Okay, how do you say leg? Jail? Wolf? Crayon? Apparently I can’t say any one of them right! By the time my coworkers are through with me, I’ll be a stuttering nincompoop hauling a dictionary around in sweaty palms. We used to be polite people until we were stuffed into a roomful of boxes and told to scan. Yep, I’m a scanning girl. It’s what keeps me alive while I try to market the great American novel. I say ‘market’ because I’ve written many a novel, but it’s just getting these books out into the real world that’s the issue. And so I keep writing and keeping myself alive with my day job. I’d say that scanning is like weaving straw into gold, except it’s twice as monotonous and there aren’t any old crones helping me get my prince–nope, just some obnoxious boys who correct my pronunciation, refuse to believe osmosis is learning while you sleep, and complain when I make them be in my movies. But that’s okay because at least I can say warm, mountain, and Josh Groban. Yeah, that’s right!–they can’t! So who can’t talk now? SNAP!