Hawk . . . . . “I do not do that,” she protested, chuckling softly. “You just did it again,” I remarked, with a knowing smile stretching on my lips as I gestured to what she just scribbled out from the page in front of us. “Fine,” she admitted, raising her hand in mock surrender. “But you know I can’t help it. I just want this to be perfect. And I don’t know - I keep getting all these ideas and I don’t know which one to choose from. When I think this is better, another one which seems even better comes to mind. Sorry, I know you must be feeling pretty frustrated now, right?" She finished with an apologetic smile. “What?” I asked, feigning disbelief. “No, I'm not.” “Really?” “Well, maybe a little. You know, that last paragraph you crossed out really got me though,” I admitted with a
