Yep - big differences. I can say, with all honesty, "Look, I am fantasy impaired; I literally can't tell the satire from the classics, they all read the same to me, blind spot, can't help it." NOT the same as saying "Oh, man, ANOTHER chick named Cerridbronhwennydd, wearing armour that shows off her dimples, and being mad at her mom, as well as a perfect killing machine, pass the air sickness bag, yuck, kill me now".
And a whole third level possible, with what I did yesterday: A five-hour edit on a fantasy novel (no dragons, or Welsh girls with armoured ovaries, or hobbits, or I'd have been no use to her), with the understanding that she was getting a hard emergency look from essentially virgin eyes: someone who dimply does not grok, much less enjoy, any of the tropes.
It was useful to her. I had a few things that seemed obvious to me, that she thought shouldn't have been obvious to me if she'd written it effectively. So in a way, my ignorance of her genre was a plus.
But no trashing. Trashing is just evil.
someone who dimply does not grok
But she does it with a smile.
I'm thinking of entering another writing contest in addition to the Golden Heart.
Talk me down, people.
someone who dimply does not grok
But she does it with a smile.
Most charming typo ever.
Susan, do you have to pay entry fees for these contests? Is the feedback worth the fee (and the pain, if you don't final)?
Most charming typo ever.
Tell it to my MS-riddled fingers.
But damn, it was a cute one, wasn't it?
Dimply.
But damn, it was a cute one, wasn't it?
Despite the inevitable Shirley Temple flashes, yes, it was.
t signed, Woman Who Had Curls Tugged In Childhood And Hasn't Taken A Flamethrower To Anyone Yet.
I also had red curls as a child, but my tendency to bare my teeth and occasionally swipe at people who touched me without invites with scissors or other sharp objects left me untugged.
Ha. I was cherubic with bright red hair and big blue eyes and dimples and skin so pale it could light rooms, and I quickly learned I'd get candy if I let Grandma's friends fuss. I was the adorable little girl with the bow in my hair that you want to smack for being so damned cute.
No wonder my older sister cut my hair off all the time.
There's film of me, night before my fifth birthday, serving as sister's flower girl.
My teeth are bared - totally feral snarl. I have roses and I'm flinging them as hard as I can into the guest's faces. Yes, I was in a bad mood - long story, mother gave me walnuts, almost died, brother put lifesized doll (something called Patty Playpal) as gift in chair in Montreal hotel for baby sister as pressie, baby sister woke up in night and thought it wsa dead murdered child and tried to claw through the wallpaper, also thought man sister was marrying was complete asshole (and was correct)...
Anyway. My red wisps were generally left alone.
