Thanks, Deb. Wow, that was powerful as usual, Sail.
I hope you don't think that I just come over for the spells and everything. I mean, I really like just talking and hanging out with you and stuff.
Willow ,'First Date'
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.
erikaj - Jun 14, 2005 10:34:41 am PDT #2728 of 10001
Always Anti-fascist!
SailAweigh - Jun 14, 2005 10:40:13 am PDT #2729 of 10001
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb
Ditto, erika. Your first one hits me quite a bit. My son was born with respiratory distress syndrom and was on oxygen for the first 5 days. He's mildy mentally retarded so I know how important those first breaths are. I would have written about that, but you said it so well.
erikaj - Jun 14, 2005 10:42:27 am PDT #2730 of 10001
Always Anti-fascist!
Thanks. Was afraid it might be a thread-killer, though.
SailAweigh - Jun 14, 2005 10:44:38 am PDT #2731 of 10001
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb
Nah. The thread doesn't live on oxygen.
deborah grabien - Jun 14, 2005 11:38:03 am PDT #2732 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
You got that right.
deborah grabien - Jun 14, 2005 11:41:23 am PDT #2733 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
Oh, and people reading R&RNF? I just sent out the entire Chapter 14. Another 2000 words.
There looks to be a Chapter 15 and epilogue to come - Bree spills her guts to the cops and John becomes aware that she think's she's failed him - and then, this book?
Done.
Four weeks come Thursday. 28 days.
Aims - Jun 14, 2005 11:45:10 am PDT #2734 of 10001
Shit's all sorts of different now.
Grief and Grieving
The air is dry. Thick. Rancid with lies and hurt. It’s tainted air. I hear him breathe in as I breathe out. As he exhales, I inhale his weakness. Across the phone line; Twenty-five hundred miles apart. Air of deceit, air of loss, air of love. “I play second fiddle to no one. You don’t deserve me.” Air of truth, air of anger, air of finally sticking up for myself. “You’re right”, he says. Air of defeat, air of grief, air of dishonesty finally catching up. “I just can’t love you anymore.” In. Out. We breathe the air of conclusion.
erikaj - Jun 14, 2005 11:49:46 am PDT #2735 of 10001
Always Anti-fascist!
Damn..you could barely have kittens in that time, Deb. Aimee, good one.
§ ita § - Jun 14, 2005 12:15:42 pm PDT #2736 of 10001
Well not canonically, no, but this is transformative fiction.
My fingers hover over slightly parted lips. She is still now, relatively. Eyes flicker rapidly behind closed lids. Her mouth purses and she shifts position, slowly enough for me to move with her, stay looking into the strange mix of blank limpness and otherness that sleep gave her.
The breath is warm as it hits my hand, and tickles. I reach down for it, into it, holding it all where I want it, controlling it as I can't her. Her eyes open but her mouth does not. I stop the flare of her nostrils with my other hand and watch.
deborah grabien - Jun 14, 2005 12:22:33 pm PDT #2737 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
aimee, that was excellent, ma'am.
ita's seems to have some echoes in her tagline...