Thanks. I expect a lot from myself, is all.

Wow. I'm just getting home and caught up after two weeks, but just, wow. You people? You sure can write.

Lalalalalalalalala monday lalalalalalala new challenge lalalalala....

Eager? Me?

Heh. Lookit Ms. Impatient Pants Deb!

Fellow drabblers, this is a monumentous occasion -- this weekly drabble challenge is #52. We've been at this for 1 year, a year that has yielded some kick-ass writing, and, I hope, motivation for them that needed it to return to writing, to move forward on a project, or to start writing regularly. You all ROCK. Hard.

As for the current challenge....

Challenge #51 (heaven and/or hell) is now closed.

I'm craxy busy at work, so Challenge #52 is another Random Photo challenge, from the Look At Me photos. You have 10 choices, linked below, and you may write a drabble about each, or several drabbles about the same one, or several drabbles about more than one -- whatever tickles your writing fancy.

When you post your drabble(s), please include a link to the picture, for easy reference on the part of the reader. Thanks!

Picture One.
Picture Two.
Picture Three. (This might be the same dude from the picture w/the two women, on the couch.)

Note -- this one is kind of grim, featuring a coffin w/body inside: Picture Four.
Picture Five.
Picture Six.
Picture Seven.
Picture Eight.
Picture Nine.
Picture Ten.

Next week, I'll try to cook up something good for the 1-year anniversary drabble.

Yay, pictures! Yay a year!

[link] Picture Three

(Teppy suggested sequels)

"Rudolph, how many times do I have to tell you about that camera?"
"I don't like the idea of evidence linking us, Pierre."
"Robert, you worry too much. Jeanne, get him a Bloody Mary."
"I don't drink. We're supposed to making plans."
"Plans. Such as when you'd be talking to your friends at Interpol?
. . .
"How foolish of him. Thank you, Rudolph. Jeanne, a fresh Bloody Mary. Less bloody."

(This might be the same dude from the picture w/the two women, on the couch.)

For the Look at Me Anniversary challenge: Picture #9

All the Pretty Little Horses

She began dancing before she could properly walk: she danced to television commercials, to the radio, to the music in her head. Her family joked that she danced as she slept, choreographing lullabies: Hushabye, don't you cry, go to sleepy little baby...

She began lessons at age four. She learned to stretch her hamstrings, to stand at the barre, the forms of the pliet. She learned, too, to watch with disproportionate, heartbreaking anxiety the appearance of any extra weight. She danced, and she starved.

At fifteen, bulimic and anorexic, she died of kidney failure. All the lullabies died with her.

Wheee! Another photo drabble. Man, I loved this the first time around.

That's definitely the same Playboy's Guide to Swingers reader from the first set of pictures.

Here's my first.

Photo Nine

They say every mother feels it, but I knew how very, very special Danielle was from the moment she was born. Destined for greatness, my little girl, and no denying it. That rich dark hair, the set of her chin—she took no nonsense from anyone, me and her father included.

I knew she would love ballet lessons. What little girl doesn’t? And the tutu—oh, the pictures we took! She posed for this one—just like a prima ballerina, I told her.

Her father didn’t like her standing on the coffee table, but I told him to hush up.

Amy, we jumped on the same picture. And two more different takes? Hard to imagine.