It was the end of another day at the Silver Train Diner. The last waitress to leave surveyed the diner from the front door. Everything was spotless and gleaming. “Better stay that way this time.” The front door jingled as she left. With the wait staff gone, the diner returned to a still darkness.

A forgotten mop leaned against the peeling red walls. It slid forward as the cloth strands slipped on the black and white tiles and rocketed toward the floor. The wooden handle rattled and a vibration was sent through the dinning room. In the kitchen a faucet dripped, but all was not still on the booth farthest from the kitchen. Up on the table something stirred.

Ketchup turned on his base. His neck was long, sleek, and right beneath his perfect white cap, two eyes blinked. “Well, another day another dollar. Am I glad those screaming children are gone. Child proof cap, my backside!”

Unlike slim Ketchup, Mustard was short and stout. He was yellow and resembled a barrel. On his top was a twist cap and on either side, bushy eyebrows. His little brown eyes regarded his old friend and comrade. “At least we know what to expect from kids. They love hot dogs. I taste real good on hot dogs.”

“It’s always disturbing when you talk about us getting eaten like that. You know that?”

“It’s what we do. We’re condiments. And the most popular, despite what the kitchen polls tell us!”

Ketchup nodded his long neck forward in agreement. You couldn’t argue with a good Mustard, even if it wasn’t Dijon or brown and spicy. “You got that right. The three of us go hand and hand on tomorrow’s dinner plate special. Right, Relish?”

Ketchup spun around to address his booth mate, but where the Relish usually rested, there was nothing. There wasn’t even a ring on the table from his moist bottom. Peculiar. Maggie didn’t usually clean that thoroughly. “Relish?” He spun again to look at the other corner of the table, but saw only the desert menu.

Mustard looked for him too. He tipped slightly so he could look at the shiny vinyl red seats.

“I do not like this,” Ketchup said quietly in his steady voice. “Relish never goes anywhere without Mustard, and since you’re here, I can deduce that something is very wrong.”

“Maggie probably left him in the kitchen again.”

The kitchen! It was a far journey, but one Ketchup had taken himself for the right price or when the stakes were high enough. He spun toward the kitchen. The diner was a sea of tile and booths usually occupied by families. Far off in the vast distance, he saw the swinging door that led toward the stove and the fridge.

But, he also saw something else. The pass-through where the food was usually laid out under warming lights gave him the perfect peek into the back workings of the kitchen. Along the open counter were four wooden spoons. They were upright on their handles and pacing back and forth. One of the spoons was even slotted.

Ketchup’s innards bubbled as his blood pressure skyrocketed. He grabbed Mustard by his twist collar. “The spoons are on patrol, Mustard. Something is up and I would bet a tomato, Relish is right in the thick of it.”

“I’ve seen that look on your lid before, Ketchup. I’m guessing there’s no talking you out of this. What’s your first move?”

“Our first move, my old friend, is to get off this booth and onto that one.” Ketchup gestured his long neck toward the next booth. “We must find out if Salt saw anything while we were asleep.”

Mustard bounced on his base so he could spin toward the booth. “It does seem like a very long way. Maybe we could write a note on a sugar packet, then make a paper airplane and simply throw it. It might take a few tries, but we have a few hours until the diner-AHHH!” Mustard screamed as Ketchup pushed him off of the table and onto the vinyl seating.

Mustard bounced down, screaming G-rated obscenities at Ketchup. He rolled off of the seat and onto the floor. He continued to spin, but could see the leg of the table coming into view. He managed to roll into the turn and finally stopped.

When he became upright again Ketchup was dusting himself off beside him.

“You are lucky,” Mustard said as he bounced toward him, “that I have a shatter proof container!”

They walked in silence for a few minutes as they made their way across the floor. Mustard was winded by the time they reached the next booth. Ketchup was looking up and his eyebrows were furrowed in thought.

“How are we going to get up there?” Ketchup asked.

“You should have thought about that before you pushed me off of our table. We could have tried to make a suspension bridge out of the desert menu and the sugar container, but you always rush ahead without thinking. It’s just like the squirt cheese is always saying-”

“Don’t tell me you listen to pressurized cheese, Mustard?” Ketchup gasped at the thought. “You know they have less intelligence than peas! All that compressed air does them no good.”

“Compressed air or not, sometimes I find him to be an adequate friend. Especially when he’s paired with Crackers.”

Ketchup’s feelings were hurt. Who knew that Mustard was two timing on him with cheese? He tried to hide it by coming up with a plan. “I’ve got a plan!”

Mustard waited with patience, his eyes angled on Ketchup. But his old friend didn’t even blink. “What’s your plan, Ketchup?” He asked with a sigh.

“I am so glad you asked me that!” Ketchup bounced triumphantly. “Just step a bit closer.”

The mustard obliged and was instantly used as a launching pad for Ketchup. He bounced on top of his friend’s no leak cap and bounced his way up onto the booth and then the table. Ketchup gleamed with pride as he made his way toward Salt.

Mustard fumed, his cap twisting left and right. “Ketchup! What about me? Don’t leave me down here, there are ants!”

Ketchup didn’t listen as he made his way toward the other end of the table. He could already see the shaker coming into view. Salt was smaller than he was, but his lid was shiny silver. On top were half a dozen holes just like his brain. Salt didn’t have a reputation for being all that well put together-he was granular-but he knew things other table spices didn’t.

“Salt,” Ketchup greeted.

“Ketch.” He replied with a nod. “Bad night to be wandering off your table.”

Ahh, so he was on the right track after all. “You see anything fishy tonight?” Ketchup leaned forward into him in an effort to intimidate him.

It worked. Salt began to rattle. The table vibrated until the desert menu fell off. “I didn’t see anything… okay, okay, that’s a lie! I saw it all! All of it! It’s the end of our world, Ketchup! You have to save us. Save me. You gotta get me off this table if I talk!”

“And if I don’t?” Ketchup furrowed his brow, looking as menacing as possible for a bottled condiment.

“I’ll die! I know it! What’s going on is big. It’s huge, Ketchup! We can’t be here for the fallout, you got me? If they find out I’m your informant, it’ll be bad. Real bad. I need witness relocation. I want to move at least three booths away!”

Ketchup cocked his lid. “Three booths? I don’t know if that’s possible under such short notice, Salt!”

“You can do anything you want,” Salt said, his voice a murmur, “You’re Ketchup. The condiment of champions.”

“Indeed I am.” Ketchup said and puffed up his chest so much his label began to tear. Behind him was a thump. Mustard had finally joined them. If he was right, Ketchup deduced he used the fallen desert menu as a parasail and glided up to meet with them.

“Salt know anything?” Mustard asked.

“Something. But you have to take what he says with a grain.”

“A grain of what?”

“Salt.” Ketchup said without amusement or a chuckle. “What did you witness, Salt? Maggie skimming off the top of the cash register?”

Salt nodded his metal head vigorously. “How’d you know? Can you get me off this table? Huh?”

Ketchup sighed in time with Mustard. “Another dead-end lead.”

“Technically, this was our first lead.”

Ketchup was going to correct him, when behind them something sneezed. The table condiments turned to see that Pepper was bouncing towards them with fervor. “I found something,” Pepper paused for another sneeze, and a third, “I need to show you!”

With excitement and the thrill of the investigation propelling him, Ketchup followed quickly. Mustard trailed behind with Salt taking up the rear.

Pepper bounced and sneezed one more time. Beside him was a stack of tooth picks, fallen out of their tray. Someone had been busy writing them a note, but hadn’t finished. All that they managed to spell out was: H

Ketchup took a deep breath. “That is the beginning of the word help, I’m sure of it. Relish, my friends, has been kidnapped, and it’s up to us to rescue him!”

“Rescue him?” Salt was nervous and rattling on with abandon. “And go against the wooden spoons? Do you have any idea what spoons do to salt?”

“Actually, no,” Ketchup said. “They stir you?”

“Their ends poke and prod, pushing you further and further into your shaker. I can’t go through that again, I won’t!” Salt bounced backwards, heading toward the table’s corner.

“You go through it every night when you’re filled, don’t do?” Ketchup asked and was pushed out of the way by Mustard.

“You’re getting too close to the edge.” Mustard stepped forward and used his calm soothing voice. “Salt, come towards me. You don’t want this, buddy.”

“I can’t face the spoons!” Salt screamed and leaped to his death.

Ketchup and Mustard leaned forward to pay witness to the shattered shaker on the floor. The grains of salt were now separated from their shell and were lying helpless against the tile. “That’s the third time this week that we lost Salt,” Ketchup said grimly.

Mustard only shook his head in despair.

* Meanwhile, across the vastness of tile and booths laid the kitchen. It was a bubbling cauldron of strange brews, concoctions, and other menacing liquids. There were flame igniters and gas chambers that would cook the fat off of a chicken. All the condiments that would spoil or needed to be watched lived in the kitchen. Usually they took refuge in the chilled beast known only as Fridge, but tonight they were out. They had things to do.

The counters were cleaned, but in the center was an overturned pot. It was drip drying on some paper towels and on top of it was a plain jar of Relish. It had been lassoed with cooking string. Relish jolted side to side, but it was no use; he couldn’t get free. If only he had been born with digits other than those on its UPC label.

He was surrounded by condiments he wouldn’t want to visit in a dark alley. First there was Dill, a more sour menacing pickle he would never want to meet, along with his lesser counterpart, the bread and butter pickle, otherwise known as BB. Sure they were sweeter, but they still laid in their own vinegar juices.

The jar of Mayo never took his eyes off Relish and it was making him uneasy. Mayo was messy, slimy, and worst of all best friends with Tuna. Relish never met a fish he liked; as far as he was concerned, they were too slippery to be trusted.

The carton of Milk was most concerning. Relish knew it had been out of the fridge for too long. The carton was looking soggy and when he bounced, Relish heard a strange slosh. For all he knew, Milk was on the verge of curdling and when Milk began to go cottage cheese, you had to be careful. He could snap at any moment.

“Stop your moving!” Dill hopped up onto the pot and eyed Relish with the multiple seeds that ran up his spine. “You’ll never get out of here.”

Relish blinked. “But, I would really like to get back to my table-.”

“You wimp.” Dill spat at him. “You used to be one of us, or have you forgotten? You’re nothing but minced pickle.”

“Minced pickle,” Mayo said dreamily. “Really good with Tuna.”

“That was our spot!” The BB discs began to get upset, bouncing on the counter. “We are sliced perfectly for Tuna, but someone thought it would be easier just to mix the Relish in with the Mayo. Whose idea was that anyway?”

An upset pickle was someone you didn’t want to tick off; Relish looked away while the Mayo coughed knowing. He changed the subject. “Milk doesn’t look too good.”

Milk stopped bouncing but his juices still sloshed inside his carton. The pickles turned to look at him. “I’m fine.” Milk stood up straighter to prove it, but his cardboard lip drooped with moisture from condensation.

“You hold it together!” Dill pointed at Milk, banging him in the chest. “There is no time for curdling now.”

“I’m not. I’m not.” Milk shook his carton. “I’m not curdling.”

“Is that a question?” Mayo asked, bouncing closer to intimidate the carton. “Or an answer.”

“Answer.” Milk thought about it, looking up toward the sky. “Definitely an answer.”

Above them all, a condiment watched in the shadows of the cupboards. His plan was pulling together perfectly. Now with Relish out of the way, there was just Mustard and Ketchup. With them gone, he would take his rightful place right on the top patty of the cheese burger dinner special.

As it was always meant to be.

* Back in the dining area, Ketchup and Mustard had heroically made it to the servers’ station. It was a mountain of poorly constructed aged wood with water marks and stains long set in the grain, but to the condiments it was the holy Mecca of all things. Not only was this the spot where the soda, napkins and iced tea was stored, but this was also home to Salsa.

Salsa. Just the name caused Ketchup to begin to salivate. A sexier, more seductive condiment had never been invented. If he wasn’t careful, he would fall for her charms yet again. But he couldn’t, not this day; his pal Relish needed him to keep his mind in the game. “Eye on the prize, old friend,” Ketchup muttered.

“Steel ourselves,” Mustard said back as Salsa noticed them.

She turned on the base of her jar, and what a jar it was. Wide, yet smooth. She had more curves than the blender and mixer put together. Salsa knew how to use them too. She swayed side to side as she bounced towards them. Her gold lid seemed to shine even in the dark diner and Ketchup could already feel his innards warming. A bubble dislodged and got stuck in his long neck. He could see that his friend wasn’t so lucky. Mustard was already leaking out of his twist cap. He pretended not to notice; that’s what good friends were for.

“Well, if it isn’t Ketchup and Mustard. To what do I owe the pleasure, boys?” Salsa’s voice was deep, but soft. She spoke with a Mexican accent, but Ketchup barely noticed as she batted her long lashes at him.

“It’s Relish,” Ketchup said. “He’s gone missing.”

Salsa swayed from one side to the next, but didn’t seem particularly surprised. “How horrible. Would either of you like to join me on a napkin? It’s super absorbent.”

Salsa and her maniacal ways! “We don’t have time for that now,” Ketchup said. “Tell us what you know about Relish.”

“I don’t know anything.” Salsa was dismissive and turned her jar toward the kitchen. “Perhaps you should ask the soda fountain.”

“Good try, my dear,” Mustard said, “but they are an inanimate object.”

“Like the desert menus.” Ketchup agreed with a nod of his white lid.

Salsa spun toward them again. “And what do I get for helping you?”

Ketchup bounced towards her so his bottle was right up against her jar. It would take all of his self control to keep his true feelings at bay. “How about you know you did what’s right, Salsa? Help an innocent Relish out of a jam. He ain’t strawberry, or even grape, he’s a good condiment.”

“And I?” Salsa asked with tears, or at least condensation, forming in her eyes, “Am I not a good condiment?”

“The best,” Ketchup whispered.

“Especially with chips.” Mustard piped in.

Neither of them seemed to hear him. Instead they stared into each other’s eyes. They held their breath and were lost to each other. Ketchup thought he might kiss her, if he could find her lips. But the spell was broken-Salsa turned slightly and answered. “I will tell you, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

“All right.”

“It’s…the pickles. Dill and Bread and Butter.”

“Our buddies from the diner special?” Mustard asked, and looked toward Ketchup. Each nodded and they bounced backwards for a private aside.

“Thoughts?” Ketchup asked, talking out of the corner of his lip. He kept his eyes trained on Salsa, who was studying her reflection in the toaster.

“Dill has been on the diner special with us for over forty years. Why would he turn on us now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe we should ask her?”

Ketchup nodded and they both bounced forward. “Salsa, why would Dill do this now?”

Salsa turned towards them. “The pickles…are working for Jalapeño.”

Behind them, dramatic music swelled. The condiments turned to look around and saw the Jukebox lit up playing a tune.

Mustard turned back toward Salsa. “The pepper?”

“Yes,” Salsa said reluctantly. “The pepper.”

More dramatic music filled the air while Ketchup collected his thoughts. “Why? Why would pickles work for a spicy Jalapeño?”

“They are being misled. They have been manipulated. They think…you and Mustard are against the pickles.”

“Why does Jalapeno want this?” Mustard asked.

“He wants…to be on the diner special and you two are his next target.” Salsa sighed and began cursing in Spanish. “Please, be careful Ketchup. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

Ketchup beamed. “Nothing will, Salsa. We’ll be careful.”

Ketchup and Mustard began to bounce away. Salsa called after him. “Please…be gentle. Jalapeño, he’s my brother.”

After they were a good distance away Mustard let out a low whistle. “Complications. This has recipe for disaster written all over it.”

“We’ll be all right. We’ll just follow the directions. We can’t take on the entire kitchen ourselves. We’re going to need to get help.”

“Vinegar? He helped me after the war.” Mustard offered.

Ketchup immediately shook his lid. “Too close to Dill. We can’t afford any double crosses, Mustard.”

They bounced over to a second server area and saw the shaker known as Sugar. He was holding a red twizzle stick and waving it wildly towards the sugar substitute packages. “You will never ever take me alive, you little bundles of chemicals!”

“C’mon,” they whined bouncing up and down, “we just want you to get a little exercise.”

“Never!” Sugar made an S motion in the air with his weapon. “I am all natural, can you say the same?”

Mustard and Ketchup regarded each other. “He’s hyper.”

“Crazy.”

“Just what we need.” They said in unison.

“Sugar,” Ketchup called with calm. “We need your assistance.”

Sugar turned and bounced toward the two condiments. Behind him the substituted packets continued their cardio regime of jumping rope. “How can I help you, great Ketchup?”

“We are storming the kitchen. It’s going to be dangerous. Want to come?”

Sugar nodded his lid. “I will show you the way, fair condiments! I know a short cut!”

The condiments made their way toward the kitchen. The journey was mostly uneventful except for a broken tile that caused Mustard to spill. Lucky for the crew, he didn’t injure himself too badly. Sugar was able to use his twizzle stick to free his yellow base and they were on the move again. Ketchup was glad; no condiment was left behind on his watch.

Their pace slowed as they approached the passage into the kitchen. Under the hot warming lights the wooden spoons kept vigil. They hopped on their handles in time toward the left. Then they turned and repeated the march to the right. Ketchup, Mustard and Sugar would never manage to sneak past the spoons.

Ketchup decided to take the direct approach. “Hear me, Spoons. I am here to see Jalapeño. Be a peach and fetch him for me, will you?”

Sugar and Mustard exchanged glances. Perhaps Ketchup had finally lost his mind.

The spoons stopped and did an about-face. The slotted spoon spoke. “No one demands the presence of the great Jalapeño. Tell me what business you have with him and I’ll see if he wants to talk to you.”

Mustard and Ketchup murmured together before addressing the spoons directly again. “You do know who we are? We are the rock stars of condiments-”

“And you know what we do, don’t you? We stir. We could mix you up in one third mustard and one third hot sauce. So unless you want to spend a life time trying to sort yourself into measuring cups-”

“Well, well,” came the old familiar voice behind the spoons. They parted to make way for Dill and the evil trio Mayo and Milk. “Ketchup has finally come home to roost. Well, it’ll do no good. Your friend is as good as spoiled.”

Ketchup scowled, his lid tilted up as he regarded his old ‘friend’. “All those picnics, platter specials, really meant nothing, eh Dill?”

“Don’t try to play me.” Dill bounced on his stem. “I know a real friend when I see it, and you, Sir, are not it.” Dill turned toward the Mayo. “See that Relish is properly mixed with the Tuna. Then drop what remains of him in the dishwasher.”

A voice came, panicked and laced with fear, from somewhere deep inside the pickles’ lair. “Ketchup, help!”

Ketchup and Mustard stepped up. Sugar was not far behind, the twizzle stick at the ready. “Dill, stop this madness before we have to go to war.”

Dill turned his back to the condiments. “Too late for words. Not even potato chips could stop this from happening now.”

“Uh, boss,” Milk said in a low voice, the color of his carton faded, “I don’t feel so good.” Dill didn’t answer, but only continued away.

Ketchup could only assume that Relish was getting ready to meet his packager. Ketchup and Mustard exchanged glances. Then they pushed off of the counter in the largest condiment jump ever made. The Sugar launched with them. Side by side, they glided through the air so fast beams of color exploded beside them. Ketchup almost seemed to be wearing a cape, but it was just his nutritional fact sticker coming loose behind him.

“Condiments twist left!” Ketchup announced.

“Twisting left.” Mustard and Sugar said as their lids twisted off.

“Lids are unhinged!”

“Condiments unleashed!”

At that, the room turned into a vibrant color of flowing liquid. The spoons spun through the air in a splendid array of karate chops. They were hit with globs of red, yellow, and white granular powder. Sugar mixed in with the viscous liquids; it thickened, coating the spoons and the counter in thick mud and slowing the movements of the Mayo as it headed toward the back.

Ketchup landed with his lid screwed back on tight. He lunged toward the Mayo, who met each of his blows with a defensive stance. For a blocky container, he was surprisingly agile, but he was not expecting Mustard to so perfectly mirror the moves of Ketchup. Old friends, they thought alike. It was almost like they shared the same brain. They fought in perfect harmony, moving in synch as they fought themselves further into the kitchen.

The spoons laid still in the muck, vibrating but unable to stand. They were all but defeated while Sugar bounced on them dramatically with his weapon of choice. Ketchup’s battle with Mayo finally ended when Mayo spun himself too hard and he fell like a heap into the trashcan.

Ketchup and Mustard dusted themselves off after a job well done. “Now, let’s see about Relish.” Then Ketchup saw Milk staring at them. “Oh, Milk. Well, then; come on, let’s fight!”

“He doesn’t look that hot.” Mustard said with dread.

“Actually, that’s exactly what he looks like.” Ketchup studied Milk. He was still-too still, except for a deep rumble that seemed to start at the base of his carton and travel up his spine. His cheeks were flushed green. His eyes were dark and hallow, like angry slits. Milk trembled and a gigantic scream vibrated out of his mouth.

“He’s going cottage.” Mustard whispered, unable to believe it, and shouted “Everyone run! The Milk is curdled!”

The condiments scattered as a curdled white substance erupted from Milk. The container couldn’t take it and began charging across the island toward the stove while screaming a battle cry only other dairy would be able to understand. He was headed straight for Dill and looked like a charging bull.

“Dill!” Ketchup screamed. He and Mustard both picked up two plastic sporks and leaped across the island where the Milk was now batting the Dill around like a rag pickle.

“Back, you!” Ketchup swatted at Milk until Dill was safe.

Mustard skewered Milk in the back; Milk screamed, twirling on a corner of his base before he fell off the stove. His mouth hanging open, he lay helpless on the tile floor.Mournfully, Ketchup and Mustard regarded him. “What will Oatmeal do without him?” Mustard asked, but it was too deep a question for the likes of Ketchup to answer.

Dill approached them. “You…risked your shelf life to save me. I don’t…I’m confused.” He shook his body in disbelief.

“Jalapeño has you duped,” Ketchup said. We would never hurt you, Dill. Unless…you hurt us first.”

“I shouldn’t have doubted you.” Dill sighed. “We have to get Relish out of here.”

The reunited friends started their way toward the pot, but Jalapeño wasn’t done with them yet. The spicy pepper laughed. “Do not take another move, Muchachos. If you do, the Bread will get it.”

The condiments looked around for Bread; he was sitting on top of the microwave and above him was a suspended rolling pin. If they didn’t act fast, Bread would be squished. Mustard tried to reason with the Jalapeño; “Bread is innocent. It’s just some yeast!”

But Jalapeño was one mad hopper. He laughed. “I won’t hurt him if you do as you’re told. Starting tomorrow, I will be the only condiment on the dinner plate special. No one will stand in my way! I’ll become a household name. Everyone will finally be able to say Jalapeno!” The pepper spun in a circle and said ‘Weee!’ very loudly.

Ketchup studied the room, looking for the perfect way to end the standoff without more violence. The sun was already rising; soon the morning crew would be there and Jalapeno would have won.

Ketchup was suddenly struck with an idea of pure genius. “Jalapeño, have you ever heard of chili?”

The pepper turned toward the Ketchup, his stem cocked to one side in deep thought. “Chili?”

“Yeah, Chili. You’re its main ingredient.”

Ketchup took a running leap. He squeezed his eye shut while his base led him through the air.

He punted Jalapeno like a football.

Jalapeño screamed as he was vaulted. He soared up and started his downward trajectory into a giant pot. He landed with a metallic twang before the lid snapped shut on him.

Standing behind the pot was none other than Salsa.

Ketchup gave her a smile as Dill, Mustard, and Salt rushed to free Relish. Salsa sauntered past them toward Ketchup. They stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. “You doing okay, Relish?” Ketchup spoke without breaking his gaze.

“Yeah,” Relish sounded tired, but okay. “Yeah. Nothing a little hot dog can’t fix.”

Mustard and Dill worked hard to untie the loose thread around his base. “Under, over, under over.”

“No, no, I really think it’s over, under, over over.”

“You can’t have two overs in a row.”

“You can if I say you can!”

Salsa giggled, tossing her lid to one side. “I’ll make sure my brother can’t harm any more condiments. He’ll get the help he needs. Thank you, for not harming him.”

Ketchup could feel his cheeks turning even redder. “Well, I am sorry about Milk.”

“Let’s not cry over a little spilled Milk, Ketchup.” Salsa giggled.

Ketchup, for his part, laughed too. He dipped Salsa to one side and at long last found her spicy lips.

---

Jill Afzelius lives on the North Shore of Massachusetts where there is fun in the sun at least twice a year. She has a love of comedy, especially the British kind and because of this humor creeps into everything she writes, whether she wants it to or not! Hobbies include writing, shopping, and the ever popular eating. She’s been married for eleven years and together they live with three super white cats who make sure they are always the center of attention.

Jill has written a series of young adult urban fantasy novels presented with heart and humor. Hopefully one day those will be published so she can finally tell her parents ‘I told you so’. To bring home the bacon, she is director of operations for an established website development firm.

Her adventures in writing can be tracked at jillafzelius.com and she can be contacted at jill@nosquaresoftware.com.