I believe that my speech and writing are way more in sync than they used to be.
On my seventh birthday, I wanted a toy fire truck, and I didn't get it, and you were real nice about it, and then the house next door burnt down, and then real firetrucks came, and for years I thought you set the fire for me. And if you did, you can tell me!
Xander ,'Same Time, Same Place'
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 - Jul 20, 2005 8:34:31 am PDT #3277 of 10001
Always Anti-fascist!
deborah grabien - Jul 21, 2005 10:20:59 am PDT #3278 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
You know how you know when you're completely unenthusiastic?
When you get a package from your publisher containing the first galleys of your new novel, and your reaction is "What fucking EVER."
Three uncorrected ARCs of "Matty Groves." And I seriously don't give a shit.
Connie Neil - Jul 21, 2005 10:22:48 am PDT #3279 of 10001
brillig
And I seriously don't give a shit
Well, if it was all skipping through happy meadows, everybody would be doing it.
deborah grabien - Jul 21, 2005 10:25:45 am PDT #3280 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
Eh. They dangled and dodged and basically devoured any remnants of enthusiasm I had left for dealing with them.
Screw it. Back to WMGGW.
SailAweigh - Jul 21, 2005 9:19:00 pm PDT #3281 of 10001
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb
Ashes
Orange limns the horizon,
burns in protest;
feeble stand
against the night.
Pale blue sky flees upward,
bound by endless navy.
Silent boats glide towards shore, their white sails
falling,
shrouds for the dying day.
Quenching, drenching, clouds pass away
and the parched land
lives. Muted greens and golds,
under a crown of stars.
Released from durance,
free to live
unencumbered.
Golden brass with sinuous sound;
smooth moves and liquid notes,
Cascading,
a cajoling wail down the spine
hits a nerve,
leaves the soul thirsty.
Cool breeze off the lake, cool beer
slides down the throat.
Day’s fire is banked.
Beverly - Jul 21, 2005 10:17:29 pm PDT #3282 of 10001
Days shrink and grow cold, sunlight through leaves is my song. Winter is long.
Sail, that's gorgeous.
deborah grabien - Jul 21, 2005 10:39:47 pm PDT #3283 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
Gorgeous is the word.
Susan W. - Jul 22, 2005 6:21:27 am PDT #3284 of 10001
Good Trouble and Righteous Fights
That's lovely, Sail.
SailAweigh - Jul 22, 2005 7:38:52 am PDT #3285 of 10001
Nana korobi, ya oki. (Fall down seven times, stand up eight.) ~Yuzuru Hanyu/Japanese proverb
Thank you! It's amazing what a really good beer and good companionship can inspire you to.
deborah grabien - Jul 22, 2005 9:19:54 pm PDT #3286 of 10001
It really doesn't matter. It's just an opinion. Don't worry about it. Not worth the hassle.
Bridges, Burning
There is a far side, and a near side. That's the way it works, with bridges.
the crash, a disturbing rumble of spectral lumber, a plank falling free, smoke rising toward heaven
One link severed, one friend gone, one bit of history signalling the clouds to rain.
another plank, another step gone, the reek of history, footsteps, no way home, invisible flame
Gaps showing, far side and near, flames catching, another plank, the river of time red below, no safe place to set my feet.
Unable to cross the burned bridge, unable to turn away, I will stand here forever.