OH. MY. GOD.

These are still the author's notes, but they have changed to reflect the changes in the story. A year ago, I never pictured this story would end this way. Hell, a year ago, I wasn't sure this story *would* end. But it did. And it even has a finished sequal!

Whoo!

Anyway, I got all neat when I posted this and came up with some really neat notes that I thought I'd reprint here. :)

Dedications: Wow, are there a lot. To Lynxie and BJ Carlson who originally inspired the idea and Josh's date's name. To Pebbsie who beta'd this in the early stages and occasionally badgered me to get it done. To Ali McKenzie for general inspiration and for giving me back my love of these characters. To Pet and M. Lei for putting up with my constant badgering for 'one more beta!' And finally, to Lisa. You won't be reading this but you are my closest friend, best Beta, and the funniest person I'll ever know. We scare me too, hon.

Notes: This story started a long time ago. It was more a vague conception than an actual idea, in the beginning. Well, for the most part of it’s writing.

I’ve never really been a story teller. Oh, I love them. Stories and memory are what make the world. They create what we know and shape our lives. The idea, the inspiration, the words... all of them are beautiful and unique.

As I was saying, I’ve never really been a teller. I’ve been a listener who takes what she hears and projects it back. In another life, I think I would have been a bard. Ah, but there’s the rub, you say. Not so true. Bards didn’t *create*. What they did was, often, record. Gather tales and give them to others, shining gifts of knowledge created by ink and parchment. That life appeals to me. Giving back another’s words, their soul.

Maybe that’s why fanfiction is so appealing to me.

Someone once said that fanfiction is the people’s way of taking back their folktales. I think this is truer than we know. So, by archiving, I’ve collected things. Put them away for others to see when they wish.

But these notes aren’t about an archive. No, they’re about a story. A story of my own.

Being a listener doesn’t mean that I don’t *want* to tell. It just means that I don’t think that the way I tell my own tales could ever compare to better tellers. Language, although vast and amazing, can be so limiting.

Every sentence I type seems.. forced. Not right or complete. That doesn’t stop me from wanting, needing, to tell my own stories. Flawed as they may be, they are a part of me. Something of mine, and mine alone.

That is rare for me. Everything I have has been part of someone or something. Although this story has elements that are not mine, most obviously the characters, the situations and feelings: they are. This is MY tale. These are MY words.

And if they are not beautiful, or right... they are still mine. And in being so... they are amazing.

So, friends, I welcome you to something unique.