Well, it's okay...I write in a form without artistic merit, after all.

So does that mean mine has negative merit? I'm not sure where fantasy sits on the totem pole in regards to detective stories in critical thought, but my impression from critics has always been if you're not Tolkien, you might as well be a monkey flinging its feces at the wall.

Welcome, Kalshane!

Thanks, AmyLiz.

I'm thinking of putting together a little webpage for my book with the synopsis and chapter descriptions. I don't know why, I just sort of need to do something while I wait. And then if no one buys it, I can just release it all on the internets or something.

Welcome, Kalshane!

And Allyson, that's a good idea. That way once you sell, you'll already have your website started to help you promote your work.

Picture ten drabble [link]

Mom was so proud of the white parlor. Shoes were banned, and God help the person who brought food anywhere near that expensive white wall-to-wall carpet.

Then came The Day Aunt Trixie Brought Her Poodle.

When the air cleared, Aunt T. had sworn anathema to us and five generations backwards and forwards, the poodle was shivering under the driver's seat of Aunt T.'s Buick, and Mom was at the rumpus room bar with a big scotch and soda.

"We need a long-haired white Persian," she said, sipping thoughtfully. "It will match beautifully. We must get it before Trixie arrives for Thanksgiving."

"Aunt T.'s allergic to cats," I said carefully.

Mom smiled. "Pity."

snerk

That's a good one, connie. "Pity." Hee.

eta: Welcome, Kalshane! It's nice to see new faces around here. Come be an old one with the rest of us. Take that as you read it.

Picture One.

Christmas 1949.

It was the last Christmas we spent together as a foursome. I was so happy. Adolphe had asked me to marry him and we were going to tell the family on Christmas Eve after mass. Look how happy I appear. Rita and Bernard had been married just the month before; I thought life could only get better.

Now, I can see signs I didn’t see then. Rita and Bernard had become so serious. They hardly laughed, or even smiled, anymore. Even Adolphe was hiding things from me by then.

Ironic, isn’t it, that Rita and Bernard named her daughter Celeste?

Thanks for the welcome, all.

Come be an old one with the rest of us. Take that as you read it.

It reads very much as a compliment, and reminds me of an old "story in the round" setting some of my friends created in their Creative Writing class back in high school. (I didn't take the class because until I started on my first novel, I actually had very little interest in writing. I was very much a math/science nerd with little interest in English until at some point near the end of my junior year when I did a complete flip-flop. Also, it was taught by a teacher I hated at the time, but as I've grown older realized was one of the better ones.) In any case, the setting was a sort of inter-dimensional poetry bar and the regulars were called "Old Friends". Which is probably only interesting or amusing to me.

Right. So let's hope I'm less rambling if I try to write something in earnest around here.

Alright, here goes:

Nine

Back then, Grampa meant the world to me. His smile, his laugh, the soft squeak of his chair rocking as we read a book together. When anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said I wanted to be just like Grampa. I loved most when he’d let me do grown-up things like drive his car–safely in his lap on empty country roads–or the time he helped me get a suit just like his for Aunt Virginia’s wedding.

Now the memories I treasure are from when he acted just like me. Hunkered down on the floor together over the wooden blocks we built into castles and trains and bridges. Two children with nothing but time and imagination.

(24 words over, but I'm not sure where I can tighten it up.)

You'll find it. It's one of the reasons I like drabbles. It forces you to be spare.

I don't worry too much about word counts, just try to keep as concise as possible. My drabble suddenly developed a plot that needed dealt with.