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.

(waving at Kalshane) What Sail said; settle on in.

Allyson! I've got a nifty web page and its sole purpose is to keep people posted about the books and reviews and appearances and stuff. It's an excellent idea - muchly recommended. And BTW, if I set up a date to come down there and a thing at the LA Mystery Bookstore, when's good? Last time, you were up here, with Perkins, and I was in LA with food poisoning, signing books, alone and disconsolate.

Some excellent drabbles, yo.

I have achieved a single hardback copy of "Matty Groves." Arrived in the post today; very pretty indeed. It's possible I'm getting blase about this.

Partially xposted from Bitches, because I'm suddenly losing my enthusiasm for the WIP now that I'm almost at the ending:

Have you ever felt your enthusiasm flag for a story right as you hit the ending? I'm basically a chapter and an epilogue away from finishing the WIP, and suddenly the writing feels like going through the motions and my climax seems lame and anticlimactic. I'm pushing through--I'm not about to abandon a book this long so close to the end--and I really hope it's better than I think it is, but I hate feeling this way when I've been so passionate about the WIP up until now.