Greetings, gentle readers,

Allow me to talk about the 'genesis' of this story for a few moments.  

There are times when a scene, a passage, a reference, or even just one line from an existing story refuses to
leave a writer alone.  Attempting to ignore the fixation never works.  The tidbit frequently insists on gnawing on
the writer’s brain, distracting her from all other attempts at writing.  Like any other addiction, it begins to take
over your life -- waking you up at night, interrupting you when you would prefer to be reading a good book,
interjecting ideas when you are supposed to be focused on cooking, work, or other mundane aspects of life.  

This story is the result of that sort of obsession.  It began with what I thought -- at the time that I wrote them --
were two innocent lines of dialogue in Phantasms.  I have a semi-frightening hunch that I will eventually discover
that this story is nothing more than the third installment in a series that may eventually grow a lot larger.  
Several lines of dialogue in this story have already begun to nibble on the periphery of my brain, attempting to
get my attention.  The Youses Muses Gang keeps yelling that they have some ideas about Kharli's backstory
and how she and DJ met that they want me to write down; and they have been obsessing over one or two other
lines from Phantasms that they believe need to be turned into additional stories.  

Such is life with the Youses Muses Gang.  

What are the two lines of dialogue from Phantasms that resulted in this story, you ask?    

           “Blowin’ things up during a rescue makes Kharli a Crichton by default,” John said.  He looked
    squarely at DJ, eyebrows raised, inviting a specific answer.  “If you don’t marry that woman soon, I will.”  
           “We’re working on it,” was all he got for a reply.  

                                                                                        * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Déjà Vu