October 21, 1988.

I suppose to start the story of someone's life, you would have to start at the very beginning - which I suppose would be my birth. But to be honest, it would be exceedingly boring and probably only half-truths, because I only know what I've been told, which was that it was all very normal. My dad wanted to call me Catherine and my mother wanted to call me Nadine. I'm not sure how they settled on Jami, but I don't really like any of them. I think if I had had any input in the matter, I would have called myself 'Captain Awesome'.

I grew up in a lot of different places. My father was a truck driver and he changed companies quite often. I can't count how many times we moved on both hands. I don't remember much, either. I remember little things, like playing in the snow in our backyard, or throwing rocks into the street (and subsequently hitting a car and getting railed on by a stranger.) Sometimes I think most of my memories of my early childhood are just made up from the buckets of photographs we have. Sometimes I can't tell if what I remember is something from my own mind, or a story I've been told.

I was a good baby, according to my mother. I was a rotten toddler.

Katsa. She is an incredibly strong, independant woman in an adverse setting. She's employed by the King to be a thug; she's the one that bullies his subjects into submitting information or money. But she hates it. She has the Grace to kill, but she'd rather be a normal girl. In the end, she discovers that her Grace isn't killing, but rather surviving. And I would really love to have her courage, her love and her ability to survive anything. Not to mention, she gets the hot guy and that's always a plus.

It seems unfair to use inspiration from a novel I'm already writing, but as a novel writer, I can't seem to write anything that is simple, mindless fluff without a fleshed out background. So this is just a brief glimpse into one of my novels, perhaps a hidden scene, but I think it stands well on it's own.

A return ticket to Hell

Death. He could feel it's cold hands gasping him, pulling him towards the fires of Gehenna, the entrance to Sheol, the pit of eternal torment. His life had been meaningless sin, his mortal mind encumbered by the demonic blood in his veins. He struggled to remain a part of the human world, envisioning the beautiful parts of it - the majestic mountains where he'd spent his fifth birthday before his parents had realized his corrupt nature; the rolling, cloudy sea in February; the painted coastal houses that were as many colors as the rainbow, lined along the shore; her face, her nose, her eyes, and the way only she had ever looked at him. As though there were something good in him. His vision was a black fog and he could feel the ice waters of the Stygian river that waited for him. But her hand on his arm was like a warm breath and he opened his eyes. She was surrounded by the red glow of the burning fires, but with her wings outstretched behind her and the light dancing in her eyes, it might as well have been a halo. She was beautiful. He would live, if only for her.