Dear fingers:
Contrary to your impulse at least six times in the past 24 hours, it is not the Aesir nori novel. Okay? Noir. No wrapping Odin in seaweed.
Certain Parties suggest I should save that for a sequel. Certain Parties amuse me but may not be far wrong, alas.
Love,
mrissa Dear brain:
As long as you're eavesdropping on this sort of thing, noodling on a '30s gangster showdown between Njord and the daughters of Ran is really not the thing. No. Really not.
Love,
mrissa Dear ears:
Quiddit. I'm tryinna work here.
Love,
mrissa