back story took shape, and with each day it got more extensive and detailed. Those of you who read my Weekend Writing Warriors snippets have briefly met Eloise - she's the woman who tries to convince Artie to take her dog along on his journey. In the new story, working title Aned and Aethelia, I'll focus on young Eloise and her adventure. Just as in Anoethau, there will be a lot of references to Arthurian legend and Welsh mythology. I'm very excited about this story! And of course, as the story progresses, there will be more of my sketches of characters and locations.

Aned

Weekend Writing Warriors: Do you want him?

 
Hi and welcome my brave warriors, to another round of wewriwa! This week, I'll continue with the fantasy adventure I've written for last year's NaNoWriMo, called Anoethau. 

Artie has finally arrived at Southampton, and is stretching his legs by the fountain at the town square, when an elderly woman and her French Bulldog come on the scene. The dog eyes Artie with open curiosity. All of a sudden, the woman makes a rather strange suggestion...

“Do you want him?” 

It took Artie a long second before he realized what she meant by that,

“You mean...your dog?!!” 

He waited for the old woman to indicate that she was kidding, but she didn't. When she gave him no sign other than a wholehearted nod, Artie frenetically waved his hand at her in refusal.

 

“No...no..." he stammered, "I’m just passing through to Wales.." 

“Well, that’s exactly what my Cabby likes,” she said tenderly, “a bit of an adventure.”

 

She persisted on holding the leash out to him, which made him think she wouldn't take no for an answer; and his pulse leapt.

“I don’t get around much these days - so, what do you say?”

 

@8sunday_writers Idiots and Earthquakes for #8sunday: Do you want him? idiotsearthquakes.blogspot.de/2013/04/weeken…
— Dana Renelt (@dasdanalein) April 6, 2013

Weekend Writing Warriors: Story in 8, Part 2

Hello there, you! Welcome to the Wewriwa Easter edition. Does it have to rain all the time, I'm asking, naggingly? Is that really necessary? It makes for a good underwater egg hunt this year. :) Anywho, back to the story in 8, my attempt to tell a whole story in only 8 sentences. Actually, this snippet is from a short story I wrote this year called The Impostor. I thought it had the bold potential to withstand being cut and edited into 8 sentences. Now I'm not sure. Is it? 

These were all lonely women, every one of them, lonely and very very rich, especially this one, Augustine, the name of an old duck. She was a hard nut to crack. For weeks, Paul had made several attempts to meet her, but as withdrawn as she was, she hardly even made eye contact with the world.

He had to resort to drastic measures; and deliberately running into her shopping cart with his was indeed drastic. It wasn't exactly cute, the way she almost tipped over and against the shelf with stacks of canned fruit, but it put a chink in her armor.

The next part was easy, as it fell in line with his natural talent. He spent the rest of the day paying court, pampering, and spoon-feeding her the usual repertoire of lies. She was just like any other woman he ever had deceived; gullible, desperate and starved for male attention.

Weekend Writing Warriors: Story in 8, Part 1

The ringing of the phone took her by surprise, the person calling, however, didn't.
"You still there?" he snorted.
She looked across the room, the black handbag was yet to be zipped.
Like a signal from above, the ceiling light cast a spotlight on it, and the item she had put in last.
She would need both her hands to use it.
"Will you ever leave me?" he slurred, when the tavern row in the background died down for a moment, "or is it like that last time, when I had to come pick you up from the station,
remember that?"
Her hand choked the phone.
"Honey," she said, "I could never leave you."

 ___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Welcome to another Sunday with WeWriWa and beautiful 8 sentence snippets. This week, I want to try something entirely different, it's an experiment. This is an attempt at telling a whole story in 8 sentences. Did I succeed? Please don't hold back, hit me with your comments and feedback! Happy Sunday everyone! :)

Weekend Writing Warriors: Ebony Eyes

 

Hey there, writers, and welcome to another beautiful Sunday with wewriwa! I want to continue this week's snippet where I left off the last time - Artie's relaxing at the Town Square in Southampton, when a woman and her dog show up at the fountain. First, doggy gets a lift on top of the brim to quench his thirst, then walks over to inspect Artie...

On top of the brim, the dog edged his way towards Artie.

The woman smiled and lengthened the leash, 
“Ah, he likes you." 
He sniffed around the edges, then shook, and thick drops of water landed on Artie's bare arm; water and dog drool. 
His face spasmed in disgust,
“Well, what’s not to like…”

The woman laughed a hoarse laugh that quickly grew into a dry rale cough. The dog's ebony eyes were glued to his as he sat down in front of him.  
Artie reluctantly moved his hand to pet the dog’s head. 
A coat of firm bristles met his palm.

Weekend Writing Warriors: At the Town Square

Hello and huzzah to another fun-filled Weekend Writing Warrior extravaganza! I'm jumping ahead in my story. Artie has crossed an ocean and finds himself in a place called Southampton, Hampshire...


Artie slid his arms through the leather straps and dropped the backpack on the stair in front of the fountain. The street café across the town square was jam-packed with sun worshippers and children, spooning ice cream from bowls with the most luscious formations. He closed his eyes to the noise, the clinking of glasses and the sound of their banter.

As he re-opened them, an elderly woman with black sun glasses and a heavy fur coat made her way towards the fountain. A brawny dog padded besides her on a leash. She dragged herself up the steps towards the brim, and for a brief moment, Artie noticed the dog frowning at him in passing.

The woman groaned with exertion as she lifted the dog up on the edge of the fountain. Once he was at the top, he craned his white neck towards the surface and began drinking the water.

Thank you for stopping by and have a wonderful Sunday! :)

Weekend Writing Warriors: Forever Gone

Hey there, Warriors, I'm glad you could make it!! This week, I'll continue with Anoethau right where we left off the last time. Artie is in hiding on board a transatlantic freighter. He tries to stay under the radar, but is soon discovered by the ship's cook Francis. Francis offers him work in the kitchen as payment for the passage...



Pedro gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. When the laughter died down, they both picked up peeling carrots, and potatoes after that. The kitchen soon fell silent except for Francis’ occasional whistles and the sound of water boiling vigorously inside pots.

When Artie went outside the galley, the sky had put on a darkening coat. He leaned against the railing and looked at the sea. It was calm and even but for the icy wind nipping at his ears. The ship had long departed New York Harbor, and he regretted not having seen it take off. His last chance to say good bye; he had missed it.

Weekend Writing Warriors: In Disguise

 

Hey Warriors, and welcome to another fun-filled Sunday with wewriwa! Soooo, what do we have here today, another scene from Anoethau! Main character Artie is the guy I have been following around during NaNoWriMo. Ever since he found a magical weapon in his vegetable patch, things haven't been going so well for him. At this point in the story, having violated his parole, he needs to keep a low profile for a little while..luckily he finds a job in a cookhouse, run by a guy named Francis...the people working there think his name is Richie..



“Richie, where did you work before Francis hired you?” Pedro asked, as they each grabbed a carrot from the large pile in front of them, “a kitchen in New York?” 
Francis stopped stirring and looked up from the pot; the both of them seemed awfully curious about the new crew member. 
Although Artie had worked at a breakfast diner in Oakley, he didn't consider himself a full-fledged cook. People at Timm's had rarely ordered anything besides the typical breakfast meals, a small number of dishes including eggs and bacon.
“A small diner in Idaho,” he replied, which, for once, wasn't a lie. 
“So, did you learn how to peel carrots there?” Francis asked, the irony spread thick in his voice. Artie looked down, the guy next to him was bursting with laughter. 
The carrot in his hand was peeled down to a tiny shred. 

Short Notice: Heartbeat

There are many forces at work, the forces that cause the beating of your heart. Having a sinoatrial node is one of those things. It is the tissue, that will keep the heart in a certain steady pace. Electrophysiology gives rise to the short circuit, or conduit of heartbeat.

Have you ever wondered if there is such a thing as a long circuit? It may sound silly, but yes, I'm asking for the electropsychology of heartbeat, or something that gives some form of motivation for it to beat.

(Yes, I know... extra sappy intro today. Feel free to blame it on the serious case of candy and teddy bear poisoning I am currently suffering from..)

Still, back to the potential existence of e-psychology..

Is there, or is there not such a thing as a heartbeat motivation? As expected, what tells your heart to beat is not the heart itself but something entirely different..

Right, and we're here again at Grand Central. It's the brain. It always seems to come down to it! Brain is in charge of all things voluntary and involuntary. It is Mommy Goose, at the head end of the table, telling her children (body parts) what to do. That's her job.

What she likes to do in her time off however, is to read a good book, a great one even, if there is time. Were it not for those excellent stories, shimmering horizons and glaring heroes, Mommy wouldn't have a reason to get out of bed once that dark, cloud-covered Monday morning comes, again and again, another one each week. 

Opinions differ on this question. Many people argue that that is not motivation however; motivation - to them - is things we don't have, future-wants. They state that it's money or the prospect of success keeping us going, as in reasons why we want to strive forward, implying that we're dutiful creatures, caring creatures, even greedy ones first, and explorers second.

But think about it; while a job, well done or a sorrow, nullified may cause ephemeral satisfaction in the reward center of your brain (aka Mommy's living room), we tend to quickly shrug it off and sign another small check mark on that long list of to-do's. And as we move on we forget about it. That list is as long as our lives. 

Because there is no long-term significance in short-sighted achievements. Wheew, that was a mouthful. Better focus on the keeping-ourselves-entertained-while-we-get-there part, wherever the destination may be. Hoping for metamorphosis through things to come is less rewarding than taking that brain out for a spin and let it see things; it will light up like a Christmas tree and bring happiness; yap, keep it circulated - that's what we are wired for. And all those things, life, stories, real or imaginary, they are right there, tangible and up for grabs.

Excellent defib for tired hearts: Howl's Moving Castle

~Get well soon, hubbs!~

Weekend Writing Warriors: Stalwart

Yay, it's WeWriWa, week #2. I'm glad you could join us. What I have here, is another excerpt from Anoethau, fast forwarding from where we left off last week, to introduce one of the other major players, and yes, before you ask, this all goes down in a public toilet. So please, have a ball today, writers, readers, and don't forget to visit us on our website every now and again, for there might be interesting stuff happening besides sign-up..like this week's prize..I mean, have you seen the size of it??! :)

Cabby moved forward towards the grime-stained urinal. Another small step, and another. He snarled. The little bell at his collar rang in that same high-pitched frequency Artie had heard once before. He drew the sword. The shadows crept closer and closer, but Cabby held his ground. He anchored his paws into the floor. As a warrior would do, Artie realized, and mirrored the dog's stance on his own two feet as best he could.

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Weekend Writing Warriors: Little White Hilt

Welcome writers, for today is the first Sunday of Weekend Writing Warriors! Squee!! I'm so thrilled and excited to making the rounds, being a happy blog-hopping bee and all! So, for the first WeWriWa, what could be more appropriate than a story about a man who found an ancient and magical weapon in his vegetable patch? Since he's out on parole, he tries to get rid of it quickly, but of course, with magical weapons, it's not as easy as throwing away gum wrapper: this is Artie Kendrick, and the Little White Hilt, sword of myth & legends.

 

He turned it within his palm, and the moon cast his light on the upper part of the blade. Artie's gaze fell upon an engraving on the steel.

He felt the roughness between his fingers, cold and sharp – when the letters came alive in front of his mind’s eye; a message, reflecting from the surface of the river, a voice, murmured from the far side of the reed.

“Take....me....up...”

A cold shiver ran down his spine. What kind of trick was this? 

A stir went through the river bank. Someone - or something - came tearing through the reeds.

Thank you for visiting me and please help yourself to some of our brand-new wewriwa badges at www.wewriwa.com

Six Sentence Sunday: Black Frame

Good Sunday, Sixers, how are you all doing today? Sadly we've only one more Sunday to go until the official end of Six Sentence Sunday. I haven't been a part of SSS for very long, but I have met some amazing people over the last couple of months. Thank you for all the input and writerly advice. I really hope we all find a new home and purpose for that day. Sunday sans all the writing really is an annoying day, when you think about it. It's the coma before the week's storm. Anyways, today I'd like to share another excerpt from Mr. Peker Rue's Soul Shake, a short story I wrote about a year ago. I'll continue right where I left off the last time. You can find the whole story on Scribd.

"Good news!" the doctor said, looking up from the screen. 
He adjusted the position of his black-framed glasses. Fred noticed his slender hands as they touched the frame, and he envied him for a moment. 
"It's not your heart, Mr. Peker Rue." 
"Please, call me Fred, I insist." 
The doctor ignored the request once again.

Awww. Kitty sleeps in my bookshelf.