Sail, at the moment, I'm really planning on having this one be a bit more light-hearted than R&RNF. But who knows? There seems to be something about writing from his POV that does odd things to my psyche.
'Shindig'
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.
And of course, the luthier is the main suspect, and Bree needs to clear him, not only because she's pretty sure he didn't do it but because he's got to do her surprise wedding gift for JP....
Perfect! And I'll get to say the word "luthier" a lot, which is fun to say.
Seriously, I can't believe the idea for the second book just rolled right out like that. So it should be done...checks calendar...August 1?
Signed, Selfish Reader Who Does Not. Want. To. Wait.
Heh. I get to fictionally bash in the head of someone I wanted to bash at the time, and for many years afterward! WHEEEEEEEEE!
I'm going to try and wait until I get some of the cover-to-cover feedback on R&RNF before starting WMGGW. I may not be able to wait, though.
A different mood, entirely. For the Air We Breathe drabble:
Or Not To Be
This is a place of dark, of cool, of shadows. I'm visiting only in my mind's eye, but I feel it in my viscera.
We, the living, expect these places to be damp. They rarely are - stone insulates against the churchyard stream, the runoff from winter storms.
It can't insulate against decay, nor against loss. It has no power to keep my tears off you.
This air rests heavy on the slab that bears your name, the dates you breathed: 1944-1994. It's weighted with the theft of life, time, hope.
This air is the breath of memory.
begging for a beginning to end WIP read-through
I'd love to read it, deb, if you want another set of eyes.
Ditto, Deb. I'd love to.
Under the wire because I need a laugh this morning...
The Air We Breathe #2
Dreaming, clouds of noxious smoke rolling across the hill, choking me. Toxic chemicals, pollution, a purple haze of my comforter mounded where I've tossed it aside in my sleep. Hill? No, bed. 2AM. Why am I awake, and dear gods what is that smell? I creep sideways and peer over the edge of the mattress expecting to see a rotting mouse or a pile of dog food gone wrong.
Nothing except the six-month-old puppy, snoring blissfully, farting obnoxiously enough to wake me from a sound sleep.
Chi, Lilty, send me preferred emails. And this one, if printed out, has to be shredded afterward - it's still under relatively heavy wrapping.
Deb, if I'm not on your Beta list for the second story, I would love to be.
Heh. Cindy, I'll be posting that "let me know" up as soon as I start really writing it. Ought to be soon.
One thing is, I haven't been inside a recording studio in about thirty years, and the technology has changed just a skosh. So I need to poke people who are actually working at the moment, and get the tech stuff.
The Stones are presently in LA, mixing the new CD. Hmmmm - nah. Not gonna happen and don't want it to.