The surgeon who had delivered my son by C-section an hour earlier stepping back from the table, and saying, "We're done, people. Good job, everyone!" That hour had been hell for everyone in the room, save only my little boy, sleeping peacefully in the warming crib, and his mother, who was just stirring from the general that had put her under about 55 minutes earlier. I had come within a few minutes, maybe seconds, of raising my boy as a single parent. Her OB/GYN had fought valliently to keep my family together, and won. Everyone who'd been awake knew exactly how close run a thing it had been. Mr. Murphy had been hanging around the whole time, and neither Doc nor mom was catching a whole lot of breaks that evening. But Doc only needed one, and he made full use thereof. One thing for all new dad's whose wives have had previous abdominal surgery. You never want to hear the muttered words, "Creative anatomy on the way out", when somebody has your wife's belly open. Those are about the worst words in the world, because they mean Doc's gotta put stuff to right in there, and he might not have what he'd like in order to get it done. But when he stands back, after the sponge count had to be done twice, and the tool count is right, and the belly is stapled closed, and everyone in the room is still breathing Just let it be known that the roving nurse has extra sponges for dad's nose. Oh yeah, and the neonatal nurses don't expect dad to change that first diaper. Maconium is nasty shit. Litterally. But I was happy to do it while talking to his groggy mom. Who had the C-section? - not enough information - The author's wife. - The pregnant woman. - The woman having a baby.
The author's wife.

(Question)
Pirate gold. Coins, rings, ingots. Necklaces of emeralds and opals and sapphires. Chalices, bracelets, daggers inlaid with diamonds and lapis and ivory. Malone rolled over in the soft hotel bed. Not just gold but the things it would buy. A two-story house of brick and wrought iron. Greek columns in front and coaches parked in the drive. Built high on the center of Galveston Island, away from the deadly storms of the Gulf, away from the noise and stink of the port. White servants and negro slaves. Fair-haired women to sit at the piano in his parlor. Dark-skinned women to open their legs to him in the secrecy of the night... He sat up in a sweat. I will think no evil thoughts, he told himself. Outside, the sun rose over New Orleans. Horse-drawn carts creaked and rattled through the streets, and chickens complained about the light. The smell of the Mississippi, damp and sexual, floated through the open window. Malone got up and put a robe on over his nightshirt, despite the heat. He turned up the gas lamp over the desk, took out pen, ink and paper, and began to write. 'My dearest Becky...' * He smelled the French Market before he saw it, a mixture of decayed fruit, coffee, and leather. He crossed Decatur Street to avoid a side of beef hung over the sidewalk, swarming with flies. Voices shouted in a dozen different languages. All manner of decrepit wooden carts stood on the street, their contents passed from hand to hand until they disappeared under the yellow canvas awnings of the market. Beyond the levee Malone could see the tops of the masts of the tall ships that moved toward the Governor Nicholl's Street Wharf. What did Malone do after he woke up? - He put on a robe. - not enough information - He wrote a letter. - He walked to the French Market.
(Answer)
He put on a robe.

Ques: The collaborative process between me and Claire Bridge has been good so far. Upon finding out her email address we had a brief email exchange culminating in me sending her a list of potential questions for the interview. Claire quite liked a lot of the questions, but overall there were too many, so we proceeded to reduce the number of questions to six main questions. These questions would then form the basis of the artist portrait, with an attempt to limit answers to no more than a minute, so little had to be cut for the final edit. The six questions we arrived at are as follows: How would you define creativity? What does it mean to you to be an artist? Do you feel a painting or piece of art can house an energy/a feeling from the original artist? Do you feel that your own works house this energy? Change and transformation are recurrent themes in your work. What are you exploring and why do these fascinate you? And recently we saw a change in your medium too, incorporating video works and photography. You seem to draw on many influences in your work, from quantum physics, astrophysics, to environmental ecology, psychology, philosophy and metaphysics. With titles like "Dark Matter", "Touching Infinity", "We are made of Stars", "Rising tides" and "A drop in the ocean" or "Alchemy". Can you tell us something more about the convergence of these ideas and influences? What continues to motivate and inspire you as an artist? We both felt these questions addressed the initial topic of exploring creativity, explored why Claire became an artist, gives insight into Claire's work and practise and looks toward the future of Claire's practice. After refining the questions, we proceeded to organise a day to film, which will be on the 16th September. Hopefully if all goes well we will both have an artist portrait that lives up to our expectations. How long will each of Claire's answers be edited down to? - five minutes - one minute - one hour - not enough information
Ans: one minute

Question: Though hooded and cloaked, Nicolette trembled. The chill of the January afternoon pierced her through, but it was fear, more than the cold, that made her limbs shake. Having just crossed over to the Left Bank, she glanced back over her shoulder and saw the towers and spires of the royal palace across the Seine. She felt as if hidden eyes there were watching her. Could anyone on the palace wall have seen her walk over the Petit-Pont? Not Amalric. He was still in the south, the King having just appointed him seneschal for Beziers and the surrounding country. But he had so many agents in Paris and allies at court. Except for Agnes, all the servants in the Gobignon town house were loyal to him. His aunt, Queen Blanche, was forever praising him to all who would listen. If Nicolette were involved in scandal, the White Queen would be furious, and would see to it that word reached Amalric. And if indeed he found out about her meeting the troubadour? Just a message, a song, let alone a meeting like this one, could mean death for her and Orlando. I should turn around right now, cross this bridge, and run back to the palace. The streets of the Latin Quarter were crawling with ruffians and criminals - it was insane for her to be walking here alone after sunset. The sight of the small knife she carried under her cloak might deter an attacker, but then she would be discovered. If I screamed for help, the whole palace would find out. Blanche would demand to know why I was here. No, she thought, her blood turning to ice, she would know why. But those eyes of his? to look into them again, was that not worth any risk? She stood, vacillating, in the shadows by a wooden house that overhung the Rue Saint-Jacques. I must see Orlando, she thought. Over a year now, and I have not been able to forget him. She longed just to be alone with him and have him take her in his arms. Where did the criminals and ruffians live? - The palace - not enough information - The towers - The Latin Quarter
Answer:
The Latin Quarter