Since this little seldom-read bit of text has apparently frightened a few prospective reviewers (sometimes, you must be cruel to be kind), I'm making a few amendments.

I'm Cooking Spray - you may refer to me as CS; all the cool kids do. I like to write - it is, in fact, what I "do". I'm a bit of an elitist, which I feel I should make no attempt to hide. I'm also a procrastinator. I've held this account since the age of twelve, back in 2002 - you can do the math, it was never my best subject.

This all summates to several things:

In all likelihood, you won't be seing much more than one-shots here from now on. Coming of Age, however, remains my manifesto and one-true-fictional-love, and even though updates may be as irregular as the time zones in the state of Indiana, they will continue until I finish or die (whichever comes first; place your bets now).

My general neglect of this account - with the deterioration of quality around here, this in no longer a primary site to post my work. If it makes it here, you probably won't be the first to see it.

The deletion of my once-epic bio. Your scroll bar should be a lot longer now.

And since I am, again, so unusually thoughtful, here are a few things to kindly bear in mind while perusing my Body of Work (which is far too flattering a term):

I like concrit. Not flames. Flames, as the adage goes, are for toasting marshmallows, and will most likely result in me blaspheming your stupidity across the internets (or maybe just fanficrants). No, you don't get points for being OMGtehsnark!11. You're still tacky. Keep the fire in your own campsite. (Which, if you do not speak my obscure metaphorical dialect, means that flames are reserved for your online journal/computer screen/dog. Or, once again, fanficrants.)

If you can't speak your first language correctly, or have the typing abilities of an ape, please don't bother me with unnecessary questions (and if you're not sure, let's just be on the safe side and extend that unwelcome mat to you as well). No matter how much you enjoyed my one-shot and want me to update, your fractured English will most likely irritate me, and trigger a CS mind volcano. Which means no more stories until I can recover lost brain cells.

Some of the stories on this account were written during times when I was much younger, much more naive, and much less versed in what we emancipated members of society like to refer to as "literature" (which is not to say that I am any moreso now). Some of them are fairly terrible, as I will be the first to tell you. Some of them are unfinished. Why, might you inquire, don't I take them down? The answer is, no matter how terribly they make me cringe upon re-reading, they prove that I am human, and that talent is not an innate, natural born thing and can, actually, develop over time. Also, there is the chance that someone might come across these pieces of tripe and find an enjoyment I can no longer extract from them. It's always irksome when your favoritest story evar disappears from the intawebz without a trace. If at least one person favorited, I figure it's worth suffering the humiliation of keeping posted.

That's all she wrote. If I haven't frightened you away by this point, and you would, for some strange reason, prefer to chat or "get to know me", my PM button always loves to be hit up. Beyond all the sarcasm, I am generally a rather amiable individual, and am nearly always up for discussion, so long as it involves one of my obsessions from the epic list.

And if you still want my life story, head over to my LiveJournal. It's where I lurk most often these days.