Gratitude: My Best Friends

Recent events have made me take stock of some things, and one of those big things is looking at who are my true friends.

I believe true friends are those with whom I can be purely the real me. No games, no pretending.

These are the friends who love me as I am, no matter what. When I am with them I can express my honest opinion and be accepted even if the other person disagrees completely. (And you know that's a big deal, because I'm so darn opinionated.)

These are the people who love me even if they haven't seen me in months. We can pick up exactly where we left off last time. There's no awkward lulls or getting used to one another again.

They love me even with all my faults (a big deal, because they know all my faults).

And best of all? They think like I think.

With two exceptions (Hey, Shauna and Janee!), each and every one of my best friends is a writer.

I spent most of my adolescence aching to fit in. Trying, hoping to, and often, miserably failing.

I was so painfully shy in my early high school years that frankly, it was a miracle that by my junior year, I found a group where I thought I fit in. But by senior year they'd go off and do a bunch of big stuff without me.

So I knew that I sort of fit in with them, but I was really on edge of the group, not the inner circle. They might disagree with that assessment (go ahead and say so in the comments. I dare you; I know some of you are reading this), but from where I stand, it's the truth.

But with my writer friends, it's different.

I finally belong.

I remember vividly doing a Literacy Night event at a Relief Society Enrichment Night back when I felt welcomed by several writers but didn't quite yet feel like I was one of them.

Shortly after I arrived, Julie Wright put her arms around me, gave me one of her trademark hugs, and said, "Annette, I just love you."

And you know what? I knew she meant it. I had to hold back tears.

I hugged her back and said I loved her, too. And boy, did I ever mean it. I absolutely adore Julie. She is a gem, and I value her friendship more than words can express. From that moment, I knew I belonged.

The members of my critique group are also on the list of my dearest friends. They've put up with me for a very long time. They get an earful from me every week (poor Lu Ann has heard me longest, but Michele isn't far behind, and then there's Jeff and Heather and Rob).

They are all there for me and they genuinely care for me as family, whether it's at weekly meetings or via e-mail, whether it's to celebrate a small success or vent a frustration or just share a laugh. I can always count on them.

Then there's Josi. I still laugh at how our friendship got off to a bumpy start nearly six years ago with a totally stupid argument, but now, we're closer than many sisters. I can't imagine writing or publishing or working a conference without her in the picture (or sharing a hotel room so we can chat late into the night).

There are others who have been there for me and are dear, dear friends (the LDStorymakers list is nearing 100 now; I can't list everyone who has impacted me in a positive way!).

But this is a short list of my rocks, my dearest friends, the ones who have been with me the longest and have made the biggest impact on my life.

And I don't mean the ones who have made the biggest impact on my writing life, although if I were to make that kind of list, it would probably include most of the same people.

I mean that these friends have made a huge impact on my life.

Thanks, you guys. To each and every one of you.

You have no idea how much you've given me and how much I owe you. I've needed your friendships. I love you all. Thank you for letting me into your lives and hearts. I believe I'm a better person for it.

Writing Journey: Part XX

Wowzers: Part Twenty!

So as you probably figured out from last time (well, THIS was really last Friday, but you know what I mean), even though I turned in the deployment book in October of 2008, it wouldn't be out fall 2009. Instead of a lag time of roughly 9 or 10 months, it would be about twice that.

Originally the release date was "spring" 2010 (which was hard to hear, because that could mean several different months and you have no clue what to plan for), but I now have an official release date for that book: this March.

I don't yet have an official title, but for the first time in ages, I submitted a manuscript with a title. I'm calling it Band of Sisters. (Get it? Like an army "Band of Brothers"? Their wives at home are a "Band of Sisters"? It was my husband's idea.)

So far, my editor and I are still calling it that, but I have no idea if the committee is really giving it that title or whether it'll change. (I'll post that info here when I find out.)

Right about the time I was finishing up Band of Sisters (and getting ready for edits on Tower of Strength . . . remember how the time lines of of all these stories really overlap?) my husband and I took a trip to visit my parents on their latest mission when they had a two-week break for temple maintenance closure.

You can see our trip in all its glory on this blog HERE, but the short version is that my parents are the first president and matron over the Helsinki, Finland Temple and we got to see all the great sites in the area. What long-time readers may know is that I lived in Finland for three years when I was a kid while my parents presided over the mission there.

I hadn't been back in over twenty years, but even so, Finland has always felt like a second home to me, and returning even for those few days was life-changing. I really felt in so many ways like I'd come home. Smells and sounds and tastes bombarded me, bringing with them memories and emotions that had been buried for over two decades. I even got to see a dear friend a couple of times. (And we're both all grown up! How did that happen?)

I simply didn't want to leave.

One result of the trip was writing-related (of course, or I wouldn't be writing about it on this post). My dad used to teach Finnish literature classes at BYU, and because of that (and also likely because Mom's a Finn and we'd lived there), I'd learned bits and pieces of the Finnish mythology, the Kalevala.

Also, in the Finnish National museum, I'd seen the ceiling murals depicting four of the stories from the book, and I even mentioned one of them in At the Water's Edge. When I was younger, we had several decorative plates showing scenes from the Kalevala on the living room wall.

During our trip to Finland last fall, I had this gut feeling that I had to finally read the whole Kalevala myself once and for all (the one good English translation; I knew I wouldn't understand the original Finnish well enough anymore).

A second thought followed right behind the first: after reading it, I needed to novelize one of the folktales in it, much like Shannon Hale's Book of a Thousand Days or Jessica Day George's Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow. I left Finland absolutely compelled to do something similar. I just had to.

The trick was first finding a copy of the Kalevala. My sister and I searched our parents' house for Dad's copy, to no avail. Copies are hard to find, and online they run about a hundred bucks. Ahem. Not exactly in the monthly budget.

But about two weeks later, a package arrived in the mail. My husband, knowing I had this burning drive, had secretly bought me a copy online. After giving him a massive hug and smooch, I dove into it.

Before writing anything new, I had to finish my Tower edits and polish up Band of Sisters and then get through the holiday rush, but after that, I wrote a young adult novel about the Aino story very quickly. It was so much fun to write something totally different.

I hadn't dipped my toes into fantasy since my son was a baby (he'll be in 9th grade this fall). It felt good. Even better, my critique group loved it (and a couple said it might be my best work ever . . . that felt even better).

One tiny issue: This book is nothing Covenant would ever in a million years want to publish. It's just not something that would appeal to their target audience. That means to get it published, I'd have to start the national agent query and rejection process.

(We'll not discuss how many rejections I've received so far.)

Right around the time I was finishing up the Kalevala book, which I'm currently calling Song for Aino, two other projects landed on my lap because others asked for them.

Here I had a book about to be released in March (Tower of Strength, if you're keeping track) and with it a blog tour and other promotion to coordinate. And yet . . . since I have a habit of not saying no when it comes to writing stuff, I said yes to both projects.

Plus, I was on the Whitney Committee. And the LDStorymakers Conference Committee.

Spring would be a bit busy.

WNW: Conversational Pause Lengths

One of the most interesting things I learned in my English 223 class (you know by now who taught it, right?) was about conversational rules and pause lengths in particular. It was also the first place I heard the name of Deborah Tannen (I've mentioned her before . . . read her! She literally changed how I view myself).

One thing Tannen mentions in her work is pause lengths in conversation, cues as to when it's someone else's turn to start talking. Most of the time, we aren't aware of these kinds of things as we talk, but all of us have our own internal "clock" that tells us when someone's done saying something and we're allowed to take the floor with our own thoughts.

The interesting thing is that everyone has their own pause lengths. Genders tend to have different pause lengths. So do different cultures. For some it's half a second, for some it's two seconds, for someone else it's a length in between.

And, as I've read some of Tannen's books, I've realized that even families have their own conversational styles and rules and pause lengths. The one I grew up in would be one of them.

In one of her books (I believe it's That's Not What I Meant!) she describes a male/female work team who often gave presentations together. The woman was deemed not "aggressive" enough in her approach, while she felt her partner just railroaded over her and never gave her a chance to get a word in edgewise.

Someone mentioned to her the idea of pause lengths and suggested the idea that maybe she was just waiting to long to jump in, that perhaps her partner was speaking up during what he perceived as a silence needing filling because he thought the silence had gone on a fraction of a second too long when it was her turn to speak, so he jumped back in and kept talking.

She took that advice. As uncomfortable as it was for her to jump in when he'd barely stopped talking (to her it felt like interrupting him), suddenly their presentations started going great. Instead of being offended at her "interrupting him," his respect level went up like nothing else, and she started getting rave reviews.

All because she'd previously been waiting possibly as much as half a second longer than she needed to before she spoke up.

In general, I think women have slightly longer pause lengths than men.

That's definitely not the case in my family (which consists of mostly women), nor in the family I married into (which consists mostly of men).

The first time my husband-to-be came to a dinner at my parents', I think he felt like a deer in the headlights at how fast and furious the female conversation flew around the table. Based on a lifetime of experience, it was no big deal to me; I could follow it and knew how the turn-taking worked. I don't think my poor (then) boyfriend got a word in edgewise, because there wasn't a pause length long enough for what he was used to.

(After fifteen years of marriage, he's learned how to get a word in, but most of the time, he, my brother, and the other brothers-in-law just watch us three sisters jabber. It's almost a sport, we're so good at it.)

To this day, I have to be aware of other people's pause lengths and try to reign myself in, because without even realizing I'm doing it, I can easily go on a chatty rant and roll right over someone trying to talk. To me, the pause length was short enough to indicate that it was my turn to talk. But it wasn't a long enough pause length for them.

It's a delicate balance, and I often wonder how many people I've offended based on growing up with short pause lengths.

Our "Exciting" Fourth

We spent the weekend up at my in-laws with all four of the Lyon siblings who are in Utah. (The other two are on opposite coasts, alas.)

I cannot explain how much more enjoyable these kinds of visits are to me now that my kid are older. On my side of the family, there are several older grand kids, and I remember chasing my toddlers and walking the floor to comfort babies or having to leave the grown-up table conversation to deal with an owie or just nurse a baby or whatever and being so jealous of my sister-in-law, whose boys were old enough to just run off and play. I couldn't wait for the day I could do that.

Well, MY kids are the oldest grandchildren on the Lyon side. A few years ago, I was on the opposite side of the table. Several grown-ups were playing a board game, and every few minutes, a mom or dad jumped up to take care of a toddler or baby crisis. But I was never one of them. I got to sit and smile as I watched them. My kids were older now and happily playing amongst themselves. Even better, I wasn't pregnant in the heat of the summer.

A new stage of parenthood. Aaaaaaah!

So these kinds of trips really are enjoyable to me now. They aren't the WORK they used to entail.

Grandma Lyon went to a lot of effort to create some fun activities for the grand kids: quite a feat when you realize that they range in age from about a year and a half to about 14. There was swimming and water balloon fights and a treasure hunt and more.

During the treasure hunt portion, the kids were still sporting swimsuits.

And here's where it got "exciting." The neighbors to the west (relatively new to my in-laws, as they've moved into this house within the last year) have two large dogs: a black lab and a massive brown mastiff.

The two dogs, who were obviously not leashed, jumped the pathetic excuse for a fence and decided to "play" with my son (remember, he was wearing nothing but swim trunks). Fortunately, there wasn't any majorly broken skin, but across the back of his torso, my son ended up with several deep claw marks and two or three areas that are clearly bruises from dog teeth.

And now he's (understandably) freaked out about dogs.

The owners swear their dogs are up-to-date on their shots, but we aren't taking their word for it. We made some calls. The mastiff is in a kennel until we know for sure. (I don't think there's a real problem, since the wounds aren't deep enough for something like rabies to be an issue, but the owners deserve losing their dog even temporarily.)

Turns out they were doubly cited: first for not keeping their dogs leashed, but second because the mastiff wasn't licensed. I laughed with a cackle only mothers can appreciate.

My son's had a couple of scary run-ins with dogs, so he's developed a bit of a phobia. Not a cool thing. But the thing that ticked me off the most about the situation is that what if the dogs had decided to "play" with some of the younger cousins, like my youngest (who is 6) or worse, the one who is a year and a half old? We could be talking an ER visit here.

I was THRILLED that the neighbors were cited twice. The idiots.

Moving onto a lighter note . . .

That night we watched fireworks from two different cities from the comfort of the backyard (knowing we were safe because the lab was leashed and the mastiff was kenneled). We didn't have to deal with traffic or anything and had a great light show. And that was after the traditional Lyon pyrotechnics, where the Lyon brothers take those tanks and pimp them out with other fireworks to see how big and flaming they can get them. (Safety first, right?! The Lyon brothers are all engineers of some kind, and it shows.)

The last thing of note that happened was before bed when my darling little 12-year-old daughter stared and stared at my forehead. I knew what she was looking at and said, "Sweetie, stop staring at my zit."

"But Mom," she said. "It's so . . . BIG!"

Yeah. Thanks, babe. Just wait a couple years, and your forehead will be FULL of them.

I'm excited for next year's Independence Day, as we'll be spending it with my parents.

(Less than four months until they're home from their latest mission!)

Not that I'm counting down or anything . . .

Thoughts on My Writing Journey

Today's post is a bit different (sorry for last time's cliff hanger ending; I'll resolve that next week).

Something's been bouncing around my brain as I realized that some people who are not in the publishing industry might view some of these posts in a light that I never intended, especially if they haven't read all twenty posts in the series (or whatever number we're at now).

First, a story. I promise, it's relevant.

Back when I had several tiny kids, I was part of a neighborhood book club. We got together once a month and, of course, talked about whatever book we'd read. Inevitably, as happens when you get a lot of women together, discussion often meandered into motherhood.

No mother in the group had a teen yet; we were all in the grade school or younger era, most with babies. So we had lots of talk about sleep deprivation and potty training woes and colic and vomiting and trying to get crayon off walls and how to unclog toilets after kids had flushed down a variety of things, and so forth.

One woman in the club wasn't a mother, but not for lack of trying. She and her husband had yearned for years to have a child, and every time talk veered into the whining and complaining about sleepless nights or tantrums, I could see her stiffen and her jaw clench. She never said anything aloud, but I could just read her thoughts.

She would have given anything to have a month of sleepless nights if it meant she had her own baby. She would love to have an uncooperative toddler to potty train. Crayon on the wall? Bring it on. How dare we complain about what she wanted so badly?

But here's the golden question: Did we not appreciate motherhood?

At moments, perhaps. Did we not want it? Of course we did. If you took any of those women aside and asked them what their most precious possession was, I think each one of them would have given the same answer in a heartbeat: "my children."

We loved our kids. We adored them. We were grateful for them. Perhaps we at times took them for granted, but we would never, ever give them up or devalue them.

On the other hand, motherhood, while one of the most rewarding things ever, is hard. Children are a sacrifice. Motherhood comes with problems that, going in, you never could have anticipated because you've never been there.

It's common for people to compare publishing a book to giving birth. I'm going to take that analogy a bit further.

Aspiring writers are sometimes like that woman in our book club, wanting so badly to have what the others around her do: a contract. And they can be shocked when they hear a writer complaining about their agent or the marketing department or whatever else. They'd kill for an agent or [fill in the blank].

But here's the thing: publishing is very much like parenthood. It doesn't end when you sign that contract on the dotted line (or when you bring the baby home from the hospital). You're embarking on a brand new journey you know very little about, one that has ups and downs you cannot fathom yet, because you haven't been there and have no clue what you're in for.

It's so much more than getting a book on a shelf.

I spent EIGHT YEARS submitting and getting rejected. You can believe me when I say that I don't for one second take for granted the place I'm in. If you've read this entire series, I think you know that. I scraped and clawed my way to where I am. And the view here is fantastic.

But at the same time, I'm no longer in the place of "aspiring writer." I'm a published writer. It's now a job and a career. It's work. I have a whole new host of issues to grapple with. Much like the mother who has her child grow from six months to six years to sixteen yearsof age, I have new problems and difficulties pop up with each stage of my career.

Back to the mother in our book club. Through the miracle of modern medicine, she was able to have two little girls. While they were still toddlers, she tried for another baby. AND GOT QUADRUPLET BOYS.

I have a sneaking suspicion that she had her moments of complaining . . . just like (horror!) we'd complained.

Surely, if anyone had sleepless nights, she did. Not to mention constant diaperings and feedings and so on. I imagine potty training in that house three years later was interesting to say the least.

I'm guessing she developed some empathy for the rest of us mothers in that group who just needed a little validation that, at times, mothering is hard work.

Did this woman not want those children after years of infertility? Of course not. Did she love all of them and passionately adore them? Yes, absolutely. But that doesn't mean that raising them was a cakewalk or that she didn't have her moments of whining even though having a passel of kids was exactly what she'd wanted for years.

In publishing, when you finally get that contract, you won't live life in a jetted tub, eating bon bons as you type your next Great American Novel because your life is now perfect.

I'll never, ever forget the work it took to get where I am. I still remember the exact spot I was standing when I got that acceptance phone call for my first book . . . and the way I squealed like a three-year-old when I hung up. I appreciate every tiny thing my colleagues, editors, and publisher have done to help me along the way.

But I'm still working. The journey is not over. And that won't change, no matter how grateful I am that I have another book coming out in March, no matter how thrilled I am that I just published another article or got hired to do another freelance edit. There's another hill to climb or another pit that's in my way, some new river to cross, a difficult decision to be made.

I challenge anyone to find the perfect career (including motherhood) that doesn't have those blips and difficult moments.

As you likely know, I belong to the LDStorymakers, which is essentially a guild for LDS writers. We have nearly 100 members now. We celebrate one another's successes just as greatly as our first ones, because they still mean that much to us.

But you know what? There are a lot of problems popping up regularly (I'd say close to daily) on our e-mail list. We help each other through those as well. It's not all sunshine and rainbows.

I love what I do. That's why I do it, even in the harder moments.

For the aspiring writers out there, just be prepared for it: the hard times will come even after you sign on the much-anticipated dotted line.

It's called life. But that doesn't mean you aren't loving it and appreciating it.

WNW: Speech Acts

This post goes back to my favorite professor and class from BYU whom I've raved over enough that I'll stop embarrassing him by pointing him out by name. (*cough* Dr. Oaks *cough*)

Actual definitions of what a "speech act" is varies from linguist to linguist, but the basic idea is what is being accomplished by what a person says when they're speaking.

The list we got in class included the following speech acts:

Statement: John is a doctor.

Question: Are you sleeping?

Apology: I am sorry.

Directive (Order): Go outside.

Threat: I'll kill you.

Promise: I'll come back at six.

Okay, so here comes the fun part. A direct speech act is pretty obvious.

The form follows the function. Basically, with a direct speech act, if it looks like a statement, it's a statement. If it looks like a question, it's a question. The form tells you what kind of speech act it is.

So a question in a direct speech act would always has a question mark after it:

Are you sleeping?

This is a simple question asking exactly what it appears to be asking.

Indirect Speech Acts, however, get a little trickier. Form doesn't always follow function here. And this is where people often get confused and miscommunicate, assuming someone said one thing when the other person meant something else entirely.

It's fascinating to me to watch families and the degree of indirectness they get in their communications.

(If you like this kind of stuff, I highly recommend reading Deborah Tannen's work, especially That's Not What I Meant! and You Just Don't Understand. She's a sociolinguist who studies conversational styles, including indirect speech acts. She changed the way I view a lot of things.)

Here's an example showing form not following function in an indirect speech act: a question mark after something that really isn't a question:

Can you pass the salt?

The speaker here is actually giving a directive (an order), but it's indirect so it sounds more polite than just telling someone to give them the salt.

Other common indirect speech acts we see take place in the dating world.

"So, what are you doing Friday night?" is a common way for a guy to enter into the waters of asking a girl out. They both know it, but he's not actually committed to asking her out yet.

So if she says, "Oh, I have a big midterm to study for," he can save face because he never put himself out on a scary limb of potential rejection in the first place.

And neither said anything directly. He never asked her out, and she never directly rejected him.

We all do this kind of thing all the time.

A couple of years ago I noticed a similar thing at a family reunion at Disneyland (I notice these things because I'm a total word nerd. We know that, right?). The Lyon clan was in line at a ride and trying to decide where to go next.

My sister-in-law piped up loudly so everyone could hear, saying, "We were thinking about going on X ride next."

That was the end of the the discussion. As a word nerd, the moment fascinated me. What she'd said looked like a commentary or a suggestion. In reality, it was a statement of a plan. Basically, "Unless someone else has an objection, this is what we're doing next." And that's exactly what the family did.

What she'd said was an indirect speech act, and the family's communications were such that they all understood that.

Other examples of indirect speech acts:

You left the door open.

Form = Statement.

Function = Directive (Close the door.)

Do you know where the bathroom is?

Form = Question.

Function = Directive (Tell me where the bathroom is.)

Get out of here!

Form = Directive.

Function = Showing disbelief. (Think Elaine on Seinfeld.)

Here's a fun speech act: Answering a question with a silly question.

The form is a question, of course, but the function is to affirm the original question.

Examples:

Do birds fly?

Is the pope Catholic?

Performative Speech Acts are where you actually DO something by SAYING it.

Examples of these kinds of verbs include:

• bet
• nominate
• apologize
• promise
• resign
• baptize
• testify

And so on. If you can say, "I hereby . . ." and add a verb to it, then it's a performative speech act. You do it by saying it.

"I hereby resign the presidency . . ." or, "I testify that I saw the defendant at the scene . . ." or "I nominate Joe for the position."

In a performative speech act,the speaker does what they're saying by saying it. You can't argue with it, saying, "No you don't," because the speaker has already done it. It's not a matter of opinion. They nominated or apologized or resigned or whatever. Whether they have the proper emotion is another story, but you can't say they didn't do the act.

A final bit: One of my favorite speech act quirks relates to the PROMISE and the THREAT.

Think about it: There is NO DIFFERENCE between the two except for what the listener wants. If the listener wants the thing to happen, it's a promise. If the listener doesn't want it, it's a threat.

Generally speaking, "I will kill you," is a threat. If it's Dr. Kevorkian talking, it's a promise.

I don't remember where it came from, but shortly after learning this, I saw this very idea used in a cute way (I have no memory where, alas).

One character said, "I'm going to kiss you."

And the other responded coyly with, "Is that a promise . . . or a threat?"

Cute line, but probably more so for word nerds like me than anyone else.

For those interested in this stuff, go back to last week's WNW, at the end of which I mentioned I'd be talking about speech acts this week. Scroll down to Jordan McCollum's comment (#3). Do you see why I giggled at it?

And another plug for Deborah Tannen's books. Read them. They are AWESOME.

Your Perfect Summer Read

Almost exactly ten years ago, a woman I had met but barely knew, Lu Ann Staheli, called me. I remember where I was during that call: sitting on the lid of the toilet as my two children took their baths. Lu Ann had found my name in the League of Utah Writers directory as living near her and wondered if I'd like to be part of a new critique group.

Heck, yes! But see, I was also 8 1/2 months pregnant and serving in the Young Women presidency. I couldn't, not right then. The presidency had been in almost 3 years, so I was pretty sure we'd be released soon, and I thought that when baby was a few months old, maybe I could swing it, so I asked if they'd hold me a spot. They did.

I joined up in January of 2000. It was terrifying, to say the least, but the group wasn't quite full. A dear friend mentioned an aspiring writer she knew, and we met at a League chapter meeting. She became the next member of our group.

To this day, Michele Paige Holmes seems surprised that I was so "generous" in inviting her to the group, because, according to her, she was a terrible writer. (Don't let her fool you; she was never, ever, a bad writer.)

But the truth was, none of us was great; we were all learning and hoping to some day be published. Eventually, we all were.

Week after week, Michele brought brilliant chapters to the group. It was hard not to be envious of her skill, especially when she'd say, "This is really rough; I just wrote it an hour ago." Then we'd read it, it was freaking brilliant, and I'd go home with my chapter dripping in red ink.

Michele is good at what she does. So it was hard to watch her struggle to publication and constant rejection. It was with true joy that I heard of the acceptance of her first book, Counting Stars, which won (most deservingly!) the Whitney Award for Best Romance in 2007.

I was lucky enough to be the one who read off her winning name the night of the awards gala, and I cried tears of joy for her.

The road between her first and second published books has been a longer one than her fans hoped for, but her next novel is now out, and the wait has been worth it. All the Stars in Heaven is now in stores.

It's what some people call a "spin-off" novel, in that it takes a minor character from Counting Stars and tells his story. But this book stands alone completely; there's no need to read the first one before picking this one up.

Counting Stars dealt with heavy issues and emotions and had me weeping and laughing, often on the same page.

This book is a bit different. It did have me crying and laughing, but it has an element of suspense and action; it has you on the edge of your seat as Jay and Sarah get pulled into (and need to escape from) a drug ring with their lives.

It's an exciting read, one I highly recommend.

I'm already excited for her next book. Since I'm in her critique group, I've gotten to read a few chapters, and I'm already laughing and giggling. It's gonna be good.

But you'll just have to wait for it.