deb, your drabble made me go, "Whoa." And erika, I loved them. Very powerful.
Mine is not yet shadow self. I might actually try fiction on that later, because my nano characters are still bopping around, trying to tell their story.
In Three Dimensions
It was part of falling in love. Red and blue par cans overhead cast their colored shadows on the wooden stage floor. I was hopping from foot to foot, playing with the shadows, making them dance and leap over the chairs and grand piano.
"They must be three dimensional," he mused.
"What?"
"The shadows. Look, when you move, darkness extends all the way from where you are to the stage."
We talked for hours about the nature of light and shadow, the meaning of darkness and brightness. I looked at him, delighted, and watched the reflections in his blue eyes.
I should gather up all the ones about him and show him. He thinks I never write about him, which is almost true. My songwriting, except for the fluffy anomalous (Hee, had to check the spelling on that 'cause of Numb3rs.) stuff, all comes out of pain. So he rarely makes it into that. Well, these days, anyway.
So he rarely makes it into that. Well, these days, anyway.
We were separated at birth? Just curious.
Brilliant damned drabble, too.
The Long Arms of the Dead
They say the dead travel fast.
I'll believe that; what else have they got to do? Oh - wait. There's that thing about haunting the living.
I'm living. I breathe and feel and orgasm and dream, eat too much starch when I'm annoyed, and don't eat anything when I'm heartbroken. I'm animal, not vegetable, yet I reach for sunlight, emotional photosynthesis.
They say the dead travel fast. Maybe they do. Maybe that isn't the point.
What the beloved dead do to me is to block the sun, withhold its light. Fast or slow, the dead cast a long, long shadow.
Oh, yeah, Deb, very...yeah.
Sorry about that, Susan. I got offline. I just pinged you from my gmail.
Insent from my gmail, Cindy.
Thank you, Susan. I got it, and replied in e, saying the same. I'm so excited to read it.
Mildly cranky, edging on fullscale pissed-off.
Email from my editor this morning; not bad news, but she's being (to be kind) disingenuous, and I don't like it, and have emailed and left a message for my agent.
More later, when ironed out. At the moment, pretty cranky with my publishers.
