That shoe that did not get thrown across the room? It would not have been a Manolo Blahnik. Nor would it have been a Donald Pliner, Taryn Rose, or any other fabulous, and fabulously expensive, designer shoe. Writers, unfortunately, cannot buy them. They can describe them.

They can describe the deliciously scanty, lacy La Perla underwear, too, that our characters have stuffed in their bureau drawers. I can't speak for all of them, but writers don't have that, either. Not that they have the pinkish tan things their grandmothers wore that came up to, and possibly above, their waist. I'm guessing here, but it's possible that we're wearing a more serviceable line, like Jockey, that have come a long way since the men's variety, with the wide elastic band that you still see at a basketball game, say, when the guy in front of you leans wa-ay over, all the better to see the foul shot. And there's also some more that you wish you didn't see....

So our characters have great shoes, clothes, underwear and sex. They also get into some trouble. 

As a matter of fact, we ourselves got into some trouble before we became writers. We were a disparate group before we settled down and got out our typewriters. I should add here that it isn't easy being several people all rolled into one, I mean talk about being schizophrenic, so I'm going to let them tell some of those Early Life stories themselves.