Her fingers tighten on the handle. She feels the metal start to bend.

And there's your story core, right there. My kind of writing. Dayumn, Fay.

wrod.

Beautiful, Fay.

Here's mine for this week:

One Way Out

She looked around at the floor that had taken forever last spring-days too nice to be cooped up all weekend. Nice little cocoon.

She could pretend that he had only gone out to get some more paint. Well, except for the blood and the unfinished wallpaper project with its pock-marked patches. Stay in the cocoon, a little bit drunk, and a little bit numb. Only stirring to open up another bottle of wine they’d planned on sharing someday. After the baby was born.

The baby. There was a definite time limit on this cocoon. And a lonely life-yet never alone- on the other side.

Wow. Power in that one.

My (probably) final on this challenge.

White Rabbit

I am falling like Alice into the darkness of improbability:

the problem
of course
is that the improbability is my history.

Down, and down.

Not really Alice; I don't ponder the eternal verities. I never ask
do cats eat bats?
but rather, where is this love I had
this quiet storm of passion
where did I leave myself, given to you too young, rejected, unreclaimed?

Soon I will land, but not in Wonderland
the bones of my soul will break
there will be no caterpillers, no hookahs, no rabbits, no mushrooms

Only memory
and the other side of this life.

Okay, it's after midnight in Ohio, so technically I missed posting this on Monday. Sorry -- I'm chagrined at my slacktastic ways.

In any case. Challenge #71 (the other side) is now closed.

Challenge #72 is dancing. Please try not to quote Abba.

(A drabble lifted from/rooted in a scene in the first Kinkaid Chronicles book, Rock & Roll Never Forgets; this snippet of song lyric was written by me, and is part of the novel)

'Heart Attack' (gig vignette)

come on back, come on back, daddy's waitin' for you at the sugar shack....

She's in green, the back cut low, masses of buttons. She's got new Jimmy Choos, and she's got me; just before we went onstage, she got one hand between my thighs, and staked a claim. After this long, she ought to know what's hers.

oh pretty mama, you're givin' me a heart attack...

The crowd's loving it. So am I, but what I'm loving more is my old lady, moving her hips, shaking her shoulders, dancing while she waits in the wings, invisible to everyone but me.

Mmmmmm, Deb, I'm loving it too.

Also, I just listened to John Kay's Heretics and Privateers.

Wow.

Also, I just listened to John Kay's Heretics and Privateers

Nice piano. Nuff said. (although, it's really earlier Kay with nice piano. When my book advance cheque gets here, I'm treating myself to the Lost Heritage cd.)

Question:

I need hooking up, please.

Does anyone out there know a good source for finding genuine samples of genuine mid sixteenth century journal writing by women?

I have snippets - Jane Grey, Elizabeth I's Armada speech - but those are formal and that's not what I'm looking for. The documents in question are supposed to be by a well-born Scotswoman, a sensible spinster, who ends up as Anne of Cleves' good friend, lady in waiting, and confidante. I need a chatty feel, but accurate in usage.

Help.

Deb, I did a google on women writing sixteenth century

This was the first of many urls

[link]