Well, we may not have parted on the best of terms. I realize certain words were exchanged. Also, certain... bullets. But that's air through the engine. It's past. We're business people.

Mal ,'Serenity'


The Great Write Way, Chapter Two: Twice upon a time...  

A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.


SailAweigh - Apr 04, 2005 5:47:34 pm PDT #1056 of 10001
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb

dcp, I wouldn't change anything! I love that "only rode her on Sundays, to and from church," Bwah! Talk about turning a cliche on its head.

You could consider prefacing/interspersing it with the thoughts of the person writing the add. How did they really feel about the donkey? How did the donkey interact with original owner, did it take any of its personality from her?


Steph L. - Apr 04, 2005 6:26:43 pm PDT #1057 of 10001
the hardest to learn / was the least complicated

Drabble for picture three:

Afterward, I thought of that summer as the Lost Summer, a blur of blues and beiges, sea and sky and sand. Larry, with his omnipresent cocktail, was the putative host, though invitations were never really issued, and lack of same wasn't a problem; guests just showed up, dogs and coolers of beer in tow, and Larry seemed to know them all.

It was a constant trickle of fruity alcoholic drinks, naps at midday, and raucous shenanigans until the wee hours, every night. The goal was supreme decadence, pursued with zeal. This was nirvana, we declared, and vowed to repeat it every summer for the rest of our lives.

I can't remember more than a handful of names now, if I ever knew them then, and I lost touch with Larry years ago. Every summer, though, I think of them, and wonder if they're still on that beach, drinks in hand, pursuing their idyll with fervent dedication.


Susan W. - Apr 04, 2005 9:00:29 pm PDT #1058 of 10001
Good Trouble and Righteous Fights

Ailleann - Apr 04, 2005 9:02:33 pm PDT #1059 of 10001
vanguard of the socialist Hollywood liberal homosexualist agenda

less scared, she posts again

I've got another... this one for Picture Ten:


“Sweetheart, time for picture!”

My mother. So proud of Rebecca, married today to a wealthy stockbroker. She basks in her eldest’s success, her smug look taking credit for this amicable match.

But I know. I know the stockbroker’s a mailroom clerk with a one-room, and precious Rebecca will be a mother too soon. She confided in me, fearful and teary-eyed. I keep her secret, because she is my sister.

But Mother pokes me to suck it in and smirks “you catch more flies with a honey smile,” and I can’t wait till gossips wipe the smirk off her catty face.


Connie Neil - Apr 05, 2005 4:30:37 am PDT #1060 of 10001
brillig

Yeowtch. Very nice.


Nutty - Apr 05, 2005 6:08:34 am PDT #1061 of 10001
"Mister Spock is on his fanny, sir. Reports heavy damage."

any damned reason on this green green planet why they allow so little time?

Because publishers like to schedule themselves a procrastination window. (I happen to know.)


deborah grabien - Apr 05, 2005 7:50:55 am PDT #1062 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.

Because publishers like to schedule themselves a procrastination window.

Heh. Infuriating. I never did that when I worked in publishing, though, damn it. I was scrupulous about giving the authors at least three weeks, and those all had art that had to be checked, too.

scp, I'm with Steph. Terse, perfect and nails it.

Ailleann, this:

Cheeks sunken, unnatural, collapsing without his beautiful soul.

Gorgeous. The idea of soul as blood running, air moving, is as pretty as it is poignant.

Teppy did my favourite kind of photo drabble: a freezeframe. I love those.

And it's interesting that both Amy and Ailleann looked at #10 and saw the mother as someone who needed a bitchslap to get the smirk off her face.

BTW, a question, because my brain is apparently a collander: famous case, early sixties, a Queens neighbourhood, girl stabbed to death repeatedly, screamed for help, no one came out because they didn't want to get involved. The case became a metaphor for uninvolvement.

What in hell was the poor girl's name?


Ginger - Apr 05, 2005 7:53:44 am PDT #1063 of 10001
"It didn't taste good. It tasted soooo horrible. It tasted like....a vodka martini." - Matilda

Kitty Genovese


Scrappy - Apr 05, 2005 7:53:50 am PDT #1064 of 10001
Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Kitty Genovese.


§ ita § - Apr 05, 2005 7:55:02 am PDT #1065 of 10001
Well not canonically, no, but this is transformative fiction.

All I could think of was "Not Tawana Bradley!" and then "Oh, well. Other people will know."