Topic topic topic....

Challenge #61 (two people in a small space; written [or not] in a genre) is now closed.

Challenge #62 comes from a confluence of little things that inspired me, including the "easy listening" radio station that's on in the office, as well as a note on my computer reminding me to listen to Fresh Air this afternoon, to hear Christian Bale talk about being Batman.

Anyway. Challenge #62 is the air we breathe.

Go for it.

drabbling

There's less of it now than where I grew up. I'm near a mile high here (Denver's not that unique). I thought I'd die those first few months, sea-level lungs wringing air out of an attenuated atmosphere.

I went home later. My mother looked over at me. "Are you breathing?"

"Of course I'm breathing, why?"

"I can't tell."

"Mountain people, you know. We get down in this lowland soup and we only have to breathe every other minute."

I ran up some stairs without breathing hard. It was nice.

Heh.

Kiss

I know what power is.

It's what happens when we're face to face, eyes narrowed, pupils dilated, because, for each of us, the other blocks out the rest of the world.

It's what happens when one of us breathes, lips parted slightly, soft air, the treasure stored in lung and throat, moving into the confinement of that narrow highway, that slender unmarked road between my lips and yours.

It's what happens when one of us lifts a hand, stirring the air, generating energy, power -breath, lung to throat to lip.

Have I mentioned that you are the air I breathe?

OK, I'm giggling like a sicko, here. My WIP readers for R&RNF will appreciate why this is funny.

From my agent just now:

I've got a couple things coming in under deadlines right now so I'm not sure when I'll be able to get you feedback on the portion I have. Ergo, I might recommend getting a couple of your first readers to give you feedback if you finish it before I get that far and then getting me a manuscript incorporating any revisions inspired by their comments to assess for marketing.... That sound okay by you?

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Ahem. Erm. Um...

Oh, and I just got contract for publication of the apocalyptic clowns story. Token payment, which is fine - this was way more a "foot in the door" submission, and I'm in some heavy-hitting company, in a genre in which I rarely write. So, yay me.

If I'm reading that right, deb, your editor trusts us (an Imperial-ish us) to tell you what works? That's very flattering.

I might recommend getting a couple of your first readers to give you feedback if you finish it before I get that far and then getting me a manuscript incorporating any revisions inspired by their comments to assess for marketing....

Heh. Heh heh heh.

connie, yep - but the core of that is that she trusts me to be able to weigh the feedback and use what I need. Also, to pick WIP readers in the first place. (edit: and not my editor - this is my agent, Jennifer Jackson at DMLA)

What's hilarious is the suggestion that I get feedback. muHA!

What I wrote back, in part:

I've had 32 WIP readers on this one, and they've been getting chapters as I write them. I've been going back and assessing and incorporating as I receive feedback. The feedback on this has been a steady constant stream, with - scarily - virtually no disagreement between the WIP readers.

Once this one's done, I think it'll be close to ready to ship. And I've already got a synopsis.

I know, I know. Ruth's complaint: I write too fast.

I can't believe I have two new projects and neither one really has a plot yet...I really thought I was getting better at this.

erika, did the books get there?

I know I've been away a bit, but I love this drabble topic. It spoke to me.

The Air We Breathe Drabble

The air is heavy with scent. Seaweed and salt and rugosa rosa twine like jellyfish tentacles, a gentle undulation of water brushing earth brushing water. It is thick and wet on my skin, a warm coating of ocean and sand. I breathe it in: the Atlantic, McCook’s Beach, crabs tempted from under tide pool rocks with bits of snails. The way the moon skips like a rock across the waves. My first kiss. The summer I turned sixteen; the winter I turned thirty.

Even on another ocean, the air I breathe is haunted by the pinks and blues of memory.