Allyson, I don't remember - is that one the inaurgural essay in the book?
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.
Nope, I think the inaugural is going to be the title essay.
Then, yes, it may want to be a bit longer. I know it was the first one I got to read, but that didn't mean you were leading off the book with it.
Hmmmm. May I reread, please?
Oh sure! Love to send.
Yes, please - because from what I remember of it, in terms of how it's structured, I think it can be expanded not only without stepping on ita's space, but in a way that's both fluff-free and relevant to the rest of the book.
Whoa, Deb. Those last two lines pack a huge punch.
I'm having issues.
Allyson, what about comparing what it's like to go from talking about Buffy, let's say (metaphors, writing, characterization -- *big* kind of vague stuff), to talking about who used the last of the tampons, or whatever?
Also, personal essays don't have to be up to AP standards. If a real person you want to write about loved chocolate and purple sweaters, you can make that Twizzlers and red skirts in your piece.
THERE WILL BE NO TWIZZLERS!!
Allyson -- why don't you see what you want to write, and I'll see if any of the bits of my life make me feel oogie.
ita, one of the things I wanted to look at in that one particular essay was how Allyson herself - her own presence in that one piece - felt against a few of the others. In her piece about Tim, for instance, she was so beautifully present, just so there, that it knit everything together. I'm wondering if a bit of that might not be what's needed for your piece.
What are Twizzlers? Are those those braided things that taste like stale sugary Pernod?
Deb, I think that's among my favorites of your drabbles, ever.
t nods sagely at all the advice to Allyson
Drabble for my dad:
He has lived in this house 25 years now, the longest he’s lived any place in his life. As a child, he was a Navy brat, 12 schools in 12 years, three in his junior year alone. Every time, new places, new friends, a new self. Now he’s settled into a house he bought to accommodate his wife’s parents, and it’s home. He loves his house, loves his neighborhood, loves his city. Of course, he’ll never be a local, since he’s not From There, but it’s his home now. He could retire there. He could die there. But not yet.