L.R.S.'s Blog
May 9, 2014
Free for Mother's Day weekend only!
Launching Sisters to WitchCamp is free for Mother's Day weekend, exclusively at my publisher's site (tinyurl.com/lymjdvn [MuseItUp Publishing]). This is the direct link to the book. Please use coupon code MOTHERSDAYFREE at checkout.
Enjoy!
Enjoy!
March 13, 2014
Your ticket back in time to middle grade school days.
Hi there, would you be kind enough to humor me and share the following information:
1. the name of your best friend in middle school
2. the name of your middle school
3. the name of the sibling closest in age to you
4. the name of your baseball home team
Based on the information you have provided, I’m going to ask you another question, and for this one you need to be wearing your honesty cap. Hold it, you don’t have one? Back in the old days, elementary schools should have given them out along with those terribly helpful thinking caps they doled out during arithmetic lessons. Eh, but if my workbooks attest to the powers of caps, you didn’t miss out on much.
Okay, so psychological integrity is a foreign concept to some of us. Let’s try a more manipulative method. Stare at the edge of your nose, close your eyes and think Truth. Truth. Truth. You’re going to say the truth.
Now that you’re in a hypnotic state, what’s the first thing that comes to your head when I say the answer to number three? (Please refer to the list above.)
What? I didn’t hear you. Oh, I see, you’re wary of speaking up. Hmm, then I guess I’ll have to take the keyboard back, big brave me. I’m not scared of retribution; I’m also probably the only one here today who’s writing under a pen name that is unknown to her siblings, but that’s beside the point.
Maybe I’m not being fair claiming to be more courageous than you; perhaps you’re all grownup, and believe you’re so over “that”— the petty torments of your childhood. So what if the answer to number three flushed your card collection of the answer to number four down the toilet, hung up pictures of you as a baby in the bath in the answer to number two’s main entrance, and stole the answer to number one? You harbor no ill feelings.
But here I am, stuck in my nursery. Hey! That explains why I wrote Launching Sisters to WitchCamp while other authors out there are writing the next great American novel.
On a more serious note, tapping into those raw childhood emotions was one of the first steps I took to write my middle grade fantasy. Though I have more than ten years of experience working with families, and I myself am a mother in a dynamic family, I wrote from neither of these vantage points. Instead, I traveled back in time and wrote from my own middle grade mindset.
Critics will doubt the feasibility of doing that, and I admit I couldn’t remove the effect of my adult hindsight, but I tried to stay in that time period and emotional framework as much as possible. I don’t have a remarkable memory when it comes to facts and figures, but I do have a strong episodic memory. More significant is the fact that I was “blessed” with an acute emotional awareness, and my memories evoke the same emotions I experienced at the time of occurrence. I wasn’t kidding about being stuck. At least I found a way to take advantage of my baggage when I played out my feelings of sibling rivalry and familial frustrations with J.J. and his sisters.
I hear you. So what can those writers who aren’t bogged down by phenomenal episodic memories do? I basically said it already, but am going to reiterate, in a different order, the steps to writing in an authentic middle grade voice:
Be brave. Man up and own up to the demoralizing fact that indeed, you were once a kid. And that kid lived through many different types of experiences.
Put on your honesty cap. What emotions stand out from those times? To me the need of affirmation, the lack of control, and the desire to be number one lay at the very top of my middle grade emotional storage box.
Get hypnotized. Or whatever it takes for you to deal with those long-buried emotions; they are real and raw, but therein exists their power to transport you back in time.
Just a cautionary note: before you embark on this emotion-laden historic journey, dash off a text warning the answer to number three. It’s only ethical to give your potential victim a chance to run away from the rage crime of the century.
1. the name of your best friend in middle school
2. the name of your middle school
3. the name of the sibling closest in age to you
4. the name of your baseball home team
Based on the information you have provided, I’m going to ask you another question, and for this one you need to be wearing your honesty cap. Hold it, you don’t have one? Back in the old days, elementary schools should have given them out along with those terribly helpful thinking caps they doled out during arithmetic lessons. Eh, but if my workbooks attest to the powers of caps, you didn’t miss out on much.
Okay, so psychological integrity is a foreign concept to some of us. Let’s try a more manipulative method. Stare at the edge of your nose, close your eyes and think Truth. Truth. Truth. You’re going to say the truth.
Now that you’re in a hypnotic state, what’s the first thing that comes to your head when I say the answer to number three? (Please refer to the list above.)
What? I didn’t hear you. Oh, I see, you’re wary of speaking up. Hmm, then I guess I’ll have to take the keyboard back, big brave me. I’m not scared of retribution; I’m also probably the only one here today who’s writing under a pen name that is unknown to her siblings, but that’s beside the point.
Maybe I’m not being fair claiming to be more courageous than you; perhaps you’re all grownup, and believe you’re so over “that”— the petty torments of your childhood. So what if the answer to number three flushed your card collection of the answer to number four down the toilet, hung up pictures of you as a baby in the bath in the answer to number two’s main entrance, and stole the answer to number one? You harbor no ill feelings.
But here I am, stuck in my nursery. Hey! That explains why I wrote Launching Sisters to WitchCamp while other authors out there are writing the next great American novel.
On a more serious note, tapping into those raw childhood emotions was one of the first steps I took to write my middle grade fantasy. Though I have more than ten years of experience working with families, and I myself am a mother in a dynamic family, I wrote from neither of these vantage points. Instead, I traveled back in time and wrote from my own middle grade mindset.
Critics will doubt the feasibility of doing that, and I admit I couldn’t remove the effect of my adult hindsight, but I tried to stay in that time period and emotional framework as much as possible. I don’t have a remarkable memory when it comes to facts and figures, but I do have a strong episodic memory. More significant is the fact that I was “blessed” with an acute emotional awareness, and my memories evoke the same emotions I experienced at the time of occurrence. I wasn’t kidding about being stuck. At least I found a way to take advantage of my baggage when I played out my feelings of sibling rivalry and familial frustrations with J.J. and his sisters.
I hear you. So what can those writers who aren’t bogged down by phenomenal episodic memories do? I basically said it already, but am going to reiterate, in a different order, the steps to writing in an authentic middle grade voice:
Be brave. Man up and own up to the demoralizing fact that indeed, you were once a kid. And that kid lived through many different types of experiences.
Put on your honesty cap. What emotions stand out from those times? To me the need of affirmation, the lack of control, and the desire to be number one lay at the very top of my middle grade emotional storage box.
Get hypnotized. Or whatever it takes for you to deal with those long-buried emotions; they are real and raw, but therein exists their power to transport you back in time.
Just a cautionary note: before you embark on this emotion-laden historic journey, dash off a text warning the answer to number three. It’s only ethical to give your potential victim a chance to run away from the rage crime of the century.
February 24, 2014
We have winners!
I've just emailed two winners of the "Sibling Story contest" gift certificates to MuseItUp Publishing bookstore.
Though the contest is over, as is the tour's raffle, don't despair. You still have a shot at winning a copy (ebook format) of Launching Sisters to WitchCamp, if you email a favorite memory of growing up with your siblings. If you’re over eighteen please send your entries to lrsreadnwrite (at) gmail (dot) com, and on the subject line write “Sibling Stories.” Please don’t send attachments; the story should be submitted in the body of the email.Kids, it's your stories I really want to hear, but please have a parent/caregiver submit your story.
I may post stories that amuse or move me, even if they don't win a copy.
Our winning entries:
Helena Fairfax
Here's my sibling story.
I have a younger brother who is almost exactly a year younger than me, give or take a couple of weeks. As children, we looked very similar. We both had bright red hair which curled in locks our mother was proud of. We also had freckles. (You may have guessed by now our Irish heritage!)
When we were little, right up until we started school, everyone thought we were twins. You can imagine how irritating this was to an older sister. For people to think my little brother was my twin! How demoralizing! This continued right up until we started school. Because we'd moved from abroad, we both started school on the same day, which convinced people even more that we must be twins.
One day, we were walking to school together, and a man on a bike stopped to let us cross the road, with the words..."Come on boys!" Boys! So not only did people think my brother was my twin, they thought we were twin boys!
That night I went home and told my mum I wanted to grow my hair. She was bitterly upset about me losing my curls, but I was adamant. I grew my hair long, right down to my waist, and didn't get it cut until I was in my twenties.
No one thought we were twins again after that.
Leona Pence
I was ten years old at the time. I was sitting on my bed and the open doorway led into the living room where my sixteen year old sister was dancing around to music on the radio. I had just picked a big booger out of my nose, and with no tissue handy, I flipped it off my finger.It sailed through the open doorway like a missile and landed on my sister’s cheek. The look on her face was priceless. She glared at me with murder in her eyes and made me come get it off. I did as she asked/demanded, and I still laugh every time I think about it.
Though the contest is over, as is the tour's raffle, don't despair. You still have a shot at winning a copy (ebook format) of Launching Sisters to WitchCamp, if you email a favorite memory of growing up with your siblings. If you’re over eighteen please send your entries to lrsreadnwrite (at) gmail (dot) com, and on the subject line write “Sibling Stories.” Please don’t send attachments; the story should be submitted in the body of the email.Kids, it's your stories I really want to hear, but please have a parent/caregiver submit your story.
I may post stories that amuse or move me, even if they don't win a copy.
Our winning entries:
Helena Fairfax
Here's my sibling story.
I have a younger brother who is almost exactly a year younger than me, give or take a couple of weeks. As children, we looked very similar. We both had bright red hair which curled in locks our mother was proud of. We also had freckles. (You may have guessed by now our Irish heritage!)
When we were little, right up until we started school, everyone thought we were twins. You can imagine how irritating this was to an older sister. For people to think my little brother was my twin! How demoralizing! This continued right up until we started school. Because we'd moved from abroad, we both started school on the same day, which convinced people even more that we must be twins.
One day, we were walking to school together, and a man on a bike stopped to let us cross the road, with the words..."Come on boys!" Boys! So not only did people think my brother was my twin, they thought we were twin boys!
That night I went home and told my mum I wanted to grow my hair. She was bitterly upset about me losing my curls, but I was adamant. I grew my hair long, right down to my waist, and didn't get it cut until I was in my twenties.
No one thought we were twins again after that.
Leona Pence
I was ten years old at the time. I was sitting on my bed and the open doorway led into the living room where my sixteen year old sister was dancing around to music on the radio. I had just picked a big booger out of my nose, and with no tissue handy, I flipped it off my finger.It sailed through the open doorway like a missile and landed on my sister’s cheek. The look on her face was priceless. She glared at me with murder in her eyes and made me come get it off. I did as she asked/demanded, and I still laugh every time I think about it.
February 18, 2014
Therapy session with Angela
(Disclaimer: This account is fictional, and the behavior of the therapist is completely unethical.)
Angela: What am I doing here? Therapy is for mental kids. I’m not psycho.
LRS: In this room, you’re free to do whatever you want, as long as you don’t hurt anyone… (I’ve read what she can do, and I’ve got to protect my back.)
Angela picks up a stuffed dog sitting next to her on the couch, and rips its tail off.
LRS: … and you can’t hurt anything. I see you’ve got extraordinarily long nails. Why don’t you use them to make designs with finger paints?
Angela pours black finger paint directly on the table and drags her nails through the paint, raking them against the table.
It feels like an army of bugs are running up my back. Angela is watching me, and I fight my urge to squirm. Instead, I pick up a metal fork from the play kitchen and scratch it against a pot.
Angela: (leaping off her chair) OUCH! What do you think you’re doing?
LRS: (Smiling innocently): It’s called mirroring. It’s a play therapy technique.
Angela: What other lame tricks do you have up your sleeve?
LRS: Now that you mention it…. (takes out a family of dolls and a doll house).
Angela rips out a long strand of her frizzy hair and ties it around the doll’s mouth.
LRS: Looks like you don’t want him to talk.
Angela: I’ve put a stop to J.J.’s jokes. He won’t be able to steal the show no more.
Angela rips another strand of hair out and binds the doll’s hands and feet together. Then she throws the body under the back porch.
LRS: It seems you want your brother out of the scene.
Angela: That smelly kid won’t be getting in my way anymore. (Crackling laugh.) And I’ll be free to do whatever I want now that he won’t be around to rat me out to Mom. (Crackling laugh.)
Angela pulls out a nail from her chair with her teeth. Then she retrieves the doll from under the porch, stabs him, and throws the body back under.
Angela: That should fix J.J. good.
LRS: You want to hurt him real bad.
Angela: I don’t want to, I just did. Don’t you know? These dolls you got here are voodoo dolls.
LRS: Sorry to break it to you, but these are knock-offs from China. J.J. is alive and well. In fact, I just got a text message from him this minute.
Angela: AHH! I HATE YOU!
Runs to window and jumps out.
LRS: Wait, we’re missing out on the really good stuff, I was about to try hypnosis.
Cupboard door creaks open. Dirty sneaker pushes through.
LRS: Coast is clear, you can come out now. I busy myself with Angela’s file.
A grubby five dollar bill is shoved in front of my face.
On the first page of the file, I stamp “PSYCHO”. I hand back the bill.
LRS: There’s no need for bribes to convince me of your diagnosis. And after this report, I’m sure Social Services will see your reasoning too.
J.J. leaves my office whistling.
Angela: What am I doing here? Therapy is for mental kids. I’m not psycho.
LRS: In this room, you’re free to do whatever you want, as long as you don’t hurt anyone… (I’ve read what she can do, and I’ve got to protect my back.)
Angela picks up a stuffed dog sitting next to her on the couch, and rips its tail off.
LRS: … and you can’t hurt anything. I see you’ve got extraordinarily long nails. Why don’t you use them to make designs with finger paints?
Angela pours black finger paint directly on the table and drags her nails through the paint, raking them against the table.
It feels like an army of bugs are running up my back. Angela is watching me, and I fight my urge to squirm. Instead, I pick up a metal fork from the play kitchen and scratch it against a pot.
Angela: (leaping off her chair) OUCH! What do you think you’re doing?
LRS: (Smiling innocently): It’s called mirroring. It’s a play therapy technique.
Angela: What other lame tricks do you have up your sleeve?
LRS: Now that you mention it…. (takes out a family of dolls and a doll house).
Angela rips out a long strand of her frizzy hair and ties it around the doll’s mouth.
LRS: Looks like you don’t want him to talk.
Angela: I’ve put a stop to J.J.’s jokes. He won’t be able to steal the show no more.
Angela rips another strand of hair out and binds the doll’s hands and feet together. Then she throws the body under the back porch.
LRS: It seems you want your brother out of the scene.
Angela: That smelly kid won’t be getting in my way anymore. (Crackling laugh.) And I’ll be free to do whatever I want now that he won’t be around to rat me out to Mom. (Crackling laugh.)
Angela pulls out a nail from her chair with her teeth. Then she retrieves the doll from under the porch, stabs him, and throws the body back under.
Angela: That should fix J.J. good.
LRS: You want to hurt him real bad.
Angela: I don’t want to, I just did. Don’t you know? These dolls you got here are voodoo dolls.
LRS: Sorry to break it to you, but these are knock-offs from China. J.J. is alive and well. In fact, I just got a text message from him this minute.
Angela: AHH! I HATE YOU!
Runs to window and jumps out.
LRS: Wait, we’re missing out on the really good stuff, I was about to try hypnosis.
Cupboard door creaks open. Dirty sneaker pushes through.
LRS: Coast is clear, you can come out now. I busy myself with Angela’s file.
A grubby five dollar bill is shoved in front of my face.
On the first page of the file, I stamp “PSYCHO”. I hand back the bill.
LRS: There’s no need for bribes to convince me of your diagnosis. And after this report, I’m sure Social Services will see your reasoning too.
J.J. leaves my office whistling.
February 12, 2014
A Tale of Psychological Horrors and Reports, and Overgrown Nails.
(This post was originally up at my editor's blog -- http://www.katielcarroll.com/blog/. I'm posting it here for those that missed it.)
My brothers claim that growing up, I was an award-winning storyteller. They’ve never forgotten the tales I entertained them with about a quarter of a century ago.
Don’t be too impressed, my stories are not memorable for their genius; rather, I fed them psychological horrors. It’s kind of ironic, because though it took me until my thirties to author stories, I did major in psychology.
On a serious note, in a roundabout way, psychology is what led me to this childhood dream. Contrary to other psychotherapy interns, I appreciated writing client assessments. The danger of reports is that they can make the clients appear to be but a sum total of their issues; I embraced the challenge to portray my clients for who they really were as people.
It’s my work on characterization that fired up my dormant passion. I indulged myself, and set out to write a YA series (which is a work in progress under a different pen name). As I navigate this process, I’m constantly reminded of the extent that my psychological background influences my craft. I’ll let editors do pretty much whatever they want with my manuscripts, but I’m overprotective of my characters. For example, I’m particular that each and every piece of their dialogue should be true to them.
As a side note, I gave Launching Sisters to WitchCamp’s editor, Katie, a free hand with my characters too, as she “got” them right off the bat. I’m sure many authors can relate to the sense of pleasure / satisfaction when others grasp their characters well. To me, it’s reminiscent of the feeling mental health workers have when they sense another professional understands their client.
Launching Sisters to WitchCamp, was born during a transition period between book one and two in my YA series. I remember exactly where I was standing when the idea behind the story hit me: the bathroom sink with a nail clipper aimed at my daughter’s grotesquely long nails.
She was putting up a resistance that would impress the IRA, and I had to come up with the ultimate motivator in the few seconds I had before she’d bolt.
“If your nails get any longer, the Witches’ Camp will come for you!”
The rest is history.
Oh, and don’t worry that I’ve set out to horrify you in Launching Sisters to WitchCamp. As long as you’re no giant, goblin, or monster, you’re quite safe.
My brothers claim that growing up, I was an award-winning storyteller. They’ve never forgotten the tales I entertained them with about a quarter of a century ago.
Don’t be too impressed, my stories are not memorable for their genius; rather, I fed them psychological horrors. It’s kind of ironic, because though it took me until my thirties to author stories, I did major in psychology.
On a serious note, in a roundabout way, psychology is what led me to this childhood dream. Contrary to other psychotherapy interns, I appreciated writing client assessments. The danger of reports is that they can make the clients appear to be but a sum total of their issues; I embraced the challenge to portray my clients for who they really were as people.
It’s my work on characterization that fired up my dormant passion. I indulged myself, and set out to write a YA series (which is a work in progress under a different pen name). As I navigate this process, I’m constantly reminded of the extent that my psychological background influences my craft. I’ll let editors do pretty much whatever they want with my manuscripts, but I’m overprotective of my characters. For example, I’m particular that each and every piece of their dialogue should be true to them.
As a side note, I gave Launching Sisters to WitchCamp’s editor, Katie, a free hand with my characters too, as she “got” them right off the bat. I’m sure many authors can relate to the sense of pleasure / satisfaction when others grasp their characters well. To me, it’s reminiscent of the feeling mental health workers have when they sense another professional understands their client.
Launching Sisters to WitchCamp, was born during a transition period between book one and two in my YA series. I remember exactly where I was standing when the idea behind the story hit me: the bathroom sink with a nail clipper aimed at my daughter’s grotesquely long nails.
She was putting up a resistance that would impress the IRA, and I had to come up with the ultimate motivator in the few seconds I had before she’d bolt.
“If your nails get any longer, the Witches’ Camp will come for you!”
The rest is history.
Oh, and don’t worry that I’ve set out to horrify you in Launching Sisters to WitchCamp. As long as you’re no giant, goblin, or monster, you’re quite safe.
February 1, 2014
Book Tour Schedule
For the next two weeks, Launching Sister to WitchCamp is making the rounds and getting the word out there.Here's the schedule:
Feb 3 Interview Kat de Falla
www.quillorpill.blogspot.com
Feb 4 Spotlight Sapphyria's Book Reviews
http://saphsbookblog.blogspot.com/
Feb 5 Interview Mom With A Kindle
http://momwithakindle.blogspot.com/
Feb 6 Spotlight Partners in Shopping, Nana, Mommy, & Sissy, Too!
http://3partnersinshopping.blogspot.com
Feb 7 Interview Books in the Hall
http://booksinthehall.blogspot.com/
Feb 7 review Cover2CoverBlog
www.cover2coverblog.blogspot.com
(In addition, on Feb 7, my editor has honored me with a spot on her blog. Guest post will be at:
http://www.katielcarroll.com/blog/)
Feb 10 Spotlight Baby Bookworms in Black Words-White Pages
http://babybookwormsbwwp.blogspot.com
Feb 10 Review A Mama's Corner of the World
http://www.amamascorneroftheworld.com
Feb 11 Interview Eclipse Reviews
http://totaleclipsereviews.blogspot.com
Feb 11 Spotlight and review Luv Books Galore
www.luvbooksgalore.blogspot.com
Feb 12 Guest blog Fang-tastic Books
www.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com
Feb 13 Guest blog The Writerly Exploits of Mara Valderran
http://maravalderran.blogspot.com
Feb 13 review My Tangled Skeins Book Reviews
http://mytangledskeinsbookreviews.blogspot.com
Feb 14 Guest blog Books Direct
http://booksdirectonline.blogspot.com.au/
Feb 14 Spotligh tMidnight Musings with Bertena
www.bertena.com
Feb 14 Spotlight Author Karen Swart
http://authorkarenswart.blogspot.com/
Feb 17 Interview and review Dalene’s Book Reviews
http://dalenesbookreviews..blogspot.com
Feb 17 Interview Pembroke Sinclair.
www.pembrokesinclair.blogspot.com
January 31, 2014
Celebrating going over to the dark side with cookies.
My new black sweater from GAP.com came in yesterday's post, just in time for today's release of Launching Sisters to WitchCamp. Clad completely in black, I'm ready to fly off with the witches should they come for me. With my history, I best be ready.
I'm not looking forward to the cuisine there. See, I refrain from eating meat, and the WitchCamp menu lists only their hot items: giant toes, goblins' bellies, troll brains, dragon fat...
Therefore, I must part from my keyboard and get back to my (un)magical spoon and mixing bowl to whip up a batch of cookies. Cookies are a staple in my diet, and in my freezer right now sit: frosted sugar cookies, lemon bars, honey cookies, sprinkled balls, fudge pie cookies, and of course, chocolate chip. But this occasion calls for a truly dark delight.
And so I bring to you one of my kids' favorites:
The Double Chocolate Chip Cookie.
Guest invariably gobble it up and beg for the recipe, yet I've never divulged it before.
Yet today I'm inclined to. It would be a pity if I disappear to WitchCamp and the secret will remain locked under witches' spells.
Here it comes...
buy a Duncan Hines brownie mix
Yup, that's the classified info.
I mix the bag up with two eggs and a few spoons of canola oil (just enough that it turns into a heavy, thick batter). Then I throw in good quality chocolate chips (about half a bag), or better yet, a fine bittersweet chocolate bar cut into little pieces. A quick stir, and I spoon leveled tablespoons onto a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Cookies are baked at 350 for 12 -15 minutes. Still ensconced on the pan, the slightly gooey concoction is laid to rest on the counter. Usually at this point I'll sprinkle powdered sugar over the crackling cookies, but today's batch will have to forego the white sugar overkill in keeping with the mood of the times.
You're welcome to taste these zero calorie cookies I have to offer you, but I recommend you fix a batch of your own. Yes, they're rich in calories, but you need it if the witches stop by for you.
I hear they're on the loose.
I'm not looking forward to the cuisine there. See, I refrain from eating meat, and the WitchCamp menu lists only their hot items: giant toes, goblins' bellies, troll brains, dragon fat...
Therefore, I must part from my keyboard and get back to my (un)magical spoon and mixing bowl to whip up a batch of cookies. Cookies are a staple in my diet, and in my freezer right now sit: frosted sugar cookies, lemon bars, honey cookies, sprinkled balls, fudge pie cookies, and of course, chocolate chip. But this occasion calls for a truly dark delight.
And so I bring to you one of my kids' favorites:
The Double Chocolate Chip Cookie.
Guest invariably gobble it up and beg for the recipe, yet I've never divulged it before.
Yet today I'm inclined to. It would be a pity if I disappear to WitchCamp and the secret will remain locked under witches' spells.
Here it comes...
buy a Duncan Hines brownie mix
Yup, that's the classified info.
I mix the bag up with two eggs and a few spoons of canola oil (just enough that it turns into a heavy, thick batter). Then I throw in good quality chocolate chips (about half a bag), or better yet, a fine bittersweet chocolate bar cut into little pieces. A quick stir, and I spoon leveled tablespoons onto a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper. Cookies are baked at 350 for 12 -15 minutes. Still ensconced on the pan, the slightly gooey concoction is laid to rest on the counter. Usually at this point I'll sprinkle powdered sugar over the crackling cookies, but today's batch will have to forego the white sugar overkill in keeping with the mood of the times.
You're welcome to taste these zero calorie cookies I have to offer you, but I recommend you fix a batch of your own. Yes, they're rich in calories, but you need it if the witches stop by for you.
I hear they're on the loose.
